Egypt Rising

by Stan Schatt

  I yelled before I could stop myself and then kicked my leg. The rat flew off and hit a wall. It squeaked and ran behind it. My hands shook so much that it took a while for me to get over it. I took several deep breaths to calm myself before continuing down the street. I stared ahead and didn’t see anyone; at least no one heard me scream.

  I thought I heard footsteps behind me after I had walked several minutes at a very brisk pace. I turned but didn’t see anyone, so I walked even faster. Now I was almost running. Another couple of blocks and I would be near the embassies that lined the thoroughfare. Once there, I figured that the heavier traffic would mean extra pairs of eyes might keep someone from attacking me.

  I heard the footsteps once again. This time when I turned, I saw two men were racing after me. I knew with their long legs, they soon would catch me. Both were shabbily dressed. One wore his hair long and had a shadow under his lip. The other was short and muscular with a dark beard. They rapidly closed the gap. I realized there was no way to evade the men. Soon they would be on top of me. I decided that it would be better to choose a place where I might attract attention.

  I stopped at a corner that intersected a major thoroughfare where I hoped cars might soon come. I turned and watched the two men approach. The short man was grinning while his companion was tight-lipped.

  The taller man spoke Arabic that revealed he was not highly educated.

  “A virtuous woman would not be walking alone.”

  “Leave me alone.” I used the most basic street Arabic, hoping that they wouldn’t identify me as a foreigner.

  “I hear Western women love to do things our women are forbidden to do,” the shorter man said and ran his tongue across his mouth in anticipation.

  My heart was beating so fast I thought I would faint. I scolded myself. My martial arts tutor had trained me for situations like this. My best weapon was that these men didn’t think I could defend myself. I decided to play helpless and look for an opening. The one piece of advice Mister Tanaka had hammered into me was that if there is more than one attacker, be sure to take out one immediately to even the odds.

  The tall man slowly drew closer. He reached out to grab my arm. I pretended to swoon and almost fell into his arms. His garlic-laden breath was almost suffocating. When I felt him relax his grip as he observed my helplessness, I shifted my weight and grabbed his arm and began twisting it. As he screamed in pain and bent his head down, I slammed my right elbow into his neck and felt a crunch. He fell heavily to the ground and lay still.

  The shorter man stopped smiling. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife that looked extremely sharp. I took a quick step back. Mister Tanaka had never used real knives when we practiced.

  “Bitch, you’ll pay for this. I’ll enjoy hearing you scream.”

  We circled each other. He lunged at me, and I stepped aside and watched him almost fall. He regained his footing, and I noticed a new look of respect on his face.

  I remembered the drills Mister Tanaka had forced me to do in which I practiced disarming the smiling, small Japanese man who would come at me with a wooden knife as a prop. That was practice, though, and this was the real thing. The man lunged at me again, and I slammed the side of my hand against the man’s hand that held the knife and saw the weapon drop to the floor. Instead of stopping to pick up the knife, the man moved catlike towards me. I realized he also had some martial arts training.

  Suddenly the man was airborne, and his foot just missed my head as I ducked. I couldn’t keep fighting defensively because he had more strength, and soon my stamina would weaken. I knew the running had tired me out. I was fighting on pure adrenaline right now, and that wouldn’t last much longer.

  We circled each other slowly, probing for weaknesses. Suddenly I had an idea. It might be my only chance, even though it would hurt. I gauged the distance between us. I let him close the gap. I feinted and then kicked at him, knowing he would duck. As he turned, I pulled my head into my shoulders and then head butted the side of his skull, the part that my tutor said was the least protected. He fell heavily to the ground.

  I also dropped to my knees and tried to absorb the pain throbbing in my head. I saw through a fog that both men were down. Slowly, I got to my feet although I was shaky.

  Now I became aware of a car door slamming behind me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a door open and a man emerge. He was wearing a suit, and I recognized him as Paul’s father. He shouted something in Arabic. He held a gun steady in his right hand. When he saw both men didn’t move, he placed the gun back in his inside jacket pocket. The man’s handsome face flashed a wide grin.

  “I’m glad I happened to be driving back from the office, although it looks like you were able to take care of these mujrimun.”

  Mister Hargrove used the Arabic word for ‘criminals’. He pointed to the two men still on the ground.

  “I wish Paul could handle himself, as well as, you. Can I give you a lift?”

  I thanked him, sat down beside him in the front seat, and explained what had happened to my father and how I needed to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.

  “I’ll drive you there,” he said.

  Mister Hargrove was quiet, focusing on his driving while I tried to collect my thoughts. I thought Paul’s father had an office in the Argosy Towers, and that was on the other side of town. What could he have been doing over here on embassy row? I didn’t say anything but mulled that thought, as well as, thought about Dad. How would he feel about having Mister Thornton there?

  Paul’s father drove with cold precision. He always passed lights just before they turned red. He darted in and out of traffic, seemingly missing other cars by inches. He ignored drivers’ curses and their blaring horns. I noticed that Mister Hargrove constantly checked his rear view mirror and his two side mirrors. Soon he pulled up to a loading zone across from the hospital.

