“Right.”
“And how many did you love?”
“Would you believe me if I told you that this is the first time I’ve really been in love?”
She took hold of his hand and whispered, “You know, if we weren’t in a restaurant, I’d give you a hug!”
Ashraf smiled and lit a joint. She looked at him reproachfully and said, “Ashraf Bey, that’s your third hashish cigarette.”
He nodded and said, “It’s the last one, Ikram. I promise.”
She fell silent and sighed, looking ravishing to him. He took a deep drag and the soft, warm effect of the hashish overcame him. He decided to ignore anything that made him anxious and enjoy every moment he was with her. Suddenly, however, he noticed the aged waiter running towards him, a few people at his back. It crossed his mind that they might be hallucinations, caused by being high, and he shut his eyes hard, then opened them again, but the scene didn’t change. The waiter and those with him were still advancing rapidly towards him. Ashraf said to Ikram, in an unsteady voice, “There seems to be some kind of trouble in the restaurant.”
“Oh no!” Ikram exclaimed, but Ashraf forced a smile and said, “Hold on, Ikram. Don’t get rattled. Everything’s going to be just fine.”
He threw the cigarette he’d been smoking into the Nile and was about to throw the piece of hashish that was squirreled away in his jacket pocket too, but then remembered how much it had cost him and decided to give the matter more reflection. Putting his hand into the pocket, he closed it over the hashish, and adopted a state of readiness: if he was sure that there was danger, he’d throw it into the Nile; if he survived, it would survive along with him. Suddenly, his thought processes came to a halt and his mind went as blank as if he’d lost consciousness. Then he became aware of the waiter’s hoarse voice shouting, “You there, sir!”
18
“By the way,” Khaled said, as he walked beside Danya, “tomorrow’s the demonstration.”
“I thought we’d discussed that,” Danya responded.
“I thought you might have changed your mind.”
“Khaled, I’m not going to take part in the demonstration. That’s my final decision.”
She was upset. Silence reigned for a few moments and then she spoke about something else, and he responded curtly and seemed annoyed. Suddenly, she stopped and said, “You don’t want to talk to me? Fine. I’m going. Bye.”
He apologised, started joking with her, and soon she was laughing. She loved these manoeuvrings—anger, blame, reproach, and coquetry, always ending up with reconciliation. The usual lovers’ cycle. Suddenly, he asked her, “What do you intend to do after graduating?”
“It depends on my score in the finals.”
“I don’t mean medicine. I want to know how you imagine our future.”
“All things are in God’s hands.”
“To be honest, Danya, I want to know if you’re going to keep our relationship up after graduation.”
The word “relationship” rang in her ears with a happy sound, but she said nothing, so he went on, “I’m waiting for an answer from you—yes or no?”
“To what?”
“Do you or don’t you want to maintain our relationship after graduation?”
“It’s the first time you’ve talked to me about the subject.”
“I think it’s my right.”
“Can I give you my answer at the gate?”
“Why?”
“So I can give it and run!”
She laughed and he felt an irresistible desire to hug her. They suspended the conversation until they’d reached the gate. There, he stood in front of her and said, “Please give me your answer.”
“Not today.”
“You promised.”
She remained silent, so he said, “Yes or no?”
She looked at him and nodded her head in assent, then her face reddened and she turned quickly away towards the gate without saying a word. She knew he was following her with his eyes and decided that she wouldn’t look back. On the luxurious back seat of the car, she relaxed, thought again of what he’d said, and smiled. What had made him open the subject today? Why hadn’t he spoken of an engagement and just used the word “relationship”? Perhaps, like her, their approaching graduation was making him anxious. Perhaps, like her, he knew that marriage was out of the question. She was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of tenderness. She remembered his face and wished she’d put her hands on his cheeks and kissed him on his forehead. She felt, at that moment, that she loved him. She’d never be able to forget him, or imagine herself with another man. She knew their getting married was impossible, but might not a miracle happen? Might not her father, for example, admire Khaled’s morals, overlook his circumstances, and welcome their marriage? If that happened, she’d be the happiest person in the world. An idea occurred to her, and the moment she reached the house, she changed her clothes, and went to her mother’s room. Hagga Tahany was seated at her oak desk, in the spacious bedroom. She was wearing her spectacles and appeared to be reviewing some important papers. She smiled when she saw Danya, who kissed her on the cheek, and said jokingly, “That’s enough work! Come and talk to your daughter for a little.”
Her mother appeared to hesitate, then said, “I’ll talk to you for a little, but I really have to review the budget.”
Danya knew how to make her mother do what she wanted, and she pulled her by the hand, sat her down on the sofa, and said, “I want to talk to you about something important. Nothing to do with business and religion.”
Her mother looked at her disapprovingly and said, “God forgive you! There’s nothing in the world that doesn’t have to do with religion.”
Danya said jokingly, “Didn’t you tell me that your father was from a humble background?”
“God rest his soul.”
“Could you tell me something about him?”
