Vertigo

by Ahmed Mourad

  ‘You say that like it’s easy!’

  ‘There’s no other solution.’

  ‘You see where this has led?’

  He didn’t answer. He had no answer. In the two days since his picture had appeared on the front pages his life had turned upside down.

  It was a picture of him in the bar. Though not completely clear, it had been enough to provoke questions from his friends. He was called into the office and, based on that meeting, took a two-day leave, time for him to get his affairs in order and wait for a solution to be found. The entire office had fallen apart. From Safwan el-Bihiri and Mustafa Arif on down, everyone had been handed their notice. An entire team removed as if it had never existed.

  The solution that presented itself was to conceal Tariq for two days, until they found a host nation to accept him, his wife and his daughter. He had decided to spend that time on the North Coast, far from prying eyes.

  ‘I’ve had my mobile switched off for two days,’ Somaya went on. ‘My own mother doesn’t know where I am. This isn’t the life I imagined living with you. I had no idea. And there’s Habiba. Habiba, Tariq! What will you do about her?’

  ‘Calm down, Somaya. Crying isn’t going to change anything.’

  ‘What will I tell my parents?’

  ‘When we’re abroad we’ll speak to them every day. Could you please calm down?’

  ‘I never dreamed that this could happen. I never dreamed that you could do something so wicked.’

  ‘Somaya, it was a mistake. I’ve been working a desk job at the office for some time now. What more can I do? They were orders: I’m not to blame.’

  ‘Nothing comes without a price. We’re all paying now, even Habiba.’

  Habiba’s scream rose above the gentle wash of the waves.

  ‘Go and see to her. She must be frightened.’

  Before she could go he pulled her by the hand and folded her in an embrace that he needed more than she did.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said.

  ‘A little while longer. Just a while and I’ll come.’

  She disappeared into the chalet as a torrent of fears assailed him. The waves began to lap at his feet. His mind was racing, trying to get to grips with his new situation.

  Then he noticed a red dot on the horizon, glowing and drawing closer. It was a cigarette held by a man in his thirties, his features growing clearer as he approached. He was handsome enough, his body toned, and he wore a navy blue T-shirt with a picture of a yacht and some phrases in English, khaki shorts and trainers. He looked like a chalet owner.

  He was only a few paces away from Tariq when he said, ‘Unusual to meet someone at this time of night!’

  Tariq turned to face him, took a deep breath, then looked incuriously back out to sea.

  ‘Unusual indeed.’

  The man stood beside him looking out. ‘Lovely view.’

  ‘Indeed,’ replied Tariq stiffly.

  ‘Are you here alone?’

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Tariq, turning to find the barrel of a silenced revolver pointing at his head.

  ‘Muhi Zanoun says hi.’

  The sea vanished, the moon went out, and the sound of the waves suddenly ceased.

  30

  Mourad Street, Giza, 11.00 a.m.

  The little traitor was playing in front of the building where his father worked, next to Gallery Creation. He was still small and dark-skinned, skinny as a sheet of paper and curly haired, and he still harboured a passion for espionage and betrayal.

  The football was running along the ground when it was stopped by the foot of Ahmed Kamal, and the traitor, running after it, crashed into him. He raised his head and looked at Ahmed.

  ‘Gimme the ball.’

  ‘Gimme? It’s “give me”. Do you like chocolate?’

  ‘No,’ replied the child, managing to be tiresome and irritating at the same time.

  ‘OK. How about two pounds to buy yourself what you like?’

  ‘All right,’ the little fellow said. ‘What do you want?’

  Ahmed held out his hand with the money, but as soon as the boy tried to take it he whipped it away.

  ‘No, no, no, my little friend. This time you deliver it to Miss Ghada first and take your money when you get back.’

  The spy took a bunch of flowers and an envelope from Ahmed and made to dash off.

  Ahmed stopped him. ‘If you point me out like last time there’ll be no two pounds and no football, and I’ll hang you from the tree too. Got it?’

  Fixing him with a glare, the child ran off in the direction of the gallery.

  Ghada was talking to a colleague when she caught sight of the miniature double agent come in through the door in a scene reminiscent of his last visit.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said to her companion and went over to the traitor, who handed her the flowers and the envelope and turned to leave. She stopped him and questioned him.

  ‘I don’t know anything,’ he announced. ‘He told me to deliver this and that’s it.’

  Mindful of Ahmed’s threats, he held his tongue.

  Then he went out, leaving Ghada to examine the flowers then open the envelope. It contained photographs. Photographs Ahmed hadn’t told her about. Photographs he had taken whenever he passed the gallery. Photographs of her standing, daydreaming, looking sad, laughing and smiling. Some were no more than two days old, and each one told her that she had never left him. Her heart laughed and two lovely dimples slowly formed as she emptied the envelope of its contents. There was a ring inside: a silver ring inscribed with the first letter of her name.

  Her old wound, that cursed tear, began to heal over. Grabbing her phone, she dialled his number. She hadn’t erased it. She waited while it rang for a few seconds and then she heard him.

  He was beside her.

  Turning, she saw him standing there, dressed in the smartest outfit he could put together.

  She smiled sweetly. ‘What are all these pictures? Are you stalking me?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘Aren’t you ever going to stop this foolishness of yours?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Where have you been?’ She held up the ring. ‘And what’s this?’

