This was more or less the tone Hamdi took when he asked, ‘Are you still writing?’

‘Now and again … Some poetry, some stories …’

‘But tell me, is there ever any profit in such things?’

Again, I laughed. Whereupon he said, ‘You really have to stop, my friend!’ and went on to lecture me about how, if I wanted to be successful, I had to start being practical, and how empty pursuits like literature could do nothing but harm once your schooldays were behind you. He spoke to me as if I were a child, never considering that I might have something to say, indeed to argue, in response, and he did not shy away from making it clear that it was success that had given him his courage. Meanwhile I just sat there, hiding behind a smile that I was sure must look very foolish, and only served to add to his confidence.

‘Come and see me tomorrow morning!’ he said now. ‘We’ll see if we can figure something out for you. You have a good brain in that head of yours. You were always pretty lazy, too, but that’s not important. Experience is the best teacher! … Don’t forget now. Get there early.’

He seemed to have forgotten that he himself had been one of the laziest boys in the school. Or else he was taking liberties, knowing that I was not about to challenge him.

As he made to rise from his chair, I jumped up and offered him my hand. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ I said.

‘Why so early, my friend? Oh well, you know best.’

Only then did I remember that he’d invited me to supper. But it seemed to have slipped his mind entirely. I made for the door. As I took my hat, I said: ‘Please pass on my respects to your wife!’

‘Oh, I shall, I shall. And don’t you forget to come in and see me tomorrow! In the meantime, don’t be downhearted!’ he said, and he patted me on the back.

Darkness had well and truly fallen by the time I left the house. The street lamps were glowing. I took a deep breath. There was dust in the air, but to me it felt wondrously clean and calming. I took my time walking home.

Late the next morning, I went to Hamdi’s office – even though I’d had no intention of doing so when leaving his house the previous evening. He had not, after all, made a firm offer. Everyone else I’d asked for help had sent me off with the same trite words: ‘Let’s see what we can come up with, let’s see what we can do.’ Nevertheless, I went. It wasn’t hope that drove me, so much as the desire to see myself insulted. I was more or less telling myself: ‘You sat there in silence last night, and let him play the patron, didn’t you? Well then, you’re going to see this through to the bitter end, for this is what you deserve.’

The porter took me first to a small waiting room. When I was ushered into Hamdi’s office, I could feel that same foolish smile on my face, and I hated myself even more.

Hamdi was occupied with the stack of papers on his desk, and with the managers rushing in and out of his office. Directed to a chair with a peremptory nod, and lacking the courage to shake his hand, I went to sit down. My confidence had ebbed to the point that I felt as dazed as if he were a real boss, showing me my place, and at the same time I genuinely accepted this treatment as normal. What a great gulf had grown between my old classmate and me since he’d invited me into his car, just over twelve hours ago! How absurd they were, the games we played in the name of friendship; did empty, artificial jockeying of this sort bear any relation whatsoever to the real thing?

Neither Hamdi nor I had changed since yesterday evening. We were who we were. But having discovered a few things about each other, we had allowed these minute details to send us on diverging paths. The strangest thing was that we both accepted this change in our relations, and even found it natural.