Ibn Al Sarab, truth and dream, the two flowers of the magical nursery of existence, the daughters of time and place, the obedient and the rebellious, the two quarreling wonders of time, always, they breathed into the imagination of Al Ezaby Island the breath of a boat that had strayed from the oasis of Lake Manzala, an old man rowing with his hand, reached the island’s mainland and landed, Mansour Al Damiati, with his square body and his absent gaze, seemed the only normal thing in the scene of wonders scattered on the forehead of the unknown island, he left his boat at the dozens of speedboats lined up on the island’s coast, the feluccas on whose backs the island’s children travel to reach their destinations, here he found his little daughter Kawthar waiting for him close to the boats, in her stance a hot eagerness with the longing of familiarity, and in her movement a wonder not tainted by the dust of habit and the soot of age, his little girl planted a kiss on his forehead until she moistened it with the water of her mouth that resembled dew, the five-year-old seemed excited without necessity, the enthusiasm of childhood with a fresh sense of meanings and things, her pink clothes The abject poverty did not hide this pure innocence that was covered by the rays of daylight, as if she was screaming in her silent and shy stance: Nothing hides the beauty of childhood, even if it grew in the arms of need and poverty. She said to him as if terrified: - They came to us and told us: Leave the island! He asked her about the identity of those who came, but he did not find an answer that would comfort him, nor did he understand from her talk what would quench his passion. He is a fisherman, that is his profession that he inherited from his grandfather, and his source by which he hides from the reality of his livelihood, and it is enough for his daily sustenance, without more or less, his condition is like that of the people of the island who did not know any art of the crafts of the world other than hunting fish and water birds in the migration season. He looked around him with a look that disappeared in the mirage. What a blessing to see the small one, on the poor island of Al-Azabi, but she threw a match into his mind, about to ignite a blazing fire, and to obscure with its thick smoke the vision of his future days. He is the son of the mirage, his day has never produced anything but an anxious future, carried on the palms of hope, but... blessed is hope! The divine melody sent from behind the veil, and the consolation of the afflicted in the midst of the madness of life. Indeed, the man has grown accustomed to his livelihood here with its faults, and has found his limited world palatable, in the company of a thousand people, who have been cut off from the outside world, which is generous in its temptations and disappointments. So he has to embrace the little one, and color his pale existence with her tender spirit, so that his meeting with her reaches a spiritual vastness greater than the thousand-meter coast of his island, and to dance among the gardens of her smile like a lover wandering in the middle of paradises. Our friend had the right to whisper in his heart: Oh, if only life were an embrace with those we love, and a meeting with those we adore. He returned with her companionship to his home, her charming steps guided him to the atomic surface. She is a point between the meeting of the simple and the water, and a flower between the earth and the sky. At the door, he found cans of water and gasoline, arranged like the pearls of a rusty copper necklace. Here he is, turning on the electric generator, before sunset, and until after dinner, for two hours, as he has become accustomed to guiding him. His daughter, Kawthar, applauded the return of the lights to the house. The spirit of the shrine had returned, with the return of its inhabitants, but worries surrounded our friend in their amazing orbit, and he asked her: - Where did you see them, my little one? Those who advised us to leave the place. She pointed with her delicate index finger to the two-story house of his neighbor, Abdel Azim, built in a modern style. With its stature that defies the sea and the emptiness, it seemed the best in its architecture among the one hundred and fifty houses that the island carried on its decaying soil. There are no luxurious houses on our island, but a certain luxury might be felt by the observer if he saw something of extravagance among nothingness, or touched a spark of blessing among an ocean of rare features. Mansour knocked on his door. He learned from Abdel Azim that those who came were men from the government, and that the fate of the matter had been carried out like a sword that preceded the reproach. The intention was to evacuate the islands of Lake Manzala, at the top of which was El Ezaby Island. Mansour said: “I will not leave my island except dead. My grandfather, Sheikh Ezaby Abu Suleiman, came to it four hundred years ago, on the day he intended to go there with his two brothers from the city of Manzala. His two brothers were not cured of their incurable illness except by its healing water. The remains of the Sheikh were not established until they were buried on its land in accordance with his will. As for his shrine (Sheikh Ezaby) A lasting trace of the root of our tree extended in time, and his birth in August is a season of joy that appears on the page of our world filled with sorrow and grief. Abdul Azim touched the little girl's hair gently, the forty-year-old man seemed like a child of a funny type, and said: - Take it easy, and do not be extravagant with your emotions, leaving her to take the reins, for she is, without wonder, a door to destruction. We are the children of change, and before that, the children of disappearance. For God's sake... Aren't you tired of the charity that good people send us in the form of food supplies at the beginning of each week as if we were beggars? Our island has no services, no licenses, and no contracts, and it is better for us to leave it satisfied, and to leave it without complaint, so that perhaps they will establish in it the means of life that will change its condition, and sow in it the seeds of civilization that are absent from it.

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