“I’m proud of what I’m doing.”
“The problem with intellectuals like you is that you are prison ers of books and theories. You don’t know anything about what really happens in your country. I’ve worked as a police officer for ten years in different governorates, in villages, hamlets, and alleys. I’ve come to know the lower depths of Egyptian society. I can assure you that Egyptians are not concerned with democracy at all. Besides, they are not cut out for it. Egyptians are concerned about three things only: their religion, their livelihood, and their children. And religion is the most important; the only thing that pushes Egyptians to revolt is when someone attacks their religion. When Napoleon came to Egypt and pretended to respect Islam, Egyptians supported him and forgot that he was an occupier.”
“It seems you haven’t read your history. Egyptians revolted against the French expedition twice within a three-year period and they killed the commander.”
He looked at me angrily. I felt some comfort in having insulted him. He went on in an arrogant tone of voice, “I don’t have time to waste with you. I wanted to help you but you insist on your stupidity. One thing you can be sure of is: that statement for which you are gathering signatures is just child’s play.”
“If it was just child’s play, then why did you take the trouble of coming here?”
“You’re playing with fire.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I am just warning you. If you don’t give up on this statement, you cannot imagine what I’ll do to you.”
“Do your worst,” I shouted, having got over the surprise. For the first time, it occurred to me to kick him out. He moved, backing off a few steps toward the door, saying, “You are plowing the sea. Do you think you’ll embarrass the regime in front of the Americans? I assure you the regime is as solid as a mountain and organically connected to the American establishment. Everything you’ve written in the statement is well known to the Americans and they couldn’t care less, so long as the Egyptian regime is looking after their interests.”
“So, you admit that the Egyptian regime is just a servant of the Americans.”
“I warn you for the last time. You’re mistaken to think that being in America will protect you from punishment. Come back to your senses, Nagi, if not for your own future then for the sake of your mother, who has toiled for years for you, and for your sister Noha, the student in the College of Economics and Political Science. She is a tender girl and would not withstand one night of detention at State Security. The officers there are lowlifes and they love women.”
“Get out of here.”
“You will pay dearly. You’ll discover how we can teach you manners, but it will be too late.” He said the last few words as he opened the door, then he suddenly turned toward me and said, “By the way, greetings to your Jewish beloved, Wendy. I’ve received videos of the two of you having sex. Thank you. They are very enjoyable.”
He let out a loud laugh then closed the door and disappeared. I collapsed on the nearest chair. I couldn’t describe how I felt at that moment. It was a mixture of shock, anger, and humiliation. I opened a bottle of wine and lit a cigarette and began to smoke and drink. How did Safwat get a copy of the statement? How did he come to know everything about me? More seriously: How did he enter the apartment? I got up and opened the door and examined it carefully. I found no sign of forced entry. He had used a copy of the key. Where did he get it from? There must be some kind of cooperation between Egyptian intelligence and the university administration. I should change residence at the earliest opportunity. I could cut down on my expenses to afford off-campus housing. I was possessed by a strange desire, so I got up and went to the bedroom, turned on the lights, and began to examine the walls, as if I were going to find the secret camera that had filmed Wendy and me. In a short while I laughed at myself, turned off the lights, and went back to the living room. I soon heard the sound of a key turning in the door. I got up, ready for a confrontation, but I saw Wendy, who said, smiling as soon as she saw me, “Hello. How are you?”
I kissed her as usual. I tried to seem natural. She exclaimed cheerfully, “Listen, Nagi. I’m going to the bathroom. Please close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you.”
“Can we do this some other time?”
“No, we can’t,” she said good-naturedly and planted a quick kiss on my cheek then dashed off to the bathroom. I gulped down my glass of wine and poured myself another and began to chide myself anew. How did I allow Safwat Shakir to break into my house and threaten me? Why didn’t I call the police? What he had done was a crime in American law; even if he had diplomatic immunity, I would have caused a major scandal for him. Why didn’t I do that?
“Are your eyes closed?” Wendy’s voice came from the bathroom. I closed my eyes as I lost myself in thought then I came to when I heard her voice nearby: “Now open your eyes.”
It was a strange sight: Wendy was wearing a belly dancing outfit; her breasts bulging out of a tight, low bra, revealing most of her chest, her belly fully exposed with a star covering her belly button, and her waist tied by a scarf that accentuated her hips. From that girdle long tassels descended, barely covering her bare legs. She was excited and happy. She turned around several times and cried, “What do you think? I am now a dancer from Andalusia. Do I look like the picture in your imagination?”
“Of course.”
“I had a very hard time finding the store that sold belly dancing outfits. Do you know what I did?”
“What?”
“I went to a costume party last year and I saw a girl wearing an outfit like this one. I kept looking for her telephone number until I found it and she told me where the store was.”
My ability to keep up with her was limited and fragile. I kept following her with my eyes while my mind was wandering off. She soon realized that, and her face clouded over. She sat next to me and asked me in alarm, “What’s wrong?”
