The astonished man asked in alarm, “God spare us evil, what's happening?”
The commanding officer asked gruffly, “Are you not the father of Ahmad Ibrahim Shawkat and of Abd al-Muni'm Ibrahim Shawkat, who reside in this building?”
As his face lost its color, he replied, “Yes.”
“We have orders to search the entire building.”
“Why, your honor?”
Paying no attention to him, the officer turned to command his men, “Search the place!”
As the policemen fanned out into the adjoining rooms in response to this directive, Ibrahim Shawkat asked, “Why are you searching my apartment?”
The officer ignored him. At this juncture Khadija was forced out of the bedroom by the detectives who stormed into it. Wrapping a black shawl around herself, she cried out furiously, “Have you no respect for women? Are we thieves, Mr. Police Chief?”
Glaring angrily at his face, she suddenly sensed that she had seen the man before or, to be more precise, the original version of this countenance before time had marched across it. When and where had that been? “Good Lord!” she thought. It was the same man, without any doubt. He had not changed much. What was his name? Not hesitating, she remarked, “Sir, twenty years ago you were an officer in the police station for al-Gamaliya. No, it was thirty years I don't remember the year exactly.”
The officer looked up at her with curious eyes, as Ibrahim Shawkat gazed from one to the other just as inquisitively. Then she continued: “Your name is Hasan Ibrahim. Isn't that right?”
“Do you know me, ma'am?”
She said imploringly, “I'm the daughter of al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad and the sister of Fahmy Ahmad Abd al-Jawad, who was killed by the English during the revolution. Don't you remember him?”
The officer's astonishment was clearly visible in his eyes. Using a civil tone for the first time, he muttered, “May God be most compassionate to him.”
She entreated him even more determinedly, “I'm his sister! Do you enjoy abusing my house like this?”
The officer looked away and replied almost apologetically, “We're just following orders, lady.”
“But why, Officer? We're good people!”
He answered gently, “Yes, but I can't say as much for your two boys.”
Khadija cried out in dismay, “They're the nephews of your old friend!”
Without looking at either of them, the officer responded, 'We're acting on orders from the Ministry of the Interior.”
“They haven't done anything wrong. They're good boys. I swear it.”
The policemen and the detectives returned to the sitting room without having discovered anything. The commanding officer ordered them to leave the apartment and then, turning toward the couple, said, “We've been informed that suspicious gatherings are held in their apartments.”
“A lie, your honor!”
“I too hope this is the case. Even so, I have no choice but to arrest them now. They will be held until the inquiry has been concluded. It's possible that they'll be cleared.”
In a trembling voice embellished by sobs, Khadija wailed, “Are you really taking them to the station? This defies the imagination! By the lives of your own children, I beg you to set them free.”
“I don't have the power to do that. I have clear orders to arrest them. Have a pleasant evening.”
The man left the apartment. Heedless of everything she passed, Khadija rushed down the steps after him, trailed by her elderly husband. Karima, who was standing in front of her apartment in a terrified frenzy, saw them and shouted, “They've taken him, Auntie! They took him to prison!”
Khadija cast a stony glance her way and then sped down to the first-floor apartment, where she found Sawsan at the door as well, observing the courtyard with a gloomy face. Glancing in that direction, Khadija saw Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad surrounded by policemen, who were taking them out of the house. She could not keep herself from screaming her heart out. She started to rush off in pursuit of them, but Sawsan's hand grabbed hold of her. As she turned furiously on her daughter-in-law, Khadija heard the girl say in a sad but tranquil voice, “Calm down. They didn't find anything suspicious. The police won't be able to pin a charge on them. Don't run after them out of respect for your sons' honor.”
Khadija yelled at her, “Your calm is enviable!”
Gently and patiently Sawsan replied, “They'll come home safe and sound. Don't be alarmed.”
Her mother-in-law asked sharply, “What makes you so sure?”
“I'm confident of what I say.”
Paying no attention to this remark, Khadija looked toward her husband, clapped her hands together, and said, “Loyalty is dead! I tell him they are Fahmy's nephews, and he says, ‘We're just following orders.’ My Lord, why do they seize good people and leave the rogues alone?”
Sawsan glanced at Ibrahim and said, “They'll search the family home on Palace Walk. I heard a detective tell the commanding officer he knew their grandfather's house on Palace Walk. The deputy suggested that it should be searched too, so they would be in full compliance with their orders and to make sure that the two boys had not hidden subversive tracts there.”
Khadija shouted, “I'm going to my mother's. Perhaps Kamal can do something. Oh, my Lord, I'm on fire.”
She got her coat and left Sugar Street with quick and agitated steps. It was cold and still quite dark, but roosters were defiantly crowing back and forth at each other. She shot down al-Ghuriya and traversed the Goldsmiths Bazaar on her way to al-Nahhasin. She found a detective at the door of the house and another in the courtyard. She climbed the stairs breathlessly.
The family had awakened uneasily to the ringing of the doorbell. Then Umm Hanafi had come up to say fearfully, “Police!”
Kamal had rushed down to the courtyard. There he found the commanding officer, whom he asked in alarm, “Can I help you?”
