The Sound of the Lane

The golden light flowed out of the little blue bottle, into the brass horn, then burst out into the air, higher and higher, and opened out over the whole grey square like a flower made of light.

And they heard the fountain.

Clear water trickling calmly into a stone basin. With it came the sound of sparrows drinking, and children splashing each other and laughing.

The sound of the fountain of Jasmine Lane.

In the silent square between the grey blocks, a window opened. Then another window. Then a balcony door.

An old woman came out in her nightdress, her headscarf round her shoulders, and looked down at the square with wide eyes. Then she put her hand over her mouth.

Then Uncle Fahim opened the second bottle. Out of it came a warm, husky voice: "Liquorice for the thirsty... cold liquorice!" — and the clink of brass cymbals: ting ting ting.

A tall old man stepped out onto his balcony, leaning on a stick. He looked down and cried in a trembling voice, "That's... that's my voice! That's my voice from thirty years ago!" It was Uncle Ragab the liquorice seller himself.