Abbas el-Helw was sitting hiding in Uncle Kamel's apartment when someone knocked loudly on the door. He got up to answer it, opened it, and saw Hussein Kersha, who was wearing shirt and pants, his small eyes flashing as was their won't. Without preliminaries, Hussein asked him, "How come you haven't come to see me, when this is your second day in the alley? How are you?" With a wan smile, the other extended his hand to him and said, "How are you, Hussein? I'm sorry. Attribute it to your friend's tired ness, not forgetfulness or neglect. Let's take a stroll."
They set out together. Abbas el-Helw had spent a sleepless night and his day he had pa**ed in worrying; his head ached and his lids were heavy. Ahnost no trace was left of the upheavals of the day before. His insane anger had abated, the heat of his fury had cooled, and his thoughts of bloody revenge had dissipated. At the same time, though, a deep sorrow and a dark despair had settled in his soul. To put it differently, his soul had rejected those forms of reaction it could not tol erate and submitted totally to sorrow and despair.
A sudden ecstasy erupted in el-Helw's veins and he said enthusias tically, "A great idea! I'll get British nationality too...." But Hussein twisted his lips in derision and said sarcastically, "No way. You're a wimp. You'd do better as an Italian. Anyway, whatever happens, we'll be on the same boat out of here. Come on.''
Didn't you ever get a taste of alcohol when you were in Tell el-Kebir?” “Certainly not!”Abbas answered in annoyance. “How could you have kept company with the British and not drunk alcohol?
They stood up, paid their check, and left the bar, el-Helw asking
as they did so, "Where are we going now?"