Omran never cried, as he cried that day; his tears got mixed with the grains of sand, and made his face look like a patch of old freckles... His eyes were exploring the high new buildings, and their balconies, from behind a screen of dust, looked down at the people. A new road was being made, and hundreds of eyes were following the bulldozer, its wide jaws eating up walls one after the other. Its triangular teeth hauled stones and bricks with ecstasy. .. pieces of building material were scattered around like the saliva of a child when he chews a piece of chocolate. Its wheels were just like giant legs striding along with determination, it was a one-eyed monster, a big hole of an eye in the front burning with light as it watched its mouth engulfing falling walls and stamping them with its feet. It was opening up a wide road for new high buildings to be erected, with balconies to look down at people walking with sad tearless eyes, moving heavily. Omran was crying, shedding tears as he never did before, his eyes were wide open as he looked up across the door with that dishevelled hair of his, the grains of sand sticking to his face, specks getting into his eyes and making him blink. He heard the bulldozer's footsteps, its teeth ate the road (Omran's road) piece by piece. When he first heard it he was taken aback. He felt it coming, its wheels touching the earth and leaving behind a scream - like rumbling.

       He held his school-books to his chest, his eyes narrowed as he watched the giant machine coming nearer to one of the houses with solid white walls which proudly stood up trying to resist. The wall seemed inexhaustible with a green door in the middle, the lock yellow, and it was shining under an early day sun. The machine teeth came nearer and Omran was closely watching, he was now standing at the entrance witnessing the clash. The whiteness of the wall invaded Omran's eyes which grew larger, and it seemed to him that the wall became wider, its shadow broader than the road where the people sit to whisper together in the shadow as night falls. Some of them, relaxing there, would take the machine lightly, go about or relieve themselves or do necessary chores as darkness prevailed on the road wider and larger than the machine... wider than its cabin and the tiny man who sits in it and surveys the wall surface. The machine, when Omran first saw it, was no more than a small toy, the like of which they gave to him on feast days. It used to move in the road just like a toy of his, it would move forward towards the wall, touch it, and then it would stop, probably out of order, or broken, but it would not go through the wall. Until this day, until that moment, Omran was watching the game with joy, for he knew that the wall would resist the machine; the bulldozer's teeth would fall out just like the teeth of an old man who was trying to chew a bone. And when the machine stopped after a few jerks, the smoke filtering up, and there was a mechanical screech, Omran was greatly disappointed, his big toy seemed to have run out of steam, no power left in it. He saw the short man, his head coming out of the steering cabin, seeking help from the onlookers, and begging them to reconstruct it. The wall ahead was wide and white... its green door was smiling... Omran, now, wished the machine to continue working until it would reach the wall, heading into a crash, then he would see it stop, with its teeth broken, and its front smashed. His eyes were on the lookout, silence reigned supreme round the machine, its smoke got mixed with the dust and gave it its own colouring. Omran then thought differently, that the toy should not be his great love for the great wall and its cheering colour... for it did not normally stand still, but, like this, gave few jerks, was loud for a bit, and then lost power again, the driver asking people to repair it. Omran's eyes questioned the faces of the people round the machine and he had the feeling that they did not comprehend the toy, they were still, senseless, for them there was no sudden revelation; and even when the machine stirred again before it stopped they were passively watching its wheels as if to urge it to pick itself up and get moving. They seemed to be fed up with the game. The way they stood there reminded him of young schoolboys watching a naughty colleague being punished by the schoolteacher during the break. The machine could hardly be heard. The people's collective gaze lay in the shadow of the white wall, the silvery glow of the door handle. The tiny man dared to look out of the cabin, then disappeared inside again as if silence horrified him. The moment of expectation lengthened in Omran's mind, it was as if he must be as attentive as when taking care not to miss the bell announcing the beginning of the school class. The machine was continuously shaking. The spouts of smoke from its top sounded like an old woman's coughs.

       The wall was always the same, its shadow changed its position so heavily that it was hardly noticeable. No one was sitting in the shade, it was unbothered by the machine. The wall's shadow was utterly defensive; in contrast to the bulldozer, it produced no smoke and got no man on top of it to urge people to help it out of its ordeal, its only power it derived from the wall itself which extended from the entrance of the alleyway up to the house lying next to it. People didn't seem to look at it ... their sad eyes were following the machine's movements, their noses inhaled smoke and the lobes of their ears seemed to have grown longer. They were sad and taciturn, a defeated football team awaiting the end of the match... And all of a sudden the voice of the machine started to be regular. The sporadic smoke turned into a very black and thick rope. The wheels took on a determined forward movement, making the people round beat a retreat muttering to themselves. The machine was determinedly moving forward, lifting its teeth in the air and coming down again, then it opened the jaws and moved on and on. When it had almost reached the wall, Omran filled his lungs with air, stopped breathing and clutched his school exercise books firmly. He didn't wait long before he saw the shadow giving way, the yellowish silver handle of the door was no more shiny. It was as if the machine was walking heavily on his heart among dust and smoke.

