Suleiman reached into his breast pocket and brought out a sheet of paper. "It has taken me some time and quite a bit of baksheesh, but I have finally been able to get what you asked for, Amira. Here is the address of one of the men on the Revolutionary Council."
Back in August, after Ibrahim had been arrested and attempts to locate him through normal legal channels had proven futile, Amira had asked for a list of the members of the Revolutionary Council, men who called themselves the Free Officers. She had learned that they were all young, under forty, and when Suleiman had read the names to her, she had asked him to locate the residence of one in particular.
"It wasn't easy finding this address," he said now, handing her the piece of paper. "The Officers know they are targets of counterrevolutionaries. But I finally went to a friend who owes me a favor, and who is a friend of this man's brother. What will you do with this information? Who is this man, Amira?"
"Perhaps he is God's sign of hope."
"Amira," Maryam said, "you must let me go with you. You haven't left this house in thirty-six years. You'll get lost!"
"I shall find my way," Amira said quietly, draping the black melaya over her head. "God will guide my footsteps."
"But why not take the car?"
"Because this is a mission for myself alone, I cannot risk the safety of another person."
"Where are you going? Will you at least tell me that? Is it to the address Suleiman gave you?"
Amira continued to arrange the melaya around herself until only her eyes showed. "It is better that you don't know."
"Do you even know how to get to wherever it is you're going?"
"Suleiman gave me directions."
"I'm fearful, Amira," Maryam said softly. "The times we are in frighten me. My friends are asking me when Suleiman and I are moving to Israel. Such a thought hadn't even entered our minds!" She shook her head sadly. When the news had come out, three years ago, that 45,000 Jews had left Yemen for Israel in an exodus called Operation Magic Carpet, Maryam's friends had started asking why they weren't going. But why should they? Egypt was their home. Even their name, Al Misrahi, meant "Egyptians." But other Jews were leaving Cairo, and now attendance at the synagogue was down.
"Maryam," Amira said, "I shall be fine. My strength is in God."
Before she left, Amira spent a moment with the picture of Ali that she kept at her bedside. "I am going into the city now," she said. "If there is one chance to save our son, this is it. God has illuminated me. He will guide my feet. But I am afraid. This house has been my haven. I have been safe here." Finally she was at the garden gate, the winter sunshine warming her shoulders. Through this gate she had been brought many years and many memories ago. She glanced toward the orange trees and saw Alice working in her flower garden, trying to coax English carnations out of Egyptian soil. The children were nearby, their play subdued. Because of Ibrahim's incarceration, the Prophet Mohammed's birthday, recently celebrated, had been a somber affair for the little ones, and now it looked as if there wouldn't be much of a joyous celebration for the prophet whom Alice revered, Jesus, whose birthday was just two weeks away. We are a house in mourning, Amira thought.
Making sure the black silk melaya was secure around her, that not even her hands or ankles showed, she took a deep breath, opened the gate and stepped out.
Please God, Alice prayed as she dug into the hard earth, restore Ibrahim to me, and I shall be a good wife to him. I will love him and serve him and give him many children. I will forget how he deceived me about Zakki's mother. Just bring him safely home.
Not even Edward was consolation to her these days; it seemed that the longer her brother stayed in Egypt, the more morose he became. He had grown so quiet; he seemed constantly embroiled in his own thoughts. Alice had once believed it must be love, that passion for Nefissa had consumed him, but now she didn't know what to think. She knew he carried a gun with him all the time, saying it was for their safety, because Britons had become targets of the radicals. But was that really the reason?
She looked up from her gardening to see Yasmina standing there, her eyes the color of the blue morning glories that cascaded over the stone wall. "Mama," she said, "when will Daddy be home? I miss him."
"I miss him too, sweetheart." Alice took the girl into her arms, and when she saw Camelia and Zachariah standing there, also looking lost—they were motherless and fatherless, after all—she opened her arms to them and they ran into her embrace.
