'But why should people in Tawasi be suspects?' I press. 'These are people living and seeing after their work. You collect them from their houses at night -'

'Everybody is a suspect.' Pale-eyes speaks again.

'So you'll collect all the men of Egypt?'

I watch him flush.

'And the hareem too if we have to,' he says.

'Ya-fandim -' I turn again to the Mamur - 'have any of these people done anything to arouse suspicion? Have you found anything in any of their homes -'

'I told you: we have a state of emergency.'

I am silent for a moment, then I try again: 'How long will you keep them?'

'n.o.body knows. It depends.'

I turn completely towards the Mamur. I will him to look up and meet my eyes.

'Your Excellency the Mamur,' I say, 'among the people you are holding there are some old men. Respectable sheikhs. Why would you want these? Let them go and the village will calm down and tomorrow G.o.d will do what is right for everybody. And your favour will hang around all our necks.'

'n.o.body will leave tonight,' Pale-eyes says. 'Tomorrow they will be interrogated and after that we shall see.'

I look at the Mamur but his face is closed. 'You heard what the Basha said,' he says.

As I stand I feel the tears well up behind my eyes and I am so angry that I point at the notice hanging on the wall above their heads. 'You see this?' I say - it reads "The Police in the Service of the People" - 'I think it would be more honest if you removed it.'

I drive away from the clearing but I am weeping at the wheel. I know what the men will be going through and the women know it too. They are all crying softly. I see the rope around Am Abu el-Ma neck, the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth into the fine wrinkles of his chin. I wince at the blow that lands on his face, on the back of his neck: 'ya kalb ya ibn el-kalb - I have to, have to stop myself imagining worse - Back at the house Khadra decides to stay with me. It is ten o'clock. I call Tareq Atiyya and his wife or one of his daughters answers me.

'Good evening,' I say, 'I am Amal al-Ghamrawi. May I speak to Tareq Bey?'

He comes on the line: 'Amal! h.e.l.lo! You've seen the disaster at Luxor?'

'Tareq,' I say and I start to cry.

'The Governor,' I say when I've finished explaining. 'He can get them out?'

'Yes,' he says. 'I'll call him in the morning.'

'But they'll be in there all night'

'Listen. I know what you're thinking but nothing is going to happen to them tonight. The police have other jobs in hand and these are small fry. Believe me. We'll get them out tomorrow.'

I send Khadra to the village. 'Tell the women I've spoken to Cairo and insha Allah tomorrow good will happen. Stay there and don't let anyone get rash. Tomorrow, before sunset, if the men are not back I'll be there to bring you news.'

How can I sleep? How can I work? Anna's world seems a world away. Or does it? I mess about on the Net getting details and versions of the killings at Luxor. I phone Deena in Cairo and she tells me they have news of several villages suffering like Tawasi. 'We can take up the case,' she says, 'but pulling strings is faster. Let me know what happens.' I hope the men are asleep. Small fry, wretched and cold, but asleep. I send e-mail to my brother and he phones me.

'Atiyya will get them out,' he says, 'he seems to know what he's doing -'

'It's so wrong,' I say.

'Yes, of course it is,' he says. 'But you're doing everything you can.'

'They wouldn't listen to me,' I say. 'If you'd been here they would have listened to you.'

'I'll come over if it'll make you happy,' he says.

'No,' I say, 'no.' What would he do? He probably could not even do what Tareq is doing. He's lived abroad all his life. He doesn't have the connections. 'No,' I say again, 'I'm just being - you know how I am.' I lighten my voice: 'Tell me what's happening with Isabel.'

'I've told her,' he says.

'What? About her mother?'

'Yes.'

'How did she take it?'

'She was stunned, I guess. She thinks of Jasmine as old, you know. It mainly made her see how old I am.'

'You're not old. You were ma.s.sively younger than Jasmine.'

'Well, but, it put me in that generation.'

'Did she ask if I knew?'

'Yes. I said I'd only told you very recently. Anyway, she's argued herself around it now. She's decided that it's further proof that she and I were meant to happen.'

'So it's like you got it wrong the first time around.'

'Yeah. I was in too much of a hurry. I didn't realise my real mate hadn't been born yet.' The familiar laugh is back in his voice. I decide not to ask if he no longer thinks he might be her father.

'Will you come over soon?' I ask.

'As soon as I can,' he says, then adds, 'There's nothing stopping you getting on a plane, you know.'

I walk through the empty house. I go out on the veranda where I had sat with Am Abu el-Maati and I look out across the fields towards the village, missing - tonight - seventeen men. I end up in Isabel's room in front of the portrait of my great-uncle Sharif Basha al-Baroudi. 'You see? You see, ya Sharif Basha?' I say, and the tears well up once more into my eyes. And his dark eyes look back at me and behind them lie el-Tel el-Kebir and Umm Durman and Denshwai and it seems to me that he does indeed see and I want - oh, how I want to be in his arms - 18 November 1997 At eleven there is a knock on my door. I open and Tareq Atiyya is there.

