An expression of satisfaction appeared on Hagg Shanawany’s face. He passed his fingers over the corners of his mouth, a habit of his when thinking, and said, “Congratulations on your new job. I shall ask legal affairs to draw up the contract and am prepared to comply with all your requests.”
“I have only one request, and have every confidence in your generosity, sir.”
The hagg’s eyes widened and he said, “I’m sure we can come to an understanding. Just state the salary you’re asking for.”
Nourhan looked down for a moment. Then she slowly raised her head, looked at him almost in sorrow, and said, “Material things have never concerned me. I shall be happy to accept whatever salary you set for me, sir.”
“In that case,” the hagg said warily, surprise appearing on his face, “what is it you want?”
Nourhan sighed and said, “My only request is that you allow me to appear on screen with my hair covered, sir. I was obliged to uncover it when state television banned the headscarf.”
“But you don’t normally cover your hair!”
“I have a problem that you, sir, are perhaps the person most likely to appreciate. If I were to wear the head covering in ordinary life and take it off in front of the camera, I would not be able to bear the feeling of guilt. My greatest hope is that Our Lord will be kind to me and allow me to wear the head covering till the day I die.”
“God forbid! God grant you good health!” muttered the hagg.
Nourhan pursed her lips, looked at him almost merrily, and, like a child asking if she can go out and play, said, “So you’re going to let me wear the head covering on screen, Your Excellency?”
“God forbid I should ban what God has declared lawful!”
“Thank you, Hagg! I’ll mention you every time I pray, I swear! And you should know, my prayers get answered.”
The hagg laughed for the first time and said, “Thank you very much in that case, really. I could certainly use your prayers.”
A little later, Nourhan asked leave to go. The hagg almost told her to stay but he suppressed his desire and stood up to say goodbye to her. As she rose in haste, her dress, despite her best efforts, was pulled tight, revealing the shape of her breasts and a part of her backside. It all happened quickly, but the hagg took note. In a low voice, Nourhan said, “I don’t know how to thank Your Excellency. Please excuse me, but I don’t shake hands with men, following the example of the Noblest of Creation…”
The hagg interrupted her by saying, “The best of prayers and blessing be upon him! I’m very happy with you, Nourhan. I hope we can become good friends.”
Such was their first meeting. Had Nourhan tried to seduce Hagg Shanawany? The answer must be, “Absolutely not!” Nourhan was a married Muslim lady who feared Our Lord and maintained her husband’s honour whether he was present or absent. Similarly, when he met her, Shanawany had abided by the One True Religion and been modest in his speech; indeed, he hadn’t even shaken her hand, in accord with the opinion of the great majority of Sunni scholars on the matter. True, she had sat in the office with him with no one else present, which might be considered “seclusion with a stranger,” forbidden by religion, but when she entered the office the director and his assistant had been there, and they had left on urgent business. It follows that she was not responsible for finding herself alone with the hagg. Nourhan had made absolutely no effort to seduce Hagg Shanawany, who would, anyway, have been hard to seduce as he was surrounded by women: the most beautiful women of Egypt would have loved to catch his fancy, which in turn would have resulted in much good fortune. Not to mention that he had two wives—the hagga, who was the mother of his children, and the actress Salwa Hamdan, who, following their marriage, had found guidance at his hands and taken to covering her hair and appearing only in religious dramas. Nourhan signed the contract and was happily surprised to see the large amount awarded her by the hagg as salary, along with a healthy percentage of the income from the advertisements that would be run during her show. What mattered to her most, though, was the deep psychological relief that she felt at the fact that she would, for the first time, appear in front of the cameras with her hair covered. She was content, expected great things from her new job, and spared no effort in preparing for the programme, even though certain problems began to manifest themselves in her relationship with her husband, Essam Shaalan. From one perspective, she had neither the time nor the energy to go to see him as she had been accustomed to in the past. He phoned her and pressed her to do so, and she made numerous excuses; in the end, though, what obliged her to go was her fear of offending God, since a woman who refuses to give her husband his conjugal rights will pass the night cursed by the angels. That day, she had passed by his flat after work. She was exhausted and in a hurry, and Essam was drunk as usual and kept going on about how the Egyptians had failed in all their revolutions. She’d heard his opinions on the matter many times and was in no state to discuss them with him, so she took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom, where she gave him his due and then went into the bathroom. On coming out, she was surprised to find that he’d fallen asleep from fatigue and intoxication. She gathered her things together and left. And the second time, she’d found him drunk again, so she’d given him his legal due, but when she came out of the bathroom, she’d found him in the living room, drinking. In a sudden rage, she said to him heatedly, “By the way, you’re drinking too much. It’s your business, of course, but I want you to know that alcohol is a major sin, and God has cursed anyone who drinks it, serves it, or transports it.”
“What is it you want?” Essam said, looking at her disapprovingly.
“I want you to fear God!”
“Fear God yourself and leave me be.”
“Our Lord has commanded me to counsel you. It’s the duty of a Muslim wife. Alcohol is forbidden by religion, Essam.”
“The alcohol’s got nothing to do with you. Stick to Shanawany.”