  He smiled at her. ‘It’s a long story,’ he said, ‘A very long story.’

  Acknowledgements

  To the one who opened my eyes to the people around me: my father and best friend. To the one who once told me, ‘Forget about that Atari. Come on, let’s buy you a book that’ll actually do you some good,’ then dragged me to the Cairo Book Fair: my beloved mother. To the one who convinced me to take up writing overnight (and put up with my infatuation with that home-wrecker called Vertigo): my sweet-natured wife. To my heart, my daughter Fatima al-Zahra, known to all as Toota.

  To my dear sister, her son Misho and her husband, Abu Misho. To Mr Mohammed Hashim: I’ll never forget the first time I saw you when I knocked on your door clutching the manuscript of my novel in my hand. I’ll never forget your face when you said those words: ‘I like it … I’ll publish it.’ I’ll never forget the warmth of your welcome, your distinctive laugh and your office at Merit Publishing. To the artist Hossam Abdel Moniem. To my lovely Uncle Gouda. To my friend the poet Tarek Qutb. To my chubby best friend Mahmoud Hasib.

  Glossary

  basha: the Arabic equivalent of the Ottomon Turkish title ‘Pasha’, a generic term of respect for one’s social or professional superiors, meaning ‘boss’ or ‘chief’. Can also be used casually among friends.

  bashmuhandis: literally ‘chief engineer’. An amalgam of basha and muhandis (engineer), it is used loosely as a term of respect

  bastirma: seasoned, air-cured beef

  bey: an Arabised Ottoman rank (formally bek) that has become a general term of respect

  bismillah: an invocation in the name of Allah often used to express blessings or grace

  Eid: Islamic feast

  eish wa malh: literally ‘bread and salt’, it refers to the bond
created when two people share food

  fuul: a word that refers to both fava beans and a popular Egyptian dish of slow-cooked beans

  gallabiya (also jellabiya): traditional Arab robe

  Hajj: the annual pilgrimage to Mecca prescribed as a religious duty for Muslims. Term also used for a man who has performed the Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca, or as a respectful form of address for elderly men

  haram: ‘forbidden’. Something that is actively proscribed in Islamic law. There is a pronounced difference between haram and Al-Haram, like Al-Haram Street. The latter word means ‘pyramid’

  hijab: a headscarf or veil that covers the hair and neck of a woman, but not the face

  irqsus: a drink made from liquorice root and served chilled by street vendors

  jinn: one of a class of spirits that according to Muslim demonology inhabit the earth, assume various forms, and exercise supernatural power

  khalta rice: rice mixed with nuts, raisins and spices

  khimar: a veil for women covering the head, shoulders and body down to the waist

  koshari: macaroni, rice, lentils, chickpeas and fried onions in tomato sauce, often served with garlic and hot sauces

  molokhiyya: a green viscous stew made from the leaves of the jute plant, cooked with garlic and coriander

  nadaha: a siren and malign spirit that lures people to their death by calling to them at night

  niqab: a veil that covers the face

  nuqta: gift money lavished (commonly by men) on women dancers as a token of appreciation and often to display wealth

  piastre: a unit of currency equivalent to pence. There are one hundred piastres to the Egyptian pound

  rakaa: a unit of the Islamic prayer ritual

  shawerma: a Middle Eastern and southeastern European sandwich-like wrap containing meat or chicken

  sharbat: a drink made from fruit or rose petal syrup, offered at weddings and celebrations

  shisha: a narghile or water pipe

  shousha: mop of hair

  taamiya: Egyptian falafel, made with broad beans instead of chickpeas

  Umm Ali: a form of bread pudding made with phyllo pastry, raisins and chopped nuts baked in milk and cream

  Umra: the lesser Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca that can be undertaken at any time of year, either separately from or in conjunction with the Hajj

  urfi marriage: a marriage without a contract made before a cleric and two witnesses. They are commonly regarded as cover for extramarital sex and associated in the popular consciousness with prostitution and immoral lifestyles

  Prophet Youssef: Joseph, son of Jacob

  zar: an exorcism ritual involving trance possession, dance and clapping

  Footnote

  1 Yusuf Ali, Abdullah. The Holy Quran: Translation and Commentary (Lahore, 1934-37).

  A Note on the Translator

  Robin Moger is a translator of Arabic literature currently living in Cape Town, South Africa. He graduated with a degree in Egyptology and Arabic from Oxford University in 2001 before travelling to Cairo to work as a journalist for the Cairo Times magazine. Following it’s closure he became a full-time professional translator. He is the translator of A Dog With No Tail (AUC Press, 2009) by Hamdi Abu Golayyel, winner of the 2008 Naguib Mahfouz Medal for Literature, and one of the translators of the anthology Beirut 39: New Writing from the Arab World (Bloomsbury, 2010).

  First published in Arabic in 2007

  as Vertigo by Dar Merit, Cairo

  First published in English in 2011 by

  Bloomsbury Qatar Foundation Publishing

  This electronic edition published in 2012 by

  Bloomsbury Qatar Foundation Publishing

  Qatar Foundation

  Villa 3, Education City

  PO Box 5825

  Doha, Qatar

  www.bqfp.qa

  Copyright © Ahmed Mourad 2007

  Translation © Robin Moger 2011

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  ISBN 978 9 9921 9429 4

  All rights reserved

  You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  Vertigo is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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