The officer inquired, “Do you know Abd al-Muni'm Ibrahim Shawkai: and Ahmad Ibrahim Shawkat?”
“I'm their uncle….”
“What do you do?”
“I'm a teacher at al-Silahdar School.”
“We have orders to search the house.”
“But why? What charges are you bringing against me?”
“We are searching for subversive tracts belonging to the two young men. We think they may have hidden them here.”
“Sir, I can assure you that there are no subversive tracts in our house. But you can search all you want.”
Kamal noticed that the commanding officer stationed his men on the roof and the staircase and was the only one who actually entered the living quarters. Instead of turning the house upside down in his search, the officer was content to survey the rooms, casting a superficial glance at Kamal's desk and bookcases. Regaining his composure, Kamal felt enough at ease with the officer to ask, “Did you search their home?”
“Naturally”. Then, after a brief moment, the man added, “They are currently being detained at the station.”
Kamal asked in consternation, “Has anything been proven against them?”
The man replied with unexpected delicacy, “I hope matters won't reach that point. But the inquiry will be conducted by the prosecutor's office.”
“I'd like to thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
The officer smiled and replied quietly, “Don't forget that I didn't ransack your house.”
“Yes, sir. I don't know how to thank you.”
Turning toward Kamal, the man asked, “Aren't you the brother of the late Fahmy?”
Kamal's eyes grew wide with astonishment as he asked, “Yes. Did you know him?”
“We were friends, God rest his soul.”
Kamal said hopefully, “What a happy coincidence!” Offering the man his hand, he added, “Kamal Ahmad Abd al-Jawad.”
The officer shook the proffered hand and said, “Hasan Ibrahim, commanding officer of the Gamaliya station. I started there as a second lieutenant and have rotated back to it
as the commanding officer”. Shaking hishead, he continued: “Our orders were unequivocal. I hope the boys won't be found guilty of anything.”
The sound of Khadija's voice carried to them as she wept and then narrated to her mother and Aisha the events of the evening. The officer remarked, “That's their mother. With her amazing memory she recognized me and reminded me of your late brother - but only after a thorough search of the house had already been conducted. See what you can do to put her mind at ease.”
They walked down the stairs side by side. As they passed the second floor, Aisha exploded from the door in an obvious rage. Glaring harshly at the officer, she railed at him, “Why do you arrest people's children for no reason at all? Can't you hear their mother weeping?”
Shocked by this attack, the officer glanced quickly at her, before lowering his gaze politely. He replied, “They'll be set free soon, God willing.”
After they were some distance beyond the apartment, he asked Kamal, “Your mother?”
Smiling sadly, Kamal replied, “No, my sister! She's only forty-four, but the misfortunes she's suffered have broken her.”
The officer turned toward him as if stunned. Kamal felt the man was about to ask something. But after hesitating for a moment, he apparently changed his mind. They shook hands in the courtyard, and before the officer departed, Kamal asked, “Would it be possible for me to visit them in jail?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
Kamal returned to join his mother and sisters in the sitting room. He said, “I'm going to visit them tomorrow. There's no reason to be afraid. They'll be released once they've been questioned.”
Khadija did not seem to be able to stop crying. Aisha shouted hysterically, “Don't weep! That's enough! They'll come back to you. Didn't you hear?”
Khadija moaned: “I don't know. I don't know. My dear boys are in prison!”
Amina's sorrow had evidently struck her dumb. In a reassuring tone Kamal observed, “The officer in charge knows us. He was one of Fahmy's friends and was incredibly restrained when searching our house. He'll certainly treat them kindly.”
The mother raised her head inquisitively, and Khadija snarled resentfully, “Hasan Ibrahim! Don't you remember him, Mother? When I told him I was Fahmy's sister, what did he say but ‘We're just following orders, lady.’ Orders, my eye!”
The mother glanced at Aisha, who gave no sign of recognizing the name. Taking Kamal aside, Amina said with obvious anxiety, “I don't understand anything, son. Why were they arrested?”
After pondering what to say Kamal replied, “The government mistakenly suspects that they have been working against it.”
Shaking her head anxiously, she remarked, “Your sister says they arrested Abd al-Muni'm because he's a Muslim Brother. Why are they arresting Muslims?”
“The government thinks they are working against it.”
“And Ahmad? She said he's… I've forgotten the word, son.”
“A Communist? Like the Muslim Brethren, Communists are suspected by the government.”
“Communists? What community is this? The Shi'ah community of Ali?”
Hiding his smile, Kamal answered, “The Communists aren't a religiou;; community like the Shi'ah. They're a political party opposed, to the government and the English.”
Perplexed, she sighed and inquired, “When will they be set free? Look at your poor sister. The government and the English can't they find some other place to search besides our afflicted house?”
168
THE DAWN call to prayer was reverberating through the otherwise silent city when the commanding officer of the police station for al-Gamaliya summoned Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad to his office. Escorted by an armed policeman, they appeared before his desk. After ordering the policeman to leave, the officer examined the young men with interest. Looking at Abd al-Muni'm, he asked, “Your name, age, and profession?”