She began collecting her things together, preparing to leave, but Essam burst out, “I know that that boss of yours Shanawany is a big-time crook.”
Angrily, she responded, “Please, Essam! It’s forbidden to speak ill of anyone when he isn’t there.”
“And the land and the bank loans he’s purloined, they’re considered permissible by religion?”
She took refuge in silence, stood up, bag in hand, and went over to the mirror to take one last look at herself. Essam, however, came up behind her and shouted, “It’s the dirty types like Shanawany who caused the fall of Mubarak.”
Calmly, she said, “I’m going. Bye.”
“Stay with me for a little!” Essam cried out, unexpectedly.
Nourhan yelled, “You’re sitting here drinking and you don’t have any work you have to do. I work all day long and I want to get up early tomorrow.”
Essam, who at this moment appeared to be totally drunk, said, “So why do you come, then?”
“So that Our Lord won’t be angry with me.”
“If you come here for Our Lord and not for me, then you’d better not come again.”
She left, slamming the door behind her, but the following day, when he phoned to apologise, he was amazed to hear her say, “I’ve forgotten all about it. But I do want to see you.”
He said she’d be welcome, and she could sense the happiness in his voice on the telephone. She came at the appointed time. He was drinking, as usual, but she made no comment. She shook his hand, sat down in front of him in the living room, and said, “Essam, thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
“Don’t mention it!” he said, good-humouredly.
Then she looked at him and said calmly, “This is as far as we go.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that just as we came together as friends, we should part as friends.”
He stared at her as though he couldn’t und
erstand. She smiled and said affectionately, “Essam, you’re a decent man, and I’ll never forget the time we spent together, but our time is up. I’m asking for a divorce.”
He lit a cigarette. He had sobered up a little, and he placed his hand on her shoulder, but she pushed him away with gentle determination. Softly he said, “Please, Nour, think. We can’t destroy our life just like that.”
“It’s all up to fate.”
“When I spoke to you so rudely, I was drunk, and I apologised.”
“Look, Essam. I have done nothing in my life, thank God, that I haven’t first made sure is in accordance with religion. If a Muslim woman seeks a divorce, she is not obliged to give her reasons, and there’s more than one Tradition to that effect. Our Lord, great and glorious, has said, ‘A woman must be retained honourably or released with kindness.’ ”
“Fine. I suggest that you take a while to think it over.”
“I’ve thought and I’ve decided.”
He looked down for a while, then said, angrily, “Listen, Nour, I know why you’re asking for a divorce.”
“The reason doesn’t matter. Please, divorce me.”
As though he hadn’t heard her, he went on, “You grabbed on to me when I was useful. Now I’ve become a burden to you.”
“May the Almighty forgive you!”
“Stop this nonsense! You make yourself out to be the Grand Lady Sheikh of Islam but you’re a liar and an opportunist.”
“May Our Lord forgive you!”
His anger suddenly swelled and he said in a loud voice, “Listen, sunshine. My name is Essam Shaalan and no one ever put one over on me. I’m not someone you can take what you want from and leave.”
“Religion gives me the right to ask for divorce.”
“I don’t give a damn about religion.”
“Fear God, Essam!”
“I’m not going to divorce you, Nour. I look forward to seeing what you’re going to do about it.”
39
My darling Asmaa,
Egypt has awoken. The revolution has brought out the best in the Egyptians, just as tyranny brought out the worst. I completely understand why the headmaster and teachers support the revolution, but the real test will be whether they can change their behaviour. We have been victorious in the first battle, but the war will be long. We have overthrown the dictator, but the corrupt regime remains in power. The alliance of thieving capitalists remains in place. No one has touched it and now it’s changing its colours like a chameleon in order to stay in power. As you notice, I keep my telephone conversations short. Obviously, we are still under surveillance. The security services remain as they were even if they’ve changed their headquarters. These are confirmed facts. This is why I keep any important details to myself and then put them in writing for you, as we agreed.
After Essam Shaalan got into his car and left, the military police officer accompanied me to the commanding officer’s office.
“Am I under arrest?” I asked, as I followed him.
He laughed and said, “God forbid! The commanding officer just wants to make your acquaintance.”
We made our way to a small building behind the factory that had belonged to the Ministry of Supply and that the army had subsequently taken as its headquarters, following the withdrawal of the police. It was after 6 a.m. when the commander received me welcomingly—a colonel in his forties. The surprise waiting for me in his office was Fabio, the owners’ representative. I was astonished to find him there at that early hour. He’d brought an interpreter with him, which is something he does only for important meetings. There was also a young man in civilian clothes, whom the commander introduced as Major Tamer (I think he must be National Security). I shook hands with everybody, and when the commanding officer asked me what I’d drink, I ordered Nescafé. I was tired and needed to concentrate. I realised that every word I said at this meeting would have an impact on what happened at the factory. The colonel started the conversation, saying, “Welcome to the leader of the workers!”
“I’m not a leader. I just represent the workers because they elected me to the union committee and the four-man committee.”
“Could you explain to us what this ‘four-man committee’ is?”
“It’s a committee elected by the workers to manage the factory in place of Engineer Essam Shaalan.”
