Vertigo

by Ahmed Mourad

  He seemed unconvinced by his words and tried again even as she looked at him in reproach.

  ‘What did they say to you?’ he asked

  ‘He was asking me if my family knew that I was with you.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I lied. I said that you were my cousin and that our families had agreed to an engagement.’

  ‘What scum. The captain though, he was a gentleman. You can’t have heard what he said. When these kids graduate from police academy they’re a bit full of themselves: power, a revolver, a few soldiers to order around and a new uniform. You understand. They need to feel that they’re important. They’re only young. It’s an inferiority complex.’

  His words were as ineffectual as a drop of ink in the ocean. Ghada continued to stare into space. He felt as though he were using antiseptic cream to treat someone who had lost a limb. He started explaining to her how he had whispered in the officer’s ear that he knew colonel so-and-so, a customer of his at Kodak Express, and how the officer remembered his name and had turned out to be one of his students at the police academy. He told her how he had shared a laugh with him and explained that he hadn’t abandoned her, but was checking to see that she was all right. They were ‘decent guys’, he said: ‘good men’.

  ‘Sorry, Ahmed, I have to go. Hail a taxi for me.’

  ‘Ghada, you can’t go home like this. You’ve misunderstood.’

  ‘It’s nothing, Ahmed. There’s a taxi coming, if you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Nothing happened, Ghada. Officers can speak to anyone they like. It’s their job.’

  ‘They weren’t questioning us; they were acting like they had something on us. You didn’t see how he was looking at me. It was like I was doing something wrong. He asked me where I lived. Did Mum and Dad know? Do we love each other?’

  ‘What’s all that got to do with him, the animal!’

  ‘I have no idea, Ahmed. Go back and ask him. I want to go home, if you don’t mind. Please stop a taxi for me.’

  ‘I can’t just leave you to go home like this.’

  Ghada reached beneath her headscarf, removed the earpiece and put it in her bag. The message was clear. Ahmed had no choice but to get her a cab, which she rode off in, avoiding eye contact until she was out of sight. He closed his eyes for a few moments and felt a fire course through them, consuming them as it went.

  He walked on until he had climbed onto the Qasr el-Nil Bridge where he watched the Nile flowing beneath him. He had no idea how much time had passed. It was the coldest of dagger thrusts, plunging into his chest and creating an internal haemorrhage of despair. An unyielding, clinging sensation enveloped him. He felt naked before her: how broken he had become, how terribly weak. He was unable to protect her. His sense of his own importance dwindled, his self-confidence was shaken and he became fragile. He wished she had not left; he wished she had burst out screaming at him; he wished that he’d never known her in the first place. She would never forget, he knew, and this incident would for ever be a concrete wall dividing them, on top of which there was his underlying sense of impotence. Taken together it was enough to kill his last hope of being with her, not to mention his self-respect.

  The hours went by quickly. Ahmed stayed sitting alone on the bench by the bridge staring at the water and passers-by. He called Ghada more than once, but she didn’t answer. He sent her a message: Ghada, just want to check ur ok …

  In Ghada’s room the mobile continued to vibrate alongside the earpiece on her bedside table. She was sitting on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest and oblivious to the tremors emanating from the phone, when the door suddenly opened.

  It was Miyada: she never knocked. She came into the room wearing skintight jeans, a cropped blouse and an earpiece connected to her mobile phone, listening to music. She cast a glance at Ghada and in an instant knew that something was wrong. Noticing the earpiece next to the bed, she was sure of it. It meant that Ghada wanted to be left alone.

  ‘What is it?’ she signed at Ghada.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Put the earpiece on,’ she signed, pointing at her ears. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  Ghada shook her head.

  Miyada removed her shoes and threw them into a corner, then approached Ghada, who turned her back.

  ‘What’s wrong, Ghada? Ghada? Has someone upset you, beautiful?’

  Receiving no answer, she walked around the bed to see her face. ‘You’re crying. What is it?’