'What's this?' I say. 'You've come yourself?'

'I thought it would be better. I am going to the markaz. Do you want to come?'

At the markaz we find that the message from the Governor has already filtered through the several necessary layers.

'We will finish our procedures and the men will be sent home,' the Mamur says. He looks even more haggard and drawn than he had last night. 'So we do not need to hold you up,' he says.

'There's no holding up,' Tareq says easily. 'We shall drink a cup of coffee with you till the procedures are finished.'

The Mamur rings for coffee.

From the car we count seventeen men climbing into the police box. There are no ropes round their necks, but their galabiyyas are torn and bloodied and their heads are bowed. My chest is tight with tears and anger as we follow the box all the way to Tawasi.

'Khalas. Nothing will happen now,' Tareq says as he veers away from the road and on to the track leading to the house. He follows me in and when I start to say 'I'll make you some tea', the great lump in my chest dissolves and I hold on to a chair and weep. After a moment he comes over and gathers me into his arms, and against his chest I give way to my pain as he holds me and strokes my head and pats my back.

'It's over now,' he says. 'Khalas. They're home and no one will come near them again.'

'But why did it have to happen? How could it happen?'

'The emergency laws. Luxor -'

'But these are people who have nothing to do with anything -'

'They're home now.'

'And they were beaten. Did you see what they looked like?'

'They're home now, ya Amal.'

'And the other people?'

'What other people?'

'The people in the other villages. The ones whom no one got out.'

'Are you going to mend the universe? What you could do, you did.'

'All I did was call you. You did everything.'

'Khalas, it's over.'

'What would I have done without you? What if I didn't know you? If I hadn't been able to call you -'

'Yes but you do and you can.'

'And you drove all the way. You must have set out at five -'

'Six.'

'Ya Tareq, I don't know what to say to you -'

'Nothing. Here, let me look at your face. You do this to yourself? Go splash your face with cold water. Do you have any cognac?' 'Cognac?' I start to laugh. Cigarettes with Am Abu el-Maati and cognac with Tareq Atiyya. Here in Tawasi.

'What's so funny about cognac?' he asks.

'Nothing,' I splutter and rush into the bathroom, where, washing my face, I start to cry again. I hear myself make small sobbing sounds like a child. I stand up straight and breathe deeply, in, out, in, out. I stare out of the window. I make myself think of his wife answering me on the telephone.

When I emerge from the bathroom, he says, 'You look terribly pale. Did you not sleep last night?'

'Not much,' I say.

I make tea and take it into the hall. With the gla.s.s in his hand, he looks around. 'How many years is it since I've been here?'

'Don't even try to count,' I say.

'You have nothing to fear,' he says. 'You shall never grow old.' In the face of my silence he continues: 'It's true. I've told you before. You grow more beautiful each time I see you.' He smiles, puts down his gla.s.s and leans back in his chair comfortably, his legs stretched out. 'I wish I could have seen you last night at the markaz, telling them off.'

'Don't,' I say. 'I must have been comic.'

'You must have been magnificent -'

As I stand, he reaches up and catches my arm above the elbow. He pulls me down, his eyes look questioningly into mine for a moment, then his mouth is on my mouth and his hand is tight in my hair. When I can breathe, I whisper 'My back', and he pulls me down to kneel on the floor while he bends over me, his kisses on my face, his hands cupping my head. 'Amal,' he breathes, 'Amal -'

I hear the knock on the door and scramble to my feet. Khadra and Rayissa are there, beaming, carrying two large trays covered with white napkins: 'That you both might have lunch.' They smile.

'May your bounty be increased,' I say. 'We'll have it on the veranda in the sun.'

They lay the food on the table, stealing glances at him.

'Are the men all right?' he asks.

'EI-hamdu-l-Illah,' Khadra says. 'And the village rejoices and kisses your hands.'

The women cover their smiling mouths with the edges of their tarhas and ask, 'Will you be needing us now?'

'Yes,' I say, 'stay awhile.' And they vanish into the kitchen.

'You coward,' Tareq says, and I shrug.

'Perhaps it's best,' he says. 'This is the Said, after all. My, this is a festive lunch.'

At the door he says, 'I'll stay at my place tonight and leave for Cairo in the morning. You have my mobile number?'

'Yes.' I nod.

'And the first thing you do - right now - is get some sleep. Before you try to do any work or anything.'

'Yes,' I say.

'And Amal, you can't hide in Tawasi for ever.'

As he drives off, the women join me at the door.

'The Basha has his eye on you, ya Sett Amal,' Khadra says.

Abd el-Na.s.ser abolished t.i.tles,' I say. She tosses her head.

'A Basha is a Basha with a t.i.tle or without. And this one has his eye on you.'

'What are you saying? I'm an old woman,' I say.