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eighteen months or more – I would say 1952, to be on the safe side. The work progresses steadily, but at times it can come to a halt if the materials are delivered late.’
    Badr took a deep breath and blurted out, ‘Would your father be so kind as to lease me a flat for my family and I to live in? A small flat with two rooms would be more than enough. I have, may Allah be praised, four children, and my elderly father is not well at all. We are in wretched housing now. My wife complains, and there is no privacy, it’s not proper at all . . . dreadful. And today I received a letter from my cousin. He wants to come to Sudan to look for work! Of course, he intends to stay with me and I am obliged to host him. But where am I going to put him? All I have is one room and we’re all sitting on each other’s laps as it is!’
    Nur laughed at the choice of words.
    Badr took a drag from his cigarette. It was humiliating to complain to this boy, this heir to a fortune. Yet pride was a luxury Badr could not afford.
    ‘I’ll ask him,’ said Nur, smiling with confidence. ‘He will surely lease you a flat. My father has great plans for this building. He wants Egyptian taste and expertise – itself borrowed from Europe – to be firmly placed in Sudan. Do you know how this saraya came to be built? Father was driving his motor car along a boulevard in Heliopolis and stopped to marvel at a Pasha’s mansion. He then contacted the architect and said, “Design onelike it for me in Umdurman.” The materials, too, from the marble tiles to the garden lamps, were shipped from Italy via Egypt.’
    On their way out, they passed the bustle and delicious smells of the hoash. Hajjah Waheeba was inspecting the laden trays, making sure that every dish was represented before being dispatched to the men.
    She turned and said to Badr, ‘Stay and have dinner.’
    Nur repeated his mother’s invitation. The huge round trays were too heavy for one servant to carry on their own, and family members swarmed around the trays, ready to lift them up. Nur was summoned to help and he excused himself. Even though he was hungry, Badr refused the invitation not only out of modesty, but for a genuine desire to go home. He wanted to be with Hanniyah tonight, to entertain her with descriptions of Mahmoud Bey’s bedroom, and he needed to go back to put his father to bed. Also, Hanniyah could not be trusted to supervise the children’s homework. He must do that himself, for it would be a disgrace if his children were not the top of their classes. The saying that the carpenter’s door was unhinged must not apply to him. And, most of all, he wanted to eat with his family. He derived considerable satisfaction from watching his children eat. Every bite that rose from the plates to their mouths was halal, the result of his sweat and exertions all day.
    Badr made his way back to the tram station with Nur’s promise ringing in his ears: ‘
My father will surely lease you a flat in his new building
.’ Out of habit, and too many instances of dashed hopes, cynicism gripped him. The boy was naïve. If Mahmoud Bey really did agree to lease him a flat, he would have to charge Badr below the market price. He would understand that Badr could not afford the high rent of the city centre and he would be obliged to do him a favour as the private teacher of the Abuzeid children. That was why Mahmoud Bey might not agree. But it was worth trying, and Badr was determined to petition MadameNabilah, too. As a fellow Egyptian, she might sympathise with his predicament and put in a good word for him with her husband.
    As he narrowly avoided placing his foot on donkey manure, his mind drifted to the rumours that the British would thwart a union with Egypt. If the position of the Egyptian teaching mission were jeopardised to the extent that they had to pull out, how pointless his dream of moving house would be.
    The sudden call to prayer from a nearby mosque jolted him out of his