She was just suggesting that they go into the kitchen and see if there was any mango ice cream left from last night's dinner, when she saw Hassan al-Sabir come into the garden. Of them all, Ibrahim's friend seemed the least affected by recent events. Alice jumped up. "You have news of Ibrahim?"
His dark eyes flickered as he thought how, for the past four months, that was always the first thing she said to him. "I saw the Dragon leave. Where was she going?"
Alice pulled off her gardening gloves. "Dragon?"
Hassan suspected that Amira didn't like him, although he had no idea why. "Ibrahim's mother. I didn't know she ever left this house."
"Goodness, she doesn't. Where do you suppose Mother Amira has gone? Children, go into the house now, Uncle Hassan and I have to talk in private."
Hassan looked around. "Where are Nefissa and Edward?"
"Nefissa is trying to find out if Princess Faiza is in Egypt or if she left with the rest of the royal family. If Faiza is still here, she might be able to help us find Ibrahim. And Edward—" she sighed— "I suppose Edward is in his room." She was afraid her brother was drinking a lot; she was also afraid he was going to go back to England, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing both him and Ibrahim. "Do you have anything to report?"
He surprised her by reaching over and brushing a strand of blond hair from her cheek. "To be honest, my dear," he said, "I think you should prepare yourself for the worst. I don't think Ibrahim is ever coming home. These are very uncertain times. Men who were your friends yesterday are your enemies today. You know how hard I've worked for Ibrahim's release, tried to find out where he is, or when he will be brought to trial. But even I am helpless, and I am one of the few men left in this city who still has connections. Citizens who were loyal to the king will not be treated lightly, I'm afraid."
Tears came to Alice's eyes; he put his arms around her. "You need not be afraid while I am around."
"I want Ibrahim to come home!"
"We all do," he said. "But there is only so much anyone can do, the rest is in God's hands." He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face. "You must be very lonely, Alice," he said. And then he tried to kiss her.
Alice drew back in shock. "Hassan!" she said.
"Beautiful Alice. You know I've wanted you ever since we met in Monte Carlo. You and I were fated for each other. But you married Ibrahim."
"Hassan, stop it," she said, pulling back. "I love Ibrahim."
He took her arm. "Ibrahim is gone, my dear Alice. It's time you faced that fact. You are the equivalent of a widow, a young and beautiful widow. You need a man."
"Please don't!" she said; she pushed him away and stumbled back against the trunk of a pomegranate tree. He pinned her to the tree and again tried to kiss her; she struggled and cried out.
"You know you want me as much as I want you," he said as he tried to slide his hand beneath her blouse.
"But I don't want you," she sobbed. "Stop it!"
He laughed. "I've been waiting for over eight years for this chance."
She broke free, stumbled toward her basket of gardening tools, and as Hassan reached for her, she spun around and brandished a hand rake in his face. "I'll use this, Hassan, I swear I will. Leave me alone."
He looked at the sharp prongs, inches from his cheek, and his smile faded. "You aren't serious."
"I'm deadly serious," Alice said. "You are disgusting. You're a monster. If you touch me, I'll make sure you look like a monster for the rest of your life."
He looked from
the rake to Alice, then back to the rake, then he suddenly smiled and stepped away from her, holding up his hands. "You prize yourself very highly, my dear. Too highly. It's not worth risking disfigurement for you. The sad thing is you have no idea what you've missed. I would have made love to you in such a way that you would not have wanted to go back to your husband again, even if he did come back. After an hour with me, you wouldn't want any other man ever again." He laughed, and it was not a pleasant laugh. "Poor Alice," he said. "What you don't know is that someday you will come to me, begging for me, but you'll never get another chance. You will remember this afternoon. And you will regret it."