  Chapter Seven

  The El Sayatem Hospital was built during Cairo’s colonial period. It looked like a fortress with wide pillars that once were white but now covered in dust. I rushed through the hospital’s main doors and headed to a receptionist desk where signs in Arabic and in English told patients to take a number.

  I picked up a number from the dispenser on the receptionist’s desk and saw it was 101. I looked around the room and saw people had filled all the benches, and now some were sitting on the floor. There were no Westerners. Some people groaned in pain while others sat on the benches with glazed expressions on their faces. Small children played under the watchful eyes of their parents. It was a typical third world hospital scene that I knew would horrify Western tourists. Of course, they never saw this side of Cairo and rarely left the plush tourist section of the city.

  No way I was going to wait. I returned the number and headed to the nearest elevator. I saw signs that indicated that Recovery was on the third floor. As I entered the elevator, others crowded me to the back. I saw one Egyptian family was loaded down with packages of food, presumably for a patient.

  I understood their street Arabic and heard one of the men express concern that the hospital might not be following strict Islamic dietary laws. I knew savvy expatriate Westerners never went to the El Sayatem if they had a choice. Its glory days were shortly after World War II. Now, there was a clear sense of decay. Even the elevator creaked like an old man whose bones cracked when he tried to stand up.

  I worried about my father. I couldn’t help comparing this hospital with the modern one I went to a couple of years ago when I fell and broke my arm.

  I walked briskly up to the nurse’s station and explained that my father had been treated and was in recovery. When the nurse looked over a handwritten sheet, I realized there were no computer monitors in sight. The woman put her finger next to an entry and directed me down the hall to a room at the far end.

  Dad lay on a bed with the pillows propped up behind him. He was reading a book. I noticed he wore the half glasses that he only wore when no students or faculty
were around. He was vain about how he looked in glasses. He looked up and smiled when he saw me.

  “Dad, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine dear. I just had some congestion in one of my arteries. The doctor blew out all the gunk. He tells me I’ll be fine after some rest.”

  I described in detail what had happened to our apartment. Dad listened. He didn’t seem surprised, and then he flashed a smile that warmed my heart. He asked me to retrieve his bound notebook from his jacket that was hanging in the closet.

  “This is what they were looking for.”

  “Who?”

  “Whoever wants to beat me to the Emerald Tablets.”

  I wasn’t sure that was the reason the apartment was ransacked. Maybe it was the secret police. I explained what Mister El Haziz did when I visited him.

  “That son of a bitch! When I get my hands on him…”

  “Dad! It’s okay. I’m fine. He’s probably working for the SSIS and spied on us all these years.”

  “I don’t understand why the secret police would bother.”

  I had been thinking about that very question. “I don’t know, but maybe because they know we’re friends with Aasuma and her family, they think we’re on Abdul’s side.”

  Dad pondered that idea.

  “It’s possible. I still think it has something to do with the dig, though. We have to keep this notebook safe. Pretty soon people will figure out it has to be with me.”

  He handed the small notebook to me.

  “Keep this in your purse. No one is going to search a teenager’s purse. Just be sure you never lose it.”

  I tucked the small notebook in my purse. Dad noticed the bruises on my face.

  “What happened to you?”

  As I explained what had happened. Dad’s face grew pale.

  “They could have…”

  “It’s okay, Dad. You made me work with Mister Tanaka, even when I wanted to quit. You told me you never wanted to have to worry about me. Now you know I can take care of myself.”

  “It’s just when I think about what could have happened to you. I feel so helpless knowing I was here and you were there with those criminals.”

  I started to respond, but a tall, stooped doctor knocked and entered. He wore black-rimmed glasses that looked darker against his gray hair. He smiled at me and spoke with a British accent. I hoped that meant he was trained abroad.

  “I am Doctor Gomar. You are Professor Hunter’s daughter?”

  “Yes. Will my father be all right?”

  “Oh yes, Madam. He will live a long time. He was eating a too many fatty foods and not enough vegetables. I performed an angioplasty this morning and inserted a stent. We would like to keep your father here a couple of days for observation, but I understand he has other ideas.”

  I looked at my father.

  “You’re not going to stay?”

  “He’ll be better off in my home.”

  I turned and saw Mister Thornton enter the room.

  “You’re not serious?”

  I knew how Dad felt about Mister Thornton.

  Mister Thornton answered for him.

  “Oh, I’m very serious. I’ve already had a talk with your father. He’s not keen on the idea, but he agrees that my personal physician will be able to focus on him to a far greater extent than Doctor Gomar here can. He’ll be the first one to tell you how over-stretched physicians are in this hospital.”

  “Unfortunately, it’s true, Madam. I have well over a hundred patients on my daily rounds, so I can’t give them much individual attention. I know Mister Thornton’s physician. He has assured me that he’ll monitor your father closely. As long as his vitals remain good, I have no problem with him being moved to Mister Thornton’s home.”

  “Dad?”

  I looked at my father to make sure that he wasn’t being railroaded into something he really didn’t want.