Her appearance as she sat next to me in the dance outfit was bizarre. It was as if she were an actress sitting in the wings in her costume. It occurred to me to conceal what had happened, to ask her to leave, or to leave myself, using any excuse. Suddenly, however, I found myself telling her everything. She looked lost in deep thought and then said in a soft voice, “I had no idea you lived in such a police state.”
“Without American support the Egyptian regime wouldn’t last a single day.”
She put her arms around me and got so close I could feel her breath. She whispered, “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll go on collecting signatures.”
“Aren’t you afraid to?”
“Yes, naturally, but I’ll overcome it.”
“But it is no longer just you. They’ll harm your mother and sister.”
The faces of Noha and my mother materialized in my mind. I could see the scene with the officers and plainclothesmen storming the house and arresting them. I said in a loud voice, “Let them do what they want to do. I am not backing off.”
“You are free to take a stand. But what have your mother and sister done to deserve this?”
“They are no better than the mothers and sisters of tens of thousands of detainees.”
“Nagi, I truly don’t understand you. Why do you go looking for trouble?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you still care about Egypt’s problems now that you’re out of it?”
“It’s my country.”
“Egypt, like so many countries in the third world, is suffering from many deep-rooted problems that have accumulated over centuries. Your lifetime and my lifetime would not be enough to fix these problems.”
What she said was unexpected to me. I downed my drink, staring at her in disbelief. She got up and stood in front of me. Then she pulled my face toward her bare belly and whispered, “Our relationship is wonderful. With you I have feelings I’ve never known before. Please, think of our future.”
“I am not going to give up
on my duty.”
“Why don’t you think in a different way? America was built on the shoulders of talented, ambitious young people like you. They came from all over the world looking for a better future. America is the land of opportunity. If you stay here, you’ll do great things.”
“You’re talking like Safwat Shakir.”
“What?”
“Yes. You even use his very words.”
My voice sounded strange to me and it occurred to me that I was drunk. I knew that alcohol had a greater influence on me when I was tense. I responded to a fateful, persistent, mysterious feeling and asked her, “Isn’t it strange that Safwat Shakir knew about our relationship? Even more strange, where did he get a copy of the apartment key? Wendy, who fed him all this information?”
She stared at me, her eyes growing wider in disbelief. She said in a voice shaking with uncontrollable agitation, “What do you mean?”
“I don’t mean anything specific. I am just wondering: How did he know the details of our relationship? And if he had videotapes of us, there must be a camera in the bedroom. Who put it here?”
She looked at me for a moment then turned and rushed to the bathroom. I stayed put. I had no ability or desire to do anything. I was hurtling down the abyss at breakneck speed and I couldn’t stop. I poured another drink and took a big gulp. After a short while Wendy appeared. She’d put on her clothes and put the dance outfit back in the bag she had brought. Her face was different. She avoided looking at me and hurried toward the door. I hurried after her.
“Wendy.”
She didn’t turn around. I held on to her, but she struggled loose and pushed me with her hand. I saw her face at that moment, wet with tears. I said in a pleading voice, “Please, listen to me.”
But she left and slammed the door.
Chapter 30
“Dr. Baker is known for his fanaticism against Muslims, and I, thank God, am a Muslim proud of my religion. He tried more than once to make fun of Islam in front of me but I dumbfounded and scolded him, so he decided to take his revenge on me and fabricated this issue,” Danana said to Marwa, who was sitting in front of him on the sofa. Then he bowed his head, his face looking like that of someone stoically and patiently withstanding excruciating pain. Marwa, of course, had noticed several gaping holes in his account, so she said, trying to maintain a neutral smile, “This is a strange story.”
“Strange? Why? Your enemy is the enemy of your religion and God Almighty has said in the Noble Book: ‘Never will the Jews be satisfied with thee, neither the Christians, not till thou followest their religion.’”
“But you told me before that Dr. Baker likes Egyptians.”
“That’s what I thought until the dirty reality revealed itself. You know that I am kindhearted and am easily deceived by people.”
“Couldn’t it just be a misunderstanding?”
“I tell you he is going to expel me from the department, you tell me it’s a misunderstanding?” Danana shouted angrily.
Marwa kept silent for a moment then asked him, “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you go to the investigation hearing and tell them the truth?”
“You think Baker’s American colleagues will disbelieve him and believe me?”
He bowed his head then said in a subdued voice, “An injustice has been done to me. But God is great. He sent me Safwat Bey Shakir to help me.”
Marwa felt that the conversation was drifting into unknown territory filled with hidden possibilities, so she maintained her silence. Danana went on, as if talking to himself. “Safwat Bey promised me that he would settle the matter with the educational bureau, and after that, he’ll enroll me in another university.”
“Thank God.”
“Have you seen in your life a kinder and more generous man?”
“Of course not!”
“So, I ask you, for God’s sake, can I turn down any request by this man?” Marwa looked at him in silence, but he persisted sharply, “Answer me.”
“What exactly do you want?”
“I want nothing but what’s good. We, Marwa, are a couple. We are partners, in good times and bad. Right now I am going through an ordeal. Safwat Bey has done me a big favor.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Safwat Bey wants you to work with him.”