Amira was lost. Her destination was an address on Shari el-Azhar, and Suleiman had given her simple directions as to how to get there: "Go north on Kasr El Aini until you come to the great traffic circle in front of the British barracks. This used to be Ismail Square, but now it is called Liberation Square. You will see two shops, one selling pastries, the other with luggage in the window. These mark the entrance to the street that will take you to the General Post Office. Go east on this street until you come to another large traffic circle, where the post office is. Shari El Azhar branches off to the east from this circle—follow it until you come to the Great Mosque. This address is on a small street opposite the mosque. The doorway is blue, and there is a pot of red geraniums on the steps." Out of fear that someone might find Suleiman's note, Amira had memorized the directions and destroyed it.
But there were two things she had not counted on: that she might get turned around, and that the overcast day would make it impossible to determine the position of the sun. Now, two hours after stepping through her garden gate, Amira realized she had made a wrong turn, and that she was unable to determine east from west. She tried not to think of the big gray sky hanging over her. Although she had spent many afternoons and evenings on the spacious roof of their house, where she tended a grape arbor and raised pigeons for the family table, the sky above Virgins of Paradise Street was a different sky from this one—there, she had felt protected, here she was not.
Amira stood on the busy street corner and looked around her at the towering buildings. She had learned the city from her roof garden, and had memorized every dome, minaret and rooftop. But now she was below, in the middle of it, and it seemed an alien, terrifying place. Which way to turn? Where was Shari El Azhar? Where was Virgins of Paradise Street?
And Cairo was full of so many people! There were tanks in the streets, and soldiers were everywhere. As she hurried along, clutching her melaya protectively about her, she thought that everyone must be staring at her, thinking, There goes Amira Rasheed. Her husband, Ali, is frowning down at her from paradise! She had panicked several times when she had come to intersections and seen red and green lights, policemen directing the frantic traffic. She had stepped off a curb without looking and had almost been run over. Sellers of vegetables, chickens, and spices had hawked their wares in her face. She had passed men on street corners arguing, or haggling over a price, or laughing at a joke. And she had seen women going arm in arm down a busy street, laughing and pointing things out in shop windows. She had been spellbound.
And her son was somewhere in prison, or possibly dead; she had to find him.
Feeling conspicuous on the street corner, Amira decided to plunge ahead, only to find herself in a street that she realized she had been down earlier. She felt her heart begin to pound. She was walking in circles! And then she glimpsed something between two buildings that gave her hope: the dull, metallic flash of the Nile.
Following the sidewalk so she wouldn't have to make another terrifying street crossing, Amira found herself approaching a bridge. By now she had joined other foot traffic: village men in galabeyas pulling carts heaped with vegetables, women in long black dresses carrying bundles on their heads, students in modern dress with books under their arms. It was none of these who captured Amira's attention—it was the river. She could not take her eyes off it.
She had never seen it except from the roof—a silky ribbon of changing colors. It had looked far away, artificial. But now, looking down at the water from the arch of the bridge, she was overwhelmed. She had seen the river before! Where? When? Long ago.
The river hypnotized her. Its fertile smells reminded her of childbirth. Its surface appeared to be slow, innocent, but Amira thought she could see deeper, down to the swifter, more dangerous current. And another memory came back: herself, at fourteen, her belly swollen with her first child, whom she named Ibrahim. And her husband, Ali, saying in his wise way, "The Nile is unique. She flows from the south to the north."
Amira had asked, "The river is a woman?"
"She is the Mother of Egypt, the Mother of Rivers. Without her there would be no life here."
"But God gives us life."
"God gives us the Nile, and she nurtures us."
Amira stared at the wide, powerful river that reflected the pewter sky and the white lateens of the feluccas that skimmed its surface, and she again heard Ali say, "She flows from the south to the north." She watched the current, following it until it disappeared around a curve. That way is north, she thought.
And then she realized that her left hand lay to the west, her right to the east. And she believed that this was a sign from God.
She was no longer afraid as she retraced her steps along the bridge, turning left on the first major street and following it, always keeping the Nile in sight. When she reached the traffic circle in front of the British barracks, she knew where she was. Keeping the Nile in her mind's eye as she turned eastward, she walked resolutely along the busy street until she came to another traffic circle from where she was able to recognize one of the minarets of Al-Azhar Mosque, which Ali had pointed out to her so many years ago.
