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“And you? Do you love your wife?” She surprised him with her question: “Of course.” He grasped her delicate wrist, listening to her pulse, and continued: “My wife is an angel.” The woman smiled: “Then you don’t love her.” He looked at her in astonishment: “Excuse me? If she’s an angel… you can’t love her… How can you love an angel?” He didn’t understand the woman’s meaning. She sighed and continued: “You need a woman, a woman, not an angel.” He didn’t answer. He moved closer to her, pressing his eyes against hers as he looked at her: “Is there pain here in your eyes? Didn’t I tell you, Alaa… the pain is in my mind… from stupidity… I hate stupidity.” He wrote something else and said gently: “Happy New Year… I’ll see you after Eid, God willing. If I live long enough, of course. Sometimes I wish I could die to spare myself the foolishness of people… But if I die, I won’t see your beautiful face, for example, and I won’t eat mangoes… Are there mangoes in Paradise? Even mangoes are adulterated now… like men!” He stood up, and she said sarcastically: “Peace be upon you.” “On the angel, Doctor!” Alaa Abdullah, a doctor, returned to his hometown of Alexandria to breathe in the sea air… but there, he found the sea had different, sometimes unpleasant, smells. His wife, Rania, was a young Egyptian woman, embodying all her innocence, boldness, and madness. The conflict within Alaa intensified, both inside and outside himself, as he found himself torn between his longing for Britain and his colleague, Jehan, and his overwhelming desire for Egypt and his wife, Rania.
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