In the morning Youssef had found three dead sparrows in the garden while smoking his first cigarette of the day. There they were, lying on the dry lawn. The heat had grabbed them by there tiny necks. He pushed with his slipper against one of them while scratching his furry chest. "It's the will of Allah," he thought. Immediately followed by the question either he should or not go to the cafe? Doing what? Playing cards, drinking tea, eating dates with the squalling television in the background. But he had something to discuss with Recep. He could throw down the cards, push back from his chair and leave the game? What about going to the swimming pool and discuss the matter there? Yes, that was a far more better idea. He nodded his head and disappeared in the house looking for his trunks.
...
This is why there were so many Turkish men sitting on the benches next to the pool while I was swimming my 80 lengths. Driven away by the heat, they looked for a cooler place to meet. My monotonous bath walked the Oriental way for a few hours.