A Swiss man studying music in Cairo discovers that a close friend is involved in suicide bombings in Israel. A gripping thriller and a reflection on friendship, morality and the inner workings of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

“This novel deals with the Israeli-Palestinian conflict with welcome hindsight and some philosophical reflection on the difficulty of identifying the good guys and the bad guys in this war. Reads in one sitting.”
Entreprise romande

“One of the strengths of the book is that it gives consistency and rationality to what seems to have none, and is conveniently called “fanaticism”.
Le Courrier

“A clear story that refuses to be Manichean, a plunge into the streets of Cairo where, like everywhere else, it is difficult to control anything.”
Geneva Weekly

Concrete blocks closed the street where the Israeli embassy stood at the end. General Security policemen kept guard on the pavement. Two guys in suits were slumped on plastic chairs, VHF radios on their hips and machine pistols over their shoulders. I spotted a boy coming out of a building nearby.

“Hey, brother, can you help me?”

“What’s the matter, brother?”

“I’m not feeling very well, I need to go to the toilet.”

He looked at me suspiciously.

“Do you work for the embassy?”

“No, thank God! I’ve got nothing to do with those people, I’m Swiss.”

He smiled.

“Switzerland, land of peace. Ahlan wa sahlan (welcome)!”

I followed him up to the second floor. He went in first and I heard him talking to a woman, probably his mother. Then he reappeared and beckoned me in. I took off my shoes and followed him. The boy gave me some flip-flops and I locked myself in the toilet. I stayed in there for a while to allay suspicion.

“Are you all right?” he asked me when I came out.

“Erm, I’m feeling a bit tired. I think I’m ill. Can I have a rest here?”

“Il beet beetak” (the house is yours).

He led me into the living room. It was a small room with a shabby carpet on the floor and armchairs on three sides in a style reminiscent of nineteenth-century French furniture. Sacred images hung on the wall. My hosts were Coptic. I sat down by the window. It looked out onto the street. Just what I needed.