So, كل سنة وأنتم جميعاً طيبين, and the following passage is from the beautiful, spare Stealth, which I reviewed for The Believer earlier this year:
He drags the desk chair out to the balcony. Lights a cigarette. He asks me to look for a paper and something to write with. I bring him my homework notebook and my pencil. He takes out a sheet of paper. I stand next to him, watching him as he writes: “Eid, O Eid, you have come back anew. Remind us of old Eids or new ones preview.” He looks out at the alley, thinking. I can tell that he is trying to write new lines to finish the famous poem like he does each Eid. I say: “Well, aren’t we going out?” He doesn’t answer. After a second, he stands up in a huff. He gets out his shaving kit and puts it on the table. I bring him a cup of water. He gets his brush wet and then rubs it on the soap.
I get my new shirt. I pull up its collar and press a stiffener into the slots for it. I put on the trousers from my new suit. The material is heavy and rough. He tells me to just wear the trousers and shirt because it is very hot. I give in, but I don’t really want to. I make sure that my lucky Quran verses are rolled up in my back trouser pocket. I can hear the noise of the children in the alley. I rush to the balcony. They are all wearing their new clothes for the Eid. The girls have bows in their hair. They’re shouting all in the same breath: “Open up those coin sacks, hand us our gifts back, O halu!” They let off firecrackers. Samir has astrip of “Italian War” brand. Its pellets hit the ground and light up.
From Al Masry Al Youm, a poem for the holiday, by Fouad Haddad. Translated into English by Aisha El-Awady.