Although we’d never met, I had several old friends in common with Berndt, a Swiss theatre owner, and looked forward finally to seeing him on his second visit to Egypt. I’d been abroad when last he came, and couldn’t help wondering if he’d appeal to me. But when he called to confirm our appointment, and asked if he could bring ‘Marwa, an Egyptian actress’, a certain tenderness in his voice cut short my speculations. I suggested he come alone so we could reminisce, but promised to meet his friend before he left.
Berndt was my age, slightly built and so soft-spoken that the flutter of the ceiling fan nearly prevented me from hearing him. We talked about our shared acquaintances and about Cairo. He asked if I knew a place to buy some bolts of cheap cotton for a set he was designing, and I made a few suggestions. Then, quite suddenly, he apologized, saying he needed to speak about something that was troubling him. He confessed he was in love with Marwa, that they’d grown close in Switzerland where she and her troupe had performed, that he had come to Egypt to be with her, only to learn she was in love with someone else.