“So you decided to nationalise the factory?”
“That is not correct. The dismissal of Engineer Essam was a fundamental demand of the workers. The factory will not halt production for even an instant. The profits will be delivered in full to the owners of the factory after deducting what is owed to the workers.”
Fabio was listening to a simultaneous translation as I said this. He interrupted me angrily and the interpreter translated what he said into Arabic, as follows: “This is wrong and I will not permit it to happen. The workers do not have the right to dismiss the manager. Such things are the prerogative of management. Plus, what are these profits that you’re demanding, when the factory is losing money?”
I looked at the colonel and said, “If Your Excellency will permit me, I would like to speak without anyone interrupting.”
The colonel looked at Fabio and said, “Kindly allow him to finish what he has to say.”
I explained to the colonel why the Italian company was deliberately running our factory at a loss while it made all its profits at the three other factories that it owned outright. The colonel asked for clarification on certain points, and I gave him detailed answers. He began taking notes and I felt that he sympathised with me, unlike Major Tamer, who didn’t utter a word and whom I noticed more than once looking at me with contempt and hatred. The colonel then gave the floor to Fabio, who spoke angrily and arrogantly, repeating what he’d said before about the prerogatives of the board. The colonel let him speak until he’d finished, then asked me for my opinion, so I said, “Mr. Fabio speaks as though we hadn’t had a revolution and hadn’t deposed Hosni Mubarak. From now on, the workers will impose their management and the board will not be able to repress them the way it did before.”
Fabio said, “I’m warning you and your colleagues, because what you’re doing is against the law.”
I said, “The revolution imposes its own laws.”
“I’ll bring cases against you in Egypt and in Italy.”
“You won’t be able to, because the workers will manage the factory and give your company what it is owed and will give the Egyptian government what it is owed, but after we have given the workers all their delayed dividends, as specified in the contract. You’re the ones who violated the contract and denied the workers the dividends you’d undertaken to pay.”
“We will never pay dividends to the workers of a factory that is losing money!”
“Mr. Fabio, I’m not going to repeat what I’ve said. Nothing you say now will make any difference. The factory is under the control of the workers.”
At this, Fabio looked at the colonel and shouted, “How can the Egyptian army permit such anarchy?”
“That question would better be addressed to all of you,” the colonel said. “The army is currently carrying out a patriotic mission in keeping the country safe following the disappearance of the police.”
I responded, “The withdrawal of the police was deliberate, sir. The police decided to punish the people for the revolution by withdrawing and creating chaos in the country.”
The colonel looked annoyed and said, “That’s not what we’re here to talk about, Mazen. My mission is to keep the entire Turah area safe. It follows that I shall prevent any problems anywhere and I have complete authority to do so.”
We all fell silent, and the colonel went on calmly, “Look, Mazen, will you undertake before me to preserve the factory’s installations and production?”
I replied, “Sir, the workers will never permit acts o
f destruction in the factory, and they have given an undertaking that production won’t stop even for an instant. I and my colleagues on the four-man committee are prepared to write any undertaking management may request, be it for the integrity of the factory or a guarantee of the profits.”
The colonel appeared relieved and he looked at Fabio. Then he said slowly, allowing time for translation, “Mr. Fabio, write any undertaking and I will have them sign it in front of me.”
Grudgingly, Fabio acceded to this. I thanked the colonel, shook hands with them all, and left. While I was walking back to the factory, I saw Major Tamer riding next to Fabio in his Hummer. Day had come and I was surprised to see that the workers on the night shift hadn’t left but had joined the workers on the morning shift. Large numbers of workers had come from their homes to join their colleagues. In view of the growing number of workers, we decided to meet on the football pitch. I spoke over a sound system and told the workers what had happened, and they cheered and shouted, “God is great!” and repeated their slogans:
“Long Live the Revolution!
Long Live the Workers’ Struggle!
Bread! Freedom! Justice for All!”
The strange thing is that I was very moved by the workers’ joy and their slogans. Will you believe, Asmaa, that I cried? I don’t know why. Perhaps because I remembered my father, who spent years in detention and suffered torture and banishment all for the sake of a moment like this. We are victorious, Asmaa! The revolution is scoring one victory after another but we still have a lot of work ahead of us. My time is totally taken up by the factory, so forgive me if I’ve been bad at contacting you. I love you.
Mazen
40
The corridors of Qasr El Eini Hospital are long and dim. Madany traversed them with rapid steps that turned, at the end, into as much of a run as his ageing and exhausted body would allow. He entered the room panting. Khaled lay on the bed, his white coat splattered with blood. His eyes were closed and his features had relaxed, as though he were on the point of smiling, while in the middle of his forehead was a round hole that looked, at first glance, as though it had been drawn on and wasn’t real. Khaled’s colleagues hurried to receive “Uncle” Madany. Some were crying. They surrounded him for a moment, then fell silent, as though unable to think of what to say. Madany ignored them and rushed towards the bed, an expression on his face that indicated that what he was seeing was disturbing indeed, but quite familiar. In a worried voice, he said, “Khaled! What’s up?”
The Republic of False Truths Page 25