Karnak Café Read Online Free PDF

that name which in someway or other had become an indispensable symbol of our current lives.
    â€œJust imagine,” Qurunfula told me, “there was some kind of misunderstanding at the beginning of winter, but it was only at the beginning of the following summer that his true innocence emerged. But don’t ask any more. It’s enough for you just to imagine.… Never mind, there’s nothing we can do about it.”
    â€œAnd let’s assume at the same time,” I suggested, “that this café is one gigantic ear!”
    With that we decided to steer clear of politics as far as possible.
    â€œIf we absolutely can’t avoid talking about some topic of national importance,” I suggested again, “then let’s do it on the assumption that Mr. Khalid Safwan is sitting right here with us.”
    But this time what had been lost was even more palpable than last time. They were all so thin; it looked as though they had just completed a prolonged fast. Their expressions were sad and cynical; at the corners of their mouths there lurked a suppressed anger. Once the conversation had warmed up a bit, these outward signs of hidden feelings would dissipate, leaving them with their own thoughts and ideas. However, once the veil was lifted, all that remained was a sense of languor and a retreat from society. Even the steady relationship between Zaynab and Isma‘il was clearly suffering under the impact of some disease that was not immediately noticeable; and that aroused a profound sense of sorrow in me, not to mention a lot of questions. Good God, I told myself, here are the deities of hell concentrating all their attention on the very people with ideas and the will to carry them through. What is it all supposed to mean?
    One time Qurunfula came over and sat beside me. She was looking pleased, but not entirely happy. By now I had realized that she only came over to sit with me when she had something she wanted to tell me.
    â€œLet’s pray to God,” I said as a conversation opener, “not to let anything like it happen again.”
    â€œYes,” she replied sadly, “you should be praying to Him a lot. And while you’re at it, tell Him how desperately we need some tangible sign of His mercy and justice.”
    â€œSo what’s new?”
    â€œThe person who’s returned to my embrace is a shadow of his former self. Where’s Hilmi Hamada gone?”
    â€œHis health, you mean? But they’ve all gone through the same thing. They’ll get their health back again in a few days.”
    â€œPerhaps you don’t realize what a proud and courageous young man he is. His kind usually suffers more than others.” She looked me straight in the eye. “He’s completely lost the ability to be happy!”
    I did not understand what she meant.
    â€œHe’s completely lost the ability to be happy,” she repeated.
    â€œMaybe you’re being too pessimistic.”
    â€œNo, I’m not,” she replied. “I wouldn’t feel so unhappy if it weren’t called for.” She let out one of her deep sighs. “Ever since I’ve been the owner of this café,” she went on, “I’ve taken good care of it: floor, walls, furniture, everything is the way it is because I have made it my business to take good care of things. Now these people are torturing their own flesh and blood. Damn them!” She grabbed my arm. “Let’s spit on civilization!”
    For a long time I found myself wavering between myadmiration for the great things that we had achieved and my utter repulsion for the use of terror and panic. I could see no way of ridding our towering edifice of these disgusting vermin.
    It was Zayn al-‘Abidin who one day was the first to share some other news with us. “There appear to be some dark clouds on the horizon,” he said. He used to listen to the foreign news broadcasts and would often pick