“Me?”
“Yes. He’ll appoint you as a secretary in his office.”
“But I’ve never worked as a secretary before.”
“It’s not that difficult. You’re intelligent and you’ll catch on quickly. If Safwat Bey wanted he could appoint ten American secretaries. But work in his office is subject to special considerations.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Whoever works with him will get to see highly classified documents. He wants you because he trusts you. American and Israeli intelligence will seek to recruit any secretary working with him to have access to our country’s secrets. Your work with Safwat Bey is a small return of his great favor, but it is also a patriotic act.”
Marwa fell silent again, as if the rush of events had discombobulated her and made her unable to think.
“What do you think?” Danana asked quickly and looked at her like someone who had thrown the dice in a backgammon game and was waiting for the result. He had prepared himself to convince her by any means. She must work with Safwat Shakir. He would urge her, beg her, quarrel with her, use her father to convince her if need be. He sat before her, ready for any reaction. Several moments passed, and then she raised her head toward him and said calmly with a mysterious smile on her face, “I accept.”
Chapter 31
How does winter turn into spring?
First the ice melts, and then life comes back to the dry branches and the flowers begin to come alive. That was how Carol’s life changed after she started working in commercials. She stopped her miserable search for a job and repaid, in installments, the money she had borrowed from her friend Emily. She bought new clothes for little Mark and got him a pass for the nearby bowling club. She gave Graham three elegant summer outfits and persisted until he started to buy his favorite Dutch pipe tobacco (about which he couldn’t hide his happiness). Then she bought a used Buick and painted the whole house, and she planted beautiful trees in the garden. One morning, she was having breakfast with Graham on the porch and wearing an elegant white cotton kimono (that she had bought from the popular Tigoro store). While he was smoking his pipe, drinking coffee, and reading the Chicago Tribune, she asked him, “What do you think, John? Our house has appreciated after renovation; if we put it up for sale now it can fetch a reasonable price. I can add to that from my savings and we can buy another house.”
Graham looked stunned. He kept playing with his beard for a few moments then said slowly, “That’s a good idea, but I’m attached to this house, Carol. I’ve lived here for twenty years. Everything in it reminds me of parts of my life.”
“We’ll move to a bigger and more beautiful house.”
“My feelings might be foolishly romantic, but I actually can’t imagine myself in another house.” She looked disappointed. He held her hand and whispered, “In any case, I promise you I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t do anything against your will.”
“I’ll do whatever makes you happy.”
She looked at him, overflowing with feeling toward him. She rushed to him, put her arms around him, and showered him with kisses. She loved him more than she ever had.
Carol had finally come to terms with her new job and was at peace with herself. The first time she took off her clothes in front of Fernando, when she felt his cold hand touching her bare body as he prepared her for the shoot, she was crushed by humiliation; she felt dizzy, as if she were going to faint. With time, however, her aversion diminished and she began to get used to it. She said to herself: Fernando is gay; he is not aroused by a woman’s body; actually he might be disgusted by it
. Why do I feel awkward when I bare myself before him? Isn’t this my job and his job? Would I have felt ashamed if he were shooting my hands or feet? Isn’t this a paradox? Aren’t my breasts part of my body, like other parts? My feeling of shame is a result of remnants of ancient, inherited ideas that consider a woman’s body private property that can only be used after permission is granted by her father or her husband. These are just cock-and-bull stories. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I am an actress, using my body to express myself before the camera, no more and no less. What’s so shameful about that? Besides, did I have any other choice? I couldn’t have turned down this job. I couldn’t stand causing more troubles for Graham, who loves me and loves my son and has endured endless hardship for us, and in return, I gave him nothing but misery. A person might endure poverty when young, but to have to bear it after sixty is really a tragedy. Moreover, what has little Mark done? His father refuses to support him. I have to provide him with a life of dignity. I won’t forget how happy he was with the new clothes and how overjoyed he was rolling that bowling ball, aiming it at the pins. If offered this job again I would accept it a hundred times for Mark and Graham, the two people I love the most in this world.
Thus she convinced herself and calmed her doubts. She hid the truth from Graham. She told him that she’d found a job in radio commercials, that they liked her voice and the way she delivered, so they gave her a high salary. When Graham asked her when the commercials were broadcast, she had prepared the answer. She sighed and said, “The commercials I record are bought by a small station in Boston that you can’t get in Chicago.” Then she feigned a smile and whispered in a dreamy tone, “If I am successful, maybe I’ll sign a contract with a major station in Chicago.”
Graham planted a quick kiss on her lips and said, “Well, we have to protect your larynx, since it is our national treasure.”
Amazingly she actually did become successful. Executives at Double X liked her and asked Fernando to shoot another commercial in which she did even better because she had gained experience expressing herself with her body before the camera. Two weeks later, Fernando called her and asked to meet. He welcomed her warmly and said as he lit a joint as usual, “Carol dear, we are going from success to success. They called me this morning and said they wanted you for a third commercial.”
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