“What’s made you think of him?”
“I want to know more about him.”
Her mother hesitated, then said, with feeling, “Your grandfather, God rest his soul, was a humble man but a great one. We were three girls. Your grandfather laboured honestly till he had raised us, given us the best possible education, and seen each of us settled in her own home.”
“What did he do?”
“Why does it matter to you?”
“Please, Mama. I want to know.”
“He was an usher at the court in Tanta. But we were never ashamed of his job. On the contrary, we were always proud of him.”
There was silence, then Danya put her arms around her and said in a dreamy voice, “So no one can hold it against a young man who has morals and an excellent education that his father is from a humble background.”
The expression on Hagga Tahany’s face changed. She pushed Danya away from her so she wouldn’t be able to affect her so much and gave her a searching, suspicious look. Then she said, “That was back then. Things were different for us than they are for you.”
“Different how?”
“Back then, people had morals. Everyone, rich or poor, had manners and was good-hearted. Now the poor bear grudges and have a bad attitude.”
“In every age, there are good people and bad.”
“In the old days, a bad person was rare. Now a good person is.”
“But you know lots of good people.”
“Why are you beating about the bush? If you have something to say, say it.”
“I’m just talking generally.”
Her mother gave her a stern look and said, “I, however, am not talking generally. You, Danya, occupy a high position in society. You have to form an alliance with someone who is your equal in everything. That is the view of religion, and Sheikh Shamel has stressed it often.”
“I wasn’t talking about alliances,” Danya said in a soft v
oice, but her mother went on in resolute tones, “I’m going to tell you something and you need to ‘wear it like an earring’ so you can spare us and yourself trouble: you must not form a relationship with anyone who is less than you. That can never happen. Religion forbids it, and your father and I will never agree to it.”
19
Dear Asmaa,
I shall forever remember that we witnessed the miracle together.
Where are you? I hope you’re well. I phoned you but found your phone was turned off. I got home, half dead with exhaustion, of course, but very happy. There were the people they have so long accused of submissiveness and cowardice rising up like a giant to throw off the dictatorship that has humiliated them for thirty years! The thousands who gathered in Tahrir Square and all the other squares of Egypt, they’re the real Egyptian people, the ones in whose name everyone claims to speak but whom no one actually knows. We have begun the battle for change and will be victorious, but the victory won’t be easy. The regime will fight viciously to defend its existence and will have no compunction about committing every conceivable crime. Did you know that firing tear gas of that concentration is considered an act of homicide? Did you see how many fell to the ground, choking on the gas? Did you know that the regime has been shooting demonstrators dead in Alexandria, Suez, and other cities since the morning? We have reports of the disappearance of dozens of demonstrators in the various provinces who in all probability have been killed and buried in unknown graves.
You must have thought I was insane to declare my feelings in the middle of the demonstration. Believe me, I couldn’t have found a more appropriate time than the moment of revolution to tell you that I love you. My relationship with you is bigger than the simple relationship of a man with a woman. You are my partner in the dream. Our affair has always been linked to the Egypt for whose birth at our hands we struggle—the other Egypt, new, just, and free of corruption. I shall always remember your reaction when I told you “I love you!”: confusion and astonishment made your face very beautiful. If we hadn’t been in the square, I would have kissed you on the spot. Even now, I don’t understand how we were separated. When they started firing gas canisters, I ran, and I thought you were behind me. I saw the goons were arresting demonstrators on Talaat Harb Street, so I summoned up my courage and ran in the other direction. I went through the thick cloud of gas and came out on Champollion Street. I kept running until I stopped in front of Cinema Miami. It was about one in the morning. I found about twenty demonstrators around me, two of them girls. We looked at one another, panting, as though we couldn’t believe we’d survived. We needed a while to organise our thoughts and talk. Suddenly we noticed, on the opposite pavement, a street sweeper, not less than sixty years of age. His appearance at that moment was bizarre. Have you ever heard of a street sweeper working at one in the morning? He was wearing a sweeper’s orange uniform and pulled behind him a battered broom that I don’t think could have swept up anything. He advanced with slow steps till he was facing us on the opposite pavement and shouted in a hoarse voice that echoed down the street, “Children, you’ve begun! Keep going to the end! Mind you don’t retreat!”
His words were at odds with his appearance and his job. We remained silent, so he shouted in a louder voice, “Mind you don’t wound the snake and then leave it! You have to finish it off! If you don’t kill the snake, it will kill you!”
It was a strange scene. I thought for a moment I was dreaming. The young people clapped warmly for the sweeper, who seemed to neither see nor hear them, as though he’d appeared just to say those words. He pulled on his broom and walked slowly off till he entered Abd El Khaleq Sarwat Street and disappeared. One of the young men who were standing there cried, “What do we do now?”
A discussion began. Some colleagues wanted to go back to the square but I had a different idea. I said to them, “We’ve had a victory over the regime and held a historic demonstration. In my opinion, we should go back to our houses and demonstrate again tomorrow somewhere security isn’t expecting us.”
