When Alwan finally showed up, they were approached by Kamel, a witty poet who assailed them with a barrage of admiring chatter. He announced that he’d come from his village to celebrate the victory of the ruling party.
“Why don’t you join our party?” he asked Zain. “The girl comrades aren’t pretty like you!”
“So what are you looking for?” Zain replied acerbically, “A comrade, or a concubine?”
Still in celebration mode, he replied, “This is the age of the ‘minor prophets.’ That’s the name I invented for the party leaders. Don’t you think it fits?”
“Well, there are ‘minor prophets’ and there are the ‘minor demons,’ too.”
“Nothing’s good enough for you liberals!” he retorted. “I’m going to go celebrate at another table!” And he walked off.
“Why were you so hostile to Comrade Kamel?” Alw