  Ghada made a sign that meant, ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘For my sake, Ghada, put the earpiece on,’ said Miyada, handing it to her. ‘What’s wrong, sweetheart? What is it?’

  ‘Ahmed.’

  ‘Already? Has that guy upset you? I’ll mess him up! Tell me.’

  Ghada told her what happened. Miyada was silent as she tried to create an opening.

  ‘Bastards. Sons of dogs.’ Sensing that this good start was perhaps a little too good she went on, ‘What brought you and him to the Nile?’

  ‘Are people not meant to walk by the Nile? Is it forbidden?’

  ‘No, but in any case he’s not to blame either. Anyone in his place would have been worried about you.’

  ‘Yes, but he should have some confidence in himself. I could see the fear in his eyes when he looked at me.’

  ‘He was scared for you.’

  ‘I can’t imagine seeing him again. There will always be something between us now.’

  ‘Ghada, those were just kids having some fun.’

  ‘Having fun at the expense of our dignity?’

  ‘A lot worse than that happens.’

  ‘Why me, though?’

  ‘It’s just bad luck. Let it go, for my sake.’

  ‘If the same thing happened to Hazim in front of you, would you shut up? Would you forget?’

  ‘Of course not, but—’

  ‘People in the street were looking at us like we were doing something wrong, and he … I heard the officer say something like “mummy’s boy” to him and he lied to me. He called him a “decent guy”.’

  ‘Anyone in his shoes would have lied. That’s a tricky situation.’

  ‘He was really frightened. I felt alone; that he wouldn’t be able to protect me. He was humiliated in front of me, and I was humiliated too.’

  ‘You’d have rather he hit them then? He had to act like that. Anyone in his place would have kept quiet.’

  ‘Yes, but we didn’t do anything wrong to keep quiet about!’

  ‘You don’t have to have done anything. And he couldn’t have a go at them. The situation would have been much worse.’

  ‘He was broken in front of me, and me … I feel like I was stripped naked before him. I can’t believe it.’ Her tears fell hot upon her cheek. ‘It won’t work. That’s it.’

  Miyada kissed her on the cheek. ‘Fine. Just calm down now and we’ll call him later. OK?’

  Ghada nodded and turned on her side, reaching out for the mobile phone. She opened the message and read it. A few moments passed, then she decided to reply: Ahmed, I’m fine, but we shouldn’t see each other at the moment. Please don’t make this difficult for me. I need some time on my own.

  Ahmed received the message while sitting on a bench by the Nile. He never imagined that his life could be turned upside down so quickly. He read the message over and over until he knew it by heart. He knew that the situation was extremely difficult for her, but he, too, expected understanding from her. In the end the fault wasn’t his.

  Yet he felt hugely ashamed of the way he had conducted himself with the captain, seeking to avoid an assault on his dignity. After all, things could have evolved to the stage of ‘Into the truck with you,’ and ‘They were kissing each other!’ What really broke him was his own reaction. But he’d had no other option!

  He stayed where he was until the hands of the clock pointed to ten minutes to seven: it was time for his meeting with Alaa.

  Alaa was sitting waiting for
him at the café, with a beard that hadn’t seen a razor in a fortnight, a face pale from long, sleepless nights, and dark bags beneath his eyes that made him look like he was wearing kohl.

  Ahmed greeted him and sat down.

  ‘What’s up? You don’t look yourself. There’s something in your face.’

  Ahmed didn’t have it in him to tell Alaa what had happened.

  ‘It’s nothing, just some problems at work. It’s fine. What’s your news?’

  ‘Well, there’s good news and there’s bad news.’

  ‘Start with the good news.’

  ‘There’s another newspaper. I’m having a meeting with them tomorrow. It’s a new publication.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we wait a bit until things settle down, Alaa? That business with Free Generation is still fresh in the mind.’

  ‘That’s what they want. Beat a tethered dog to frighten the wolves.’

  ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘Meaning we strike while the iron is hot. My articles have to be published at the time they’re least expecting it. They won’t be able to close a newspaper every day: where would their democracy be then?’

  ‘Alaa, I’m worried for you. I say we wait a bit.’

  Alaa took a sip of tea. ‘Believe me, this is the best time. If they shut the paper down they’ll leave themselves exposed. People will start asking what’s going on. That’s exactly what I want. And there’s this report I came across yesterday that you won’t believe. If it gets published it will rock the world to its foundations.’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘An employee at the Central Bank is the father of an acquaintance of mine. I managed to convince him to bring me documents from the bank about imaginary loans from Egyptian banks with even more imaginary securities, in addition to a report that details losses of 210 million pounds when just three years ago the bank was making a profit of 300 million. Can you explain that? I can, and with documents to back it up. There’s a group of bank employees, the one on the lowest salary takes home twenty-five thousand. Gifts and commissions and you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours: they’re all on the make. What about this, then? The brother of an officer in the vice squad is a friend of mine. Guess what I found out from him? He told me about prostitution cases against society women, actresses and homosexuals that have been closed without any arrest warrant being issued. Know why? Very big names, that’s why. And the big surprise: who’s top of the list? Sally. Sally el-Iskandarani. These cases only come to light when they attract the wrath of the people at the top, like Hisham Fathi. His file existed two years before his tape with Sally appeared: it only came out when he became a nuisance. There are entire prostitution networks whose every detail is known, but no warrant for their arrest has been issued. Most of the girls are models who want to get work in advertisements; the price includes free delivery to hotel rooms and flats. I’ve put all the details in the bank’s safety deposit box along with your pictures. These articles are going to go down in history!’

  Ahmed sighed, his thoughts never straying from what had taken place with Ghada.

  ‘But you haven’t told me the bad news.’

  ‘One of my neighbours at my parents’ flat called me yesterday. He said that detectives had been asking about me. This was a couple of days after the paper was closed, maybe the day after. He told them that I’d moved house a long time go. We were raised together and I trust him. Obviously someone from Free Generation has been talking. I’ve got the feeling that they’re getting close to finding me.’

  ‘And you tell me that you’ve got a meeting tomorrow at a new newspaper? You’re going to get yourself caught, Alaa. It’s not impossible that we’re being watched right now.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got myself covered.’

  ‘Explain that to me. How have you got yourself covered?’

  ‘I mean that there’s no one watching me. I know it. I’ve been walking around for three hours. I went into a mall with four exits and left after I’d messed around on the escalators for half and hour. Believe me: if there had been anybody I would have known about it. He won’t be able to get home after what I did to him. You’re forgetting that I’m an old hand at this; I was a full-time demonstrator back in the day.’

  ‘The only thing worrying me is that confidence of yours. What about the guys who were asking about you? What about this new paper? Mightn’t they close it as well, or someone inform against you?’

  ‘Most likely, and that’s why I wanted to meet you today. Look, Ahmed, I’m due to see these people at ten tomorrow morning. If I haven’t called you by eleven then get down to the bank, open the deposit box and take everything inside. I’m not insisting you do anything but I would rest easy if I knew those things were with you.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Alaa. This business doesn’t need sacrifices.’

  ‘Listen, Ahmed, for me it’s either one “s” or another.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Either success or suicide. It makes no difference to me. Even if they agree to publish, no one will employ me. I haven’t got a wife or kids, or even a job at the moment. It’s a risk, I know, but it isn’t a suicide mission. Believe me. I have every hope that I’ll go back to work as a journalist, but it won’t happen with things as they are: either I change or circumstances change, and, trust me, the second option is easier.’

  ‘You think this country deserves all this?’

  ‘And more besides. It’s me or them, Ahmed. I’m a southerner: I’m not used to having my arm twisted.’

  ‘But all the jokes are about southerners, Alaa.’