“Who says that if we go we’ll be able to demonstrate again tomorrow?” a girl exclaimed.
“We’ll fix the place on Facebook,” I told her.
Excitedly, she said, “Firstly, the government could close Facebook down at any moment. Secondly, the demonstration didn’t succeed thanks to the bloggers, it succeeded thanks to the ordinary people who don’t even know what Facebook means. The people who came from Ard El Lewa, Embaba, and Nahya are the ones who supported us and they’re waiting in the square now. We mustn’t let them down.”
Voices were raised in support and I realised that most of the people there were against me. I confess their opposition annoyed me, so I said, “Do you think we’re going to arrest Hosni Mubarak this evening? Our battle against the regime needs stamina. If we go back to Tahrir Square now, we’ll be seized immediately. What’s the point of making a present of ourselves to the security forces?”
A youth came up to me and said angrily, “Would you mind listening to me?”
“Go ahead.”
“My name is Hasan, from Ismailiya. I have a science degree and I’ve been without work for ten years. I have no hope of anything. I came tonight with two options—get rid of Hosni Mubarak or die. I’m not afraid of death. I might as well be dead anyway.”
Suddenly his voice trembled and he burst into tears. We were all moved and stopped talking. I told them, “I’m with you whatever you decide to do.”
Their voices rose: “Back to the square!” I went back with them and on the way, we found other groups of demonstrators who’d fled the gas and then decided to go back to the square like us. It’s ten in the morning now. I left the square full of thousands of demonstrators. I’ll sleep for a little, then go back. Please, tell me you’re okay. Long live the revolution!
Mazen
Important PS: What I said to you in the square was from the heart. I really do love you.
20
That same morning, General Alwany woke his wife and said, “Good morning. Pack me a change of underwear and some shirts. I’ll send a private to get them at noon.”
Hagga Tahany struggled for a few moments to focus and emerge from the kingdom of sleep. When she saw that her husband was already dressed, she was astonished. Getting out of bed carefully to spare the pains in her knees, she said, “Are you going away?”
The general replied brusquely, “I shall spend the night at the office every day.”
She looked at him anxiously. “Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Everything will be fine, God willing.”
In a smooth, feminine tone at odds with her amazing size, she whispered, “Ahmad…please…set my heart at rest.”
He planted a quick kiss on her cheek and, struggling to keep control of his emotions, said, “I can’t tell you any details. Egypt is facing a conspiracy. Pray to Our Lord that He stand by us and save her!”
She uttered a heartfelt prayer, then placed his hand between her two plump ones, muttered a religiously approved charm, and exclaimed, with feeling, “There is no god but God!”
“Muhammad is the prophet of God!” responded the general as he hurried out. It occurred to him to say goodbye to Danya. Gently, he opened the door to her room and found her sleeping. Going over to her, he contemplated her face, which looked exactly as it had when she was a child: when she slept, she would open her lips a little and look as innocent and beautiful as an angel. He went out, closing the door quietly. A few minutes later he was in his bulletproof car, his expression sharp and alert. On the road, he received reports from all the provinces. He issued his orders slowly, articulating each word as carefully as if aiming bullets, one after another, each of which had to hit its target. Instead of making its way to the Apparatus’s building, however, the car followed another route until it came to a halt in front of a large villa in the district of Zamalek that looked out over th
e Nile.
The guards jumped from their cars and secured General Alwany’s entry to the villa, then remained outside, their weapons at the ready, while two more accompanied him from the moment he passed through the door. General Alwany made his way to the back garden, where he went to see the other officers who were in position there with their weapons, greeting them and exchanging with them a few quick words, including expressions of encouragement. Then he went up to the roof of the villa where he found more officers armed with revolvers and automatic rifles, as well as seven snipers with modern rifles who had taken up positions covering each direction. He greeted them all, then went back downstairs to the first-floor room that had been set aside for him as an office, where screens had been suspended that transmitted the demonstrations in Cairo, Alexandria, Suez, and the other cities of Egypt. He asked for a cup of medium-sweet Turkish coffee, which he slowly sipped as he followed events. After approximately half an hour, the minister of the interior arrived. General Alwany shook his hand and the minister embraced him warmly. General Alwany smiled and said, playfully, “So the country has to be turned upside down for me to see you?”
“I’m at your service, sir.”
“What do you say we talk outside?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He pulled out his mobile phone and placed it on the desk, and the minister did the same. Then he took the minister’s arm under his and they went out to a distant corner of the garden, where there were a table and two seats, on which they sat. The guards understood what General Alwany wanted and withdrew to a distance that allowed them to monitor the place without being able to hear the conversation. In sharp tones General Alwany said, “In response to circumstances, I’ve decided to move our activities outside of the Apparatus, as a precautionary measure.”
The minister said, “We are preparing alternative headquarters, sir, and will move the important departments there today, or tomorrow at the latest.”
The Republic of False Truths Page 14