       And it was not long before he saw the courtyard of the house with its remaining three walls and the interior of the rooms and their green doors. The remaining walls were full of cracks and splinters just like his agonised heart... his eyes were shedding tears mixing them with sand so that his face looked like a patch of old freckles. He could not distinguish people's eyes. They were hidden behind a smokescreen of dust, their voices could not be heard. They were lost in the ensuing fall of masses of bricks on the floor. Were they trying to hold back their tears? As for Omran he never cried as he cried that same day and later on when he was sitting on his seat in the class the picture of the bulldozer wiping out walls one after another constantly came to his mind. He saw the bulldozer's teeth biting the shop of Abeed the greengrocer, dispersing lots of vegetables, like blood, he saw it eating up the house of Al Sadiq, leaving it open for the prying eyes of men and women, he then saw the heavy, heavy steps taking a heavy toll at a hut, dismantling it, and the hens running away from their cages, the kids chasing them. The whole road was eventually turned into a wasteland for the kids to play football in it while the Italians looked down from the tops of the balconies at the undisciplined kids chased by policemen.

       He was never as eloquent as he was that day. In his own words the machine was his staunch and sole enemy. To his classmate sitting next to him he said:
       'Big, big, as big as a high building.'

       His eyes visualised the pain caused by the movement of the machine as if it was walking on their chests, and what made it the more painful was that its victims did not nudge or stir, and the toy was no more a toy, no wall can withstand it, not even the double layered wall of the school, nor the headmaster's room. He told the students all about it while they were having their breakfast.
       'It was like a train and as noisy.'

       His way of describing it reached sometimes ecstatic and rhapsodic pitch as if it was a feast for the eyes. He made them relive what he saw by acting with movements and gestures the way the machine was pounding and moving walls and he was so absorbing that they moved aside to let him, the machine pass.

       The only difference was that he had two eyes while it had just one, and his two eyes were drenched with tears. He tried to make his hatred of the machine contagious to arouse in them the same deep resentment, and even to stop them being curious about it. Their curiosity he wished to transform into clear drops of tears, sharing with him the same lament for the walls and hatred for the machine. Its teeth were like an elephant, he said. A unanimous apprehension prevailed. He still could smell the smoke, its noise was still louder than the noise in the class and the teacher's lecture. Its one and only eye was looking at him, following him. Its arm trying to reach, to eat him up just like it did with the walls. It frightened grown-ups as well. Ornran was never frightened as he was making his way home, his heavy steps were trying to avoid the machine tracks... the roads were no more straight and lined with houses. They were like a courtyard full of skeletons of houses scattered round. The high buildings' balconies were like eyes supervising him stealing his way home. He was hoping desperately not to meet the machine's eye and let it spot him, use him for a frightful spree. To open up its teeth, crack his bones and silence the crying of his eyes. The road was deserted and silent. The walls reflected no shadows, no brass door handle shone. No bustling in the midday market-place and when Ornran approached Al Haja's hut he saw the yellow machine. It was put away and under its wheels there were patches of sticky black liquid and there was no smoke coming out of the spout. No light in the front. Its long arm was immobile and horizontal as if it were a man in a sleeping position. Its two jaws were locked and lazily dangling, and some bricks and sand could be seen between the teeth.

       A serpentine shadow could be seen lying to the right of the machine, a man could be seen sitting there, with the tea kit in front of him, making tea as skilfully as others.     
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       The nearer he got the more his fears grew, of the machine spotting him, moving its sleeping arm, rekindling the flame in its one and only eye and the man lying in its shadow to jump, stuff himself into the cabin and set it working to crush his bones. His fears were sweat drops growing in numbers and running down his legs, paralysing him. The machine's shadow was betraying an immense curiosity inviting him to come nearer to the man with the tea kit. His eyes continued to watch the machine and the machine's shadow would frighten him, equally, should it move, making the machine a shadow less monster. Incessantly he watched with his eyes on its dormant arm, the soily area round its wheels similar to the heaps of dust surrounding the cemetery, as he gathered the sound of oil drops from the fuel tank, reminding him of a loose water tap.

       Ornran's life will never witness an action-packed day as that day. He was moving, moving, towards the machine, tears receding to the folds of his heart, his steps growing wider and wider. Every time he felt the oil drops sticking to the black sweat pond underneath, he would closely hug his exercise books... but the distance between them was not disappearing. It persisted since it was made of fear, hatred and curiosity. He imagined the machine attacking walls one after another, pulling them down, but finally he found himself face to face with it; his wide-open eyes confronting the glassy, extinguished eye. He shook his head, and put his hands in front of his face and moved closer. He was sweating, and trying to resist an urgent desire to urinate. As if to attack it he made a shrilling noise, he shook himself again and touched her with two fingers. He felt the sun's heat running through its iron body and shrank back... his eyes facing its one and only eye, he put out his arm and tried to climb it. It was still inaccessible, possibly it was asleep, a big toy that does not feel the fumblings of the tiny. He started to turn round it many times, his feet stumbled on its sticky dark sweat. He saw its breathing pipe.

       And when he touched again the iron of its legs he did not feel any fear. He suddenly felt that it was a mere toy, a big toy though, that can breath and sweat. It was only when the short man sat inside its cabin and switched it on that it could move between houses and eat walls, and make road extensions of uninhabitable lands.