Free No One Sleeps in Alexandria by Ibrahim Abdel Meguid

lasted three days, then he went back to job hunting with the others. Their rounds would begin at six o’clock and end at eight. By that time they would have passed all the companies on the north bank of Mahmudiya Canal, the oil, soap, ice, and textile companies. They would have demonstrated their strength for the tugs and ships anchored at close intervals, which came from Upper Egypt to unload their cargo of sugarcane, fava beans, cotton, grains, and earthenware jars and pitchers. Usually a contractor with his own crew of workers would get the job to unload the ships, and if Magd al-Din or any of his colleagues was hired, he would receive ten piasters for the day’s work.
    At eight o’clock in the morning, just getting over his disappointment at not finding work, he would sit down in the café next to the bridge and order a glass of tea. Moments later he would feel heartened and get up to buy al-Ahram from the little boy who sold newspapers from a small wooden stand in front of the café. He was always the only one in the café, but he would hear a voice calling out his name and imagine meeting someone he knew. One day he got the newspaper and gave the little boy a whole pound. The boy said he did not have any change. Magd al-Din did not know what to do and returned the newspaper, but the boy, who recognized him by now, told him he could read the paper in the café and return it when he was done. Magd al-Din sat down to readand realized that the world was a great big mess: sandbags distributed by the civil defense department to hospitals and public establishments; advertisements for Longines, Zenith, and Vulcan watches; this evening, on the radio, Fathiya Ahmad and her band; before that at eight-thirty, comic monologues by Husayn al-Maligi and Nimat al-Maligi, and before that a selection from the Sura of al-Hajj, recited by Taha al-Fashni; Queen Elizabeth arrives at Easton station from Balmoral on her way to Buckingham Palace; Warsaw wiped out; at least five million Poles perish in the war in one month; giant cannons, bigger than the world has ever seen, reduce Warsaw to rubble.
    “The world is in a great big mess, Magd al-Din—where are you going?” he thought to himself. He got up to return the newspaper to the little boy only to find that the boy had picked up his newspapers and was running away as fast as he could. Alarmed, he followed after him, but a policeman grabbed him by the arm, saying, “And you’re reading the newspaper, to boot?”
    Two other policemen went into the café and arrested two people sitting there. They were all led to a police van originally used to transport criminals between jail and the courthouse. He dropped the newspaper and climbed into the van parked on the bridge. He noticed a car blocking Raghib Street and two others blocking the road parallel to the Mahmudiya canal, so that people were forced onto the bridge, where they were grabbed. Anyone who made any effort to resist was smacked on the back of the neck and kicked every which way.
    In the lockup at the Ghayt al-Aynab police station, more than twenty people who were arrested that morning, including Magd al-Din for the first time in his life, were herded in. Before he could think of anything else, Magd al-Din saw that idiotic young man sitting in front of him, his gaze fixed on Magd al-Din and smiling as usual. Magd al-Din turned his eyes away to the yellow walls, visible through the high black bars of the cell. The walls formed a semicircle around them, with bars placed close together, like those on prison windows.
    The police station was a rotunda with high yellow walls, and its main gate opened onto the square where the streetcar turned. Inside a corporal with thick eyebrows sat behind an old, blackwooden table; three other policemen were milling about. In a corner some rifles hung on the walls; in another corner a closed door led to the prefect’s room. The corporal fixed his glance on Magd al-Din and ordered one of the