Finally she saw the blue door with the pot of red geraniums on the steps.
She rang the bell and a servant answered. Amira introduced herself, saying that she was calling on Captain Rageb's wife. After admitting her to a small parlor, the servant left. While she waited, she prayed that this was the person she sought, that she had not made a mistake.
The servant returned, and Amira was taken upstairs to an elegant salon not unlike her own, but smaller. A woman greeted her, and as soon as Amira saw her, she said a mental prayer of thanks to God. She lowered her veil and, after the preliminary greetings, said, "Mrs. Safeya, do you remember me?"
"Indeed I do, Sayyida," the woman said. "Please sit down."
Tea and pastries were brought in, and Mrs. Rageb offered Amira a cigarette, which she gratefully accepted. "It is nice to see you again, Sayyida."
"And you. Is your family well?"
Safeya pointed to a collection of photographs of young girls on the wall. "My two daughters," she said with pride. "The eldest is twenty-one now, and married. My youngest is going to be seven shortly." She looked directly at her guest. "I named her Amira. She was born while my husband, the captain, was stationed in the Sudan. But you know this."
Amira was remembering the necklace Mrs. Rageb had worn the day she had come to Virgins of Paradise Street, seven years ago—a blue stone on a gold chain to ward off bad luck—and how Amira had known the woman was afraid. She noticed that Mrs. Rageb was no longer wearing the necklace.
"Tell me, please," Amira said, "do you recall our conversation in my garden seven years ago?"
"I shall never forget it. I promised you on that day that I should forever be in your debt. If you have come to make a request, Mrs. Amira, my house and everything I own are yours."
"Mrs. Safeya, is your husband the Captain Youssef Rageb who is on the Revolutionary Council?"
"He is."
"You once told me that your husband loves you, and that he considers you his equal and listens to your advice. Is this still true?"
"More than ever," Safeya said softly.
"Then I have indeed come to ask a favor of you," Amira said.
THIRTEEN
A
LICE LAY QUIETLY IN
BED FOR A MOMENT, WONDERING WHAT had wakened her. It didn't take much these days—she was sleeping lightly, worrying constantly about Ibrahim. The bedside clock showed well past midnight. She listened to the silence of the house, and was startled to hear footsteps going past her door. When, a moment later, someone else went by, she realized that that was what had roused her—people hurrying down the hall. But she heard no talking, no cries of alarm. Getting out of bed, Alice opened her door in time to see Nefissa and a female cousin disappear around the end of the hall in the direction of the children's rooms.
Pulling on her dressing gown, Alice went after them.
Camelia didn't like being wakened before it was morning; she loved sleep and dreams, and the coziness of bed. When she felt a hand gently shaking her, she thought it was her sister Mishmish, who sometimes woke her during the night because she had had a bad dream, or she was afraid Daddy was never coming home. But when the seven-year-old opened her eyes, she was surprised to find Umma leaning over her.
"Come along, Lili," Amira said gently. "Come with me."
Camelia rubbed her eyes and followed sleepily as Umma led her to the bathroom. Camelia glanced back at her sister Yasmina, who was still asleep in her own bed. Then she went inside and Umma closed the door.
The bathroom's bright light hurt Camelia's eyes; she was surprised to see Auntie Nefissa there, and Cousin Doreya, and Raya, and even old Auntie Zou Zou. "I will hold her," Nefissa said, opening out her arms to Camelia, and giving her an encouraging smile. "I will be her mama tonight."
Because she was still sleepy, Camelia didn't question what the women were doing; she sat down on the floor, on a thick towel Auntie Nefissa had spread out, and then leaned back into her aunt's arms. But when Doreya and Raya drew her legs apart, Camelia began to resist. "What are you doing, Umma?" she said.
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