  “It will be fine. Tom and I have talked. Doctor Gomar says they can bring a cot into my room so you can sleep here tonight. In the morning, assuming everything is okay, I’ll leave. Tom says you’ll be able to stay there too. I don’t know how safe our apartment is going to be.”

  “But Dad…”

  “I know you and Taylor are not on the best of terms, but Tom promises me that won’t be an issue. He tells me he’s going to read her the riot act.”

  “But what if I don’t want to go over there? Can’t I just stay with one of our friends?”

  “No. After what’s happened and with the way the demonstrations are building, I don’t want us to be separated any more than we have to be. I don’t want you to argue with me.”

  I thought about asking Dad whether or not I should call Emily. I didn’t want to talk with her again, but I’d do it if it would make him feel better. He hadn’t mentioned her to me. I knew he’d seen her since he learned the school wouldn’t rescind his terminal contract. I wondered if he had told her. I took the cowardly approach, and decided to not bring up the subject. I’d do what he wanted.

  The next morning my entire body felt stiff from sleeping on the cot. My mouth felt like it was filled with cotton and my neck hurt. I had slept very little because Dad’s snoring had kept me up initially, and then nurses checking on his condition had woken me from a sound sleep. My head ached.

  Breakfast was dreadful. I looked at Dad. He hadn’t shaved, but his skin color had improved. I felt better about his condition. He seemed to be getting stronger. He had me remove his wallet from his jacket hanging in the closet and bring it to him. He opened it and handed me Egyptian money.

  “What’s this for?”

  “I want you to take a cab to our apartment and ask the driver wait for you. It should be perfectly safe to go there this time of day. Check to see if there’s a mob before you get out of the cab. Fill a suitcase with clothes and other things you’ll need. I also want you to go to my study and bring me Peterson’s Advanced Hieroglyphics. You know which book I mean.”

  I nodded. I reached a level where Dad shared some of his most recent research on proto-Egyptian hieroglyphics using that book as a guide.

  “Bring everything over to the Thorntons’ place.”

  Dad reached for a pad and pencil on the table near his bed and wrote out the address.

  “It should cost about seventy Egyptian dollars, so remember to negotiate before you get in the cab.”

  I thought about Emily. Much as I hated the idea, I knew how much she meant to Dad so I decided to bring up the subject. I still had until Christmas to make sure there was no wedding, even if Emily called my bluff about having pictures of her and her lover.

  “Do you want me to call Emily and tell her where you’ll be?”

  Dad’s smile left his face. I was sorry I had asked.

  “No. Don’t call her. We decided to give each other some more space for a while. She likes everything nice and settled, and the idea of having to move to where I find my next job is difficult for her to accept.”

  I nodded and then left the hospital feeling a lot more optimistic than when I had arrived. Eventually I knew he’d get over her. I was convinced Dad would soon be back to his old self, and I promised myself that I would insist he eat more vegetables. I knew he would yell at me, but maybe I could talk to Mrs. Sadat and suggest she make the meals more nutritious. I reached ground level and saw some black and whites were lined up down the block.

  I hailed one and began the process of negotiating the fare to my apartment. The driver was very disappointed that I wasn’t a tourist who would pay the exorbitant fee he first suggested. When I promised him that he could add on some waiting time and then add another fifty Egyptian dollar fee to the Thorntons’ address, he beamed and invited me to climb in.

  Driving in a black and white always was an adventure in Cairo. Taxi drivers in one of the world’s most crowded cities must have nerves of steel. They drive only inches behind the car in front of them, change lanes without signaling, and respond to angry drivers’ horns with horn blasts of t
heir own. I knew some Cairo drivers would jump out of their cars at the slightest provocation and beat each other to a bloody pulp. I saw video of many such fights on TV. I prayed that my trip would be uneventful.

  The black and white pulled up in the rear of my apartment building. I paid the driver for the current meter, and he promised to wait after we negotiated an additional fee for waiting. I used my key to enter. It was so quiet it was almost spooky. I thought about visiting with Mister Fawny, but decided there really wasn’t time.

  I opted to take the stairs just in case there were any members of the mob in the lobby who might notice that the elevator was going to the fifth floor. The movement of the elevator would be a dead giveaway. I ran up the stairs. I took a couple of minutes to catch my breath at the door and saw it was locked. That was a good sign! I put my key in the lock, trying to be as quiet as possible.

  I pushed the door open. The living room was spotless. Mister Fawny had managed to put everything away and had even vacuumed where the intruders had broken vases when they had overturned shelves. I threw some clothes, my toothbrush, and a few other essentials into a suitcase.

  Then I went to Dad’s study and began looking for the book he needed. I suspected that the bowab didn’t read English because the books were arranged in a haphazard way with novels placed next to books on Egyptian history. This would take longer than I thought.

  Dad prided himself on his library. The built-in bookshelves reached to the ceiling. First I scanned the lower shelves but didn’t see the book. Then I dragged a wooden chair over to the bookshelf and climbed on it so I could reach the higher shelves. There were more books than space on the shelves, so Mister Fawny had slid the books in so tightly that it could be difficult to pull out the one I wanted.