Abd al-Muni'm replied calmly and resolutely, “Abd al-Muni'm Shawkat, twenty-five, an investigator in the Ministry of Education's Bureau of Investigations.”
“How can you, a lawyer, break the laws of the state?”
“I haven't broken any law. We work publicly - writing in the papers and preaching in the mosques. People who spread God's word have nothing to fear.”
“Haven't suspicious meetings been held at your house?”
“Certainly not. There have been some ordinary gatherings, when friends assemble to exchange opinions and advice in order to gain a deeper understanding of our religion.”
“Is agitation against allied nations a goal of these meetings?”
“Do you refer to Britain, sir? That deceitful enemy? A state that crushes our honor with its tanks cannot be considered an ally.”
“You're an educated man. You should have realized that wartime conditions justify certain restrictions.”
“I realize that Britain is our principal enemy in the world.”
Turning to Ahmad, the officer asked, “You?”
With the suggestion of a smile on his lips, Ahmad replied, “Ahmad Ibrahim Shawkat, twenty-four, an editor with The New Man magazine.”
“I have alarming reportshere about your extremist articles. Besides, it is generally accepted that your magazine has a bad reputation.”
“My articles have never exceeded the bounds of a defense of the principles of social justice.”
“Are you a Communist?”
“I'm a socialist. Many deputies in parliament support socialism. The law itself does not censure a Communist for his ideas, as long as he does not resort to violent means.”
“Should we have waited until the meetingsheld at your apartment every evening erupted into violence?”
Wondering whether the authorities had unearthed the secret of his tracts, and nighttime talks, he replied, “I entertain only close friends in my home. There are never more than four or five visitors a day. Violence has been the furthest thing from our thoughts.”
The officer looked from one to the other. After some hesitation he said, 'You're educated and cultured… and you're both married - aren't you? Fine. Wouldn't it be best if you attended to your personal affairs and kept out of trouble?”
Abd al-Muni'm replied in his forceful voice, “Thank you for your advice, which I shall not follow.”
A brief laugh took the officer by surprise and escaped from his lips. Then he admitted, “During the search, I learned that you are grandsons of the late Ahmad Abd al-Jawad. Your lamented uncle Fahmy was a dear friend of mine. I assume you know that he died in the spring of his life and that those of his comrades who survived now hold some of the most important posts.”
Discerning the secret reason for the officer's courtesy, which had baffled him, Ahmad said, “Allow me to ask you, sir, what condition Egypt would be in if my uncle and others like him had not sacrificed their lives.”
Shaking hishead, the man remarked, “Think long and well about my advice. Abandon this lethal philosophy”. As He stood up he added, “You will be our guests in this jail until the inquiry is conducted. I wish you luck.”
On leaving the office, they were taken into custody by a corporal and two armed policemen. The entire group descended to the ground floor, turned into a dark and extremely damp hall, and walked along it a short distance until the jailer greeted them with his flashlight, as if to show them the door to the jail. Opening the door, the jailer let the new prisoners in and then directed his light inside to guide them to their mats. The torch provided enough illumination for them to see the high ceiling of the medium-sized room as well as the small, barred window at the top of the exterior wall. The chamber had several guests: two youngsters, who looked like students, and three men with bare feet and a repulsive, battered appearance. The door was immediately closed, leaving them in darkness, but the light and the new arrivals had awakened some of the sleeping prisoners. Ahmad whispered to his brother, “I'm not going to sit down, for fear this dampness will be the death of me. Let's remain standing till morn
ing.”
“We'll have to sit down sooner or later. Do you have any idea when we'll get out of this jail?”
Then a voice clearly belonging to one of the young men said, “There's no way to avoid sitting down. It's not pleasant, but standing up, day after day, is worse.”
“Have you been here a long time?”
“Three days!”
The room was silent again until the voice asked, “Why did they arrest you?”
Abd al-Muni'm replied tersely, “For political reasons, apparently.”
The voice said cheerfully, “Political prisoners now form the majority in this cell. Before you honored us with your presence, we were in the minority.”
Ahmad asked, “What are you accused of?”
“You speak first, for we have seniority here. Although there's probably no need to ask, since we saw that one of you has the beard of a Muslim Brother.”
Smiling in the dark, Ahmad asked, “What about you?”
“We're law students. They say we were distributing subversive pamphlets.”
Incensed, Ahmad asked, “Did they catch you red-handed?”
“Yes.”
“What was in the pamphlets?”
“A report on the redistribution of Egypt's agricultural resources.”
“Newspapers have published comparable material even under martial law.”
“There were also a few enthusiastic exhortations.”
Ahmad smiled once more in the gloom, feeling for the first time that he was not alone. Then the other voice continued: “We're not afraid of the law so much as of being detained without a trial,”
“There are promising signs of change.”
“But we'll always be targets, no matter who is in power.”
A gruff voice barked rudely, “That's enough talk out of you. Let us get some sleep.”
But these words awakened a companion, who yawned and asked, “Is it morning yet?”
The first man responded scornfully, “No, but our friends think they're in a hashish den.”
Abd al-Muni'm sighed and whispered so softly that only Ahmad could hear, “Am I cast into this hole merely because I worship God?”
The Cairo Trilogy Page 147