He got up early the following morning to the special sound of his mother’s kindly voice. He was desperate to see Dammam and its people. He couldn’t believe he’d only been away five months; it felt like ages since he’d left. He ate the shakshouka that his mother had prepared for breakfast quickly – his father had left for work some time beforehand – then he went out, his mother praying that God would keep evil people out of his way.
He walked straight down to the sea where he sat, enjoying the seasonal weather and the peculiar smell of the ocean, heavy with the scent of decay. Even the noticeable smell of sewage was pleasantly nostalgic, and for a time he lost himself in the sea and his memories. Then he wandered off down al-Hubb Street for a while. He turned towards his old school-monitor Rashid’s house, seized by a desire to knock on the door and ask for him, but he thrust the idea out of his head and walked quickly in the other direction as if trying to get away from himself. He passed the house of his former cell commander Farid al-Midrasi. He was struck by the same desire to knock on the door, but again he hurried away and went back to wander around al-Hubb Street again. He went into the café he had once sat in with his comrades in the organisation Zaki and Marzuq, ordered tea with milk, which he drank quickly, smoked a cigarette, then returned to loafing around the street. The street was empty at that time of day, except for a few women wandering around, and some unemployed workmen. One of the women caught his attention, walking slowly, wrapped in an abaya, her face covered by a veil so fine that it hid nothing. She didn’t have a pretty face. She was plump, almost fat, with enormous thighs separated by a deep and obvious slit that showed their constant quivering. The sight of her swaying bottom aroused Hisham. Growing excited, he stared at her lustfully, drawing deeply on a cigarette. The woman became aware of his hot looks and stared back at him, smiling seductively, but at the last moment he quit flirting and walked quickly on. How much Riyadh had changed him! He’d lived in Dammam all his life and more than once come to al-Hubb Street, but never before had he seen what he had just seen or had the ideas he had had today.
He got fed up walking around and decided to go to Abd al-Karim’s house. He must have woken up by now, Hisham thought, it was nearly ten o’clock. On his way there he passed the Municipal Park, and immediately thought of Rashid and Mansur, the men responsible for his entry into the organisation. He was dying of curiosity to know what had become of them and of Farid, but he wasn’t prepared to ask about any of them. The alley where Abd al-Karim’s house lay was as quiet as death, except for a council worker who was lazily sweeping the street with a tatty broom that collected nothing. He knocked on the door. After a few moments, he could hear the harsh voice of Abd al-Karim’s mother screeching, ‘Who is it? Who’s knocking?’
‘It’s me … Hisham, Hisham al-Abir.’
The small metal door quickly opened to reveal the face of Abd al-Karim’s mother, her veil lowered.
‘Hello, thank God you have arrived safely,’ she said. ‘Come on in. Abd al-Karim is still asleep. It’s a holiday, as you know.’ And in he walked, into the sitting room that he knew so well.
He chose a seat near the door and took a look around. Everything was exactly the same. It was as if he had only left it yesterday. He smiled at himself again – he’d only been away five months, not five years. What could happen in five months in a town as quiet as Dammam? Abd al-Karim’s mother brought tea and put it down in front of him, saying, ‘I’ve woken Abd al-Karim. He’s just coming.’ She had hardly finished speaking when Abd al-Karim appeared at the door, wiping his face with a small towel that he then threw over his shoulder. He was still in his nightclothes, which also served as his underclothes: a white, short-sleeved vest and white, knee-length pants. His mother looked at him. ‘It’s chilly, Abd al-Karim,’ she scolded. ‘Put something on, or you’ll catch cold.’ Abd al-Karim nodded in agreement, but grinned and hurried towards Hisham to greet him. The pair embraced, then sat down beside each other. Even before they had settled, Abd al-Karim’s mother returned with a brown woollen tob in her hand which she threw to Abd al-Karim, telling him to put it on. When she was satisfied that he was doing as he was told, she left, praying for health and happiness for them both, and asking God to keep them safe from the companions of evil.
Hisham was eager to know the news; news of anything and everything. He asked about his schoolfriends Saud, Abd al-Aziz and Salim; for news of school, and what Abd al-Karim was intending to do after his leaving exams – there was nothing new to learn. At last, Hisham plucked up courage and, with an air of feigned indifference, asked about Rashid. Abd al-Karim laughed at the mention of ‘Goatface’ and told Hisham they’d appointed a new school-monitor, better looking than Goatface – who’d disappeared without trace a while ago. Hisham concluded that Rashid had either run off to Bahrain, then on to somewhere else, as he had told Hisham he planned to, or else he’d been imprisoned. Fear gripped him once more, and for the first time he felt a strange loathing for Dammam.
The conversation continued between the two friends in a routine fashion: Abd al-Karim commented on his friend’s new moustache; then Hisham told him about some of his adventures in Riyadh. But when he saw the excitement on his friend’s face, he exaggerated his descriptions, inventing totally fictitious stories and mentioning the smallest details. He took his inspiration from those smuggled stories they used to read on their day trips together. He was beginning to realise the distance that now divided him not only from his friends in Dammam, but also from the time when he didn’t really know Dammam itself, or what lay hidden behind its innocent face. They were still living in a dimension he had left behind, and which had left him behind – when he enrolled in the organisation, when he smoked his first cigarette, when he drank his first glass of alcohol and slept with his first woman. Abd al-Karim asked about the last thing he had read. Hisham told him he was reading Anna Karenina, and they began to discuss the novel. The two friends talked until after midday, when Hisham got up to leave despite Abd al-Karim’s pleas to stay and share their lunch. Hisham made the excuse that his mother was waiting for him with lunch, but asked Abd al-Karim to gather together some friends later in the afternoon. He also told him that Adnan was in Dammam and that they’d travelled together on the same train.
On the way back home, Hisham passed Noura’s house. He resolved to see her that night.