manner until we peaked together in a blaze of passion. She savored her ecstasy for a long time and then came to and jumped gleefully out of bed. She took a small camera out of her handbag and said as she readied it, “I’m going to take a picture of you.”
“Wait ’til I’m ready.”
“I’d like to take your picture in the buff.” I was about to object but she was quicker. The flash lit several times as she took pictures from different angles. Then she laughed and said, “One of these days I’ll blackmail you with these photos.”
“That’ll be the most beautiful blackmail in my life!”
“I hope you’ll still think like that always. I’ve got to go now.”
“Can’t you stay a little longer?”
“Unfortunately I can’t. Next time I’ll plan to spend a longer time with you.”
She went to the bathroom and soon came back, having put on her clothes. Her face was rosy, radiant with a smile of gratitude. I was waiting for her, having also put on my clothes. She said, “Please don’t worry about escorting me.”
“I’d like to.”
“It’s best if I go alone,” she said in a calm, decisive tone. I was somewhat surprised but I respected her wish. I embraced her affectionately and said, “Wendy, I’m happy I met you.”
“Me too,” she whispered as she looked at my face and ran her fingers through my hair, then said, “Where’s that documentary movie you promised me?”
I was embarrassed, but she laughed loudly and said as she winked, “I was on to you from the beginning but I pretended to believe you.”
“When will I see you again?”
“That depends on you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There’s something I have to tell you. I don’t know how you’ll take it.”
She had opened the door and left it ajar as she got ready to leave. Then she said simply, “I’m Jewish.”
“Jewish?”
“Are you shocked?”
“No, not at all.”
“Perhaps I was wrong. I should have told you from the beginning. But you’d have found out anyway. No one can hide their religion.”
I remained silent. She pulled the door to close it behind her and said with a mysterious smile on her face, “Take your time thinking about our relationship. You can call me anytime. If you don’t, I’ll still thank you for the wonderful time we had together.”
Chapter 19
When instructor Karam Abd al-Malak Doss found out that he’d failed his MS exams for the second time, he went straight to see Dr. Abd al-Fatah Balbaa, chair man of the department of surgery at Ain Shams Medical School. It was a hot day in the summer of 1975. Karam went into the office drenched in sweat from the heat and agitation. When the secretary asked him why he wanted to see the chairman he said, “It’s a personal matter.”
“Dr. Abd al-Fatah Bey went to perform the midafternoon prayers at the mosque.”
“I’ll wait for him,” said Karam defiantly and sat in the chair facing the secretary, who ignored him and went back to reading some papers in front of him. A whole half hour passed before the door opened and Dr. Balbaa’s hulking figure, balding head, crude, stern features, thin beard, and the amber prayer beads that never left his hand appeared. Karam stood up right away and approached his professor, who scrutinized him with a suspicious glance then asked him as if in alarm, “Yes,
Dr. Balbaa used the
“Come on in.”
The professor went ahead and sat at his desk and motioned him to sit down.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to know why I failed the exam.”
“Your grades were bad,
“All my answers were correct.”
“How do you know?”
“I verified them myself. Can we review the answer sheets? Please, sir.”
Dr. Balbaa played with his beard, then smiled and said, “Even if all your answers were correct, it wouldn’t change your result.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My words are clear. Passing the exam alone is not enough for success.”
“But this is against the university rules.”
“The university rules are not binding on us,
“On what basis?”
“On important bases which I am not going to share with you. Listen, Karam. Don’t waste my time. I’ll tell you frankly: you were admitted in the department before I became chairman. Had it been in my hands, I wouldn’t have approved your appointment. Think carefully of what I am saying and don’t get angry. You will never be a surgeon. I advise you to save your time and effort. Try another department. I’ll personally intervene on your behalf.”
A heavy silence fell on the room and suddenly Karam cried bitterly, “You are being unfair to me, sir, because I am a Copt.”
Dr. Balbaa fixed him with a stern glance, as if warning him not to go any further. Then he got up and said calmly, “The meeting is over,
~~~~~~~~~
THAT NIGHT KARAM COULDN’T SLEEP at all. He locked himself in his room and opened a bottle of whiskey he had bought from a store in Zamalek. He drank nonstop and whenever he finished one glass he got more tense and stood up and started pacing up and down his room, thinking. How could he abandon surgery? He had enrolled in medical school and worked hard for years to fulfill one dream that consumed his life: to be a surgeon. He couldn’t change to another specialty. He would never give up surgery come what may. He knew that Dr. Balbaa’s authority was absolute, that his word was like irreversible fate. He had told him explicitly: Save your time and effort. You’ll never be a surgeon.
If he persisted in trying he would fail him repeatedly until he got expelled from the university, and Balbaa had done that more than once to other doctors. Jesus Christ, how can Balbaa permit himself to destroy the futures of others so easily? Didn’t he feel any pangs of conscience whatsoever when he did such injustice? How can he stand before God and pray afterward?
The following morning Karam took a warm bath and drank several cups of coffee to overcome fatigue and the hangover, and then he headed for the American embassy, where he applied for immigration. In a few months he was leaving O’Hare Airport to tread on Chicago’s soil for the first time. From the earliest days he came to grasp several truths. First, being a Christian was not a plus for him in American society, for to Americans he was, first and foremost, a colored Arab. Second: America was the land of opportunity, but it was also the land of cutthroat competition. Therefore, if he wanted to be a great surgeon he had to exert a tremendous effort to be at least twice as good as any American colleague. Karam fought valiantly for many critical years: he passed many exams and studied very hard. He would start in the early morning and go on until midnight without complaining or grumbling.