  ‘Not after this, Ahmed. Not after this. Tomorrow they’ll be saying it was a southerner who turned the world on its head and they’ll be making fun of you lot from Cairo.’

  ‘Whatever you say. Just take care of yourself. Though I still say you should forget about tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t be a sissy.’

  Ahmed was really shaken, stunned by the confrontation he had experienced just hours before. Suppressing his agitation, he tried to focus on Alaa.

  It was past ten o’clock when, midway through a long discussion over the details, Alaa looked at his watch.

  ‘I’ve got to go. I’ve still got a lot of writing to do.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘There’s no point. Go home: it’s a boring trip on the metro.’

  ‘I don’t want to go home now. I’ll come and kill the time with you. I’ll take you home and come back on the metro.’

  ‘Let’s go then.’

  They walked until Tahrir Square, from where they had forty-five minutes before the train reached the station in Helwan Gardens: a long trip, the passengers crammed on the carriage seats, their faces weary with the monotony of their daily journey. Children scampered about like little devils, tempting passengers to hurl them from the moving carriage. There were old men and stout women, their health broken; youths and middle-aged men returning from work, or perhaps on their way; a pretty young woman standing alone while two young men stared unblinkingly at the small slit in her skirt that displayed a minute portion of her leg; a bearded youth who never raised his eyes from the Quran. A strange blend of humankind brought together by the carriage that swayed to and fro, heads and bodies swaying with it like dervishes at their devotions. The silence was only broken by another train, which rocked the carriage as it passed, howling insanely.

  Ahmed and Alaa leaned against the door saying very little, until the train pulled in to Helwan Gardens. The door opened and they disembarked.

  ‘Eleven o’clock, Ahmed. If I haven’t called you by then, get moving.’

  ‘You’ll call me and, what’s more, you’ll have good news.’

  ‘Ahmed, you’re not being told to do anything; I’m just reminding you.’

  Ahmed nodded to reassure him.

  ‘Don’t talk like that.’

  Alaa turned in the direction of the turnstiles and pointed to a three-storey building rising up behind them.
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  ‘I live there.’

  It was squeezed into the line of buildings across from the station: a small old red-brick building with a single flat on each floor.

  ‘Third floor,’ said Alaa. ‘When things get better I’ll invite you and the fat kid round. We’ll have a celebration; slaughter a goat.’

  ‘You’re a charitable man, Sheikh Alaa. Blessings on your head.’

  Alaa held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, Ahmed. Cross the footbridge and take the metro going back on the other side.’

  ‘Goodbye, Alaa. Take care of yourself.’

  ‘Leave it in God’s hands. And you take care of yourself as well.’

  They separated. Alaa waved at Ahmed after he was through the turnstiles, and Ahmed headed for the footbridge at the end of the platform. When he had climbed up the stairs, he stopped to look at the building where Alaa lived, memorising its location in case he came to visit him in the near future. He saw Alaa go into the darkened entrance and his eyes tracked up to the third floor, where he caught sight of a patch of light through a gap in the shutters.

  It went out.

  There was only one flat on the floor: a flat with only one occupant. The light had come from Alaa’s apartment. For a brief instant he was paralysed by shock, then he took out his mobile and dialled Alaa’s number. Down the line came the voice of that indefatigable woman: ‘The number you have dialled is currently unavailable. Please try again later.’

  He dialled again, leaping down the stairs of the footbridge. Alaa hung up without answering. Ahmed sprinted towards the exit, punching out the number a third time as he vaulted over the turnstiles to the astonishment of those around him.

  ‘Pick up, Alaa! Pick up!’

  ‘Hey, Ahmed. What is it?’

  Ahmed saw a young man in a tracksuit come out of the building’s entrance and head towards an olive-green Mercedes 190, in which sat three others: a driver and two men on the back seat. The young man seemed to be in hurry. He opened the front passenger side door and got in next to the driver, who remained motionless in his seat. One of the men on the back seat was gazing up at Alaa’s flat.