Free No One Sleeps in Alexandria by Ibrahim Abdel Meguid Page B

the toes, thus forming a protective layer against unforeseen things in the street. One foot had four toes, another six, the sixth toe hanging, straight on the side, like a baby tucked onto his mother’s side, almost sliding to the ground. Amazingly, that sixth toe was clean. Nearby there was a foot that had no toes, a solid foot from which the toes had been cut by a knife, its front skin wrinkled, a foot that looked more like a rectangular block of old wood. To Magd al-Din it looked like a toothless mouth. On almost all the feet, the ankles were ringed with blue, black, or red blotches.
    “These shoes on your feet, don’t they bother you?” Magd al-Din was surprised to hear the man next to him ask. Had he seen him examining the bare feet? Maybe. Maybe he wanted him to take off his shoes so he could steal them. It was the same man who had engaged him in conversation earlier. He looked closely at his face: an exhausted face with a reddish complexion that did not look healthy. Closer examination showed malnutrition and emaciation. The gaunt face had a small, pointed nose, a mouth with a downy mustache, and narrow, amber-colored eyes. His hair was black, combed with a wide-tooth comb, with a few gray hairs. On the whole, the man showed signs of a mysterious anguish. When Magd al-Din did not respond, the man went on, “I saw you looking at everyone’s feet. Being barefoot here isn’t just a sign of poverty—sometimes it’s a hobby.”
    Magd al-Din’s eyes grew wider as the man continued, “You want to know why Egyptians are fond of going barefoot? You’d know if you took off your shoes. Aren’t you more comfortable when you take off your shoes?”
    “Of course,” Magd al-Din replied with a smile.
    “Well, some people like to be comfortable to begin with.”
    The man’s voice was a little loud, so the rest of the detainees were following what was being said and laughing. “When you go into a house with no chairs, can you sit down on the floor with your shoes still on? Of course not. You take off your shoes. None of our houses have chairs.”
    Magd al-Din had to laugh with the rest of the men. The corporal yelled at them to stop. Magd al-Din remembered the pound and looked at the corporal, who yelled at him, telling him to wait until “that son-of-a-bitch of a policeman” came back.
    “More importantly, shoes wear out, and a man’s got to buy another pair,” the man went on. “A barefoot person, on the other hand, is self-sufficient. Every month he gets new skin on his feet— that is, a new pair of shoes. If it weren’t reprehensible, you could sell those new shoes. Remember, that’s twelve new pairs of shoes a year, all gratis, compliments of God. You can’t buy a pair of shoes for even twenty piasters.”
    The laughter got more boisterous, and once again the corporal yelled at them to keep it down. Magd al-Din was now totally drawn in by the gaunt man with his peculiar talk. This man would be his friend for a long time; he would run into him often on the road. It seemed he was the one whom Magd al-Din heard calling his name early every morning. Both of them, like the rest of the detainees, had tears in their eyes from all the cheerful laughter.
    Again everything grew quiet, as if a moment of meditation had been sent from heaven. They soon heard the voice of the same man who had been talking to Magd al-Din earlier, reciting in a low voice words that he obviously liked, marveling at their sad meaning, “Council of Alexandria, I am at the end of my patience. Should I speak to you in Greek or Hebrew? You take the people’s money and squander it on a bridge. Instead of sucking the people’s blood, come suck my—”
    He did not say the word that everyone had anticipated. He fell silent, but the silence was broken by laughter that shook the precinct to its foundations. The corporal became angry, and some policemen were startled. The laughter died down in hoarse spasms. Just then, three policemen rushed