necessary.
The meeting went on the usual way, and before it adjourned, the chairman, Bill Friedman, asked his colleagues to stay. He blushed as he usually did when he had something to say; then he looked at the papers in front of him and said in a calm voice, “I’d like to consult you about something. You know that the Egyptian Educational Bureau has an agreement with the department to send Egyptian students to study for the PhD in histology. We now have three students: Tariq Haseeb, Shaymaa Muhammadi, and Ahmad Danana. This week the bureau sent the papers of a new student, whose name is”—he stopped and read the name with difficulty—“Nagi Abd al-Samad. This student is different from the others: first, because he wants to get an MS and not a PhD, and second, because he does not work at a university. I was surprised at the beginning — I couldn’t understand why he wants to get an MS in histology if he doesn’t work in scientific research or teaching. This morning I contacted the head of the bureau in Washington, D.C., and she told me that that student was denied a job at Cairo University for political reasons, and that his obtaining an MS would strengthen his position in his lawsuit against Cairo University. I looked at the student’s file and found it to be quite promising: he has high scores both in English and overall. And as you know, the bureau will cover his study expenses. I’d like to know what you think. Should we admit this student? Graduate study slots here are limited, as you know. I will listen to you, and if you don’t all agree I’ll put it to a vote.”
Friedman looked around. George Roberts, “the Yankee,” was the first to ask to speak. He took a sip from his can of Pepsi and said, “I don’t object to admitting Egyptian students. But I’d only like to remind you that this is one of the most important histology departments in the world. An opportunity to study here is rare and precious. We shouldn’t squander it just because a student from Africa would like to win a lawsuit against his government. I believe education here has a higher purpose. The spot that this Egyptian would get is needed by a genuine researcher to learn and discover new things in science. I refuse to admit this student.”
“Okay. This is your opinion, Dr. Roberts. How about the rest of you?” the chairman asked, smiling. Ra’fat Thabit raised his hand then started speaking like someone telling an anecdote. “Having been an Egyptian at one time, I know very well how Egyptians think. They don’t learn for the sake of learning. They get MSs and PhDs, not for the sake of scientific research, but to get a promotion or a lucrative contract in the Arab Gulf countries. This student will hang his diploma in his clinic in Cairo to convince the patients that he can cure them.”
Friedman looked at him in astonishment and said, “How do they allow that in Egypt? Histology is an academic subject that has nothing whatsoever to do with treating people.”
Ra’fat laughed sarcastically and said, “You don’t know Egypt, Bill. Everything there is permitted, and people don’t know what the word
“Are you exaggerating a little, Ra’fat?” asked Friedman in a soft voice.
Muhammad Salah intervened, “Of course he’s exaggerating.”
Ra’fat Thabit turned to him and said sharply, “You, in particular, know I am not exaggerating.”
Friedman sighed and said,“Anyway, this is not what we’re discussing. We now have two opinions, from Dr. Roberts and Dr. Thabit, against admitting the Egyptian student. What do you say, Dr. Graham?”
John Graham took the unlit pipe from his mouth and said vexedly, “Gentlemen! You’re talking more like secret police detectives than university professors!”
There were some noises of objection but Graham continued loudly, “The right thing to do is quite obvious. Anyone who fulfills the requirements of the department is entitled to enroll. It’s none of our business what he’ll do with his diploma or what country he’s come from.”
“This kind of talk gave America September 11,” said George Roberts.
Graham rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, “What led to September 11 is that most decision makers in the White House thought like you. They supported despotic regimes in the Middle East to multiply the profits of oil and arms companies, and armed violence escalated and reached our shores. Remember, this student will leave his country and his family and travel to the end of the world for the sake of learning. Don’t you find this to be an honorable endeavor deserving respect? Isn’t it our duty to help him? Remember, Dr. Roberts, you’ve often objected to admitting any non-American students, haven’t you? As for you, Ra’fat, do you think your speech is culpable under the anti-racial-discrimination statutes?”
“I didn’t say anything racist, Comrade Graham!” said Ra’fat with some irritation.
Graham turned toward him, ran his fingers through his beard, and said, “If you call me ‘comrade’ in jest, I take that as a compliment and I can assure you that what you say is racist. Racism is the belief that a difference in race leads to a difference in behavior and human abilities. This applies to what you said about Egyptians. The amazing thing is, you yourself are Egyptian!”
“I used to be Egyptian some time ago, but I’ve quit. And, comrade, when will you recognize the American passport I carry?”
Chairman Friedman made a gesture with his hand, saying, “Control your tempers. We’ve got off the subject at hand. Dr. Graham, you agree to admit the student. How about you, Dr. Salah?”
“I agree to admit the student,” said Salah calmly. The chairman’s smile widened and he said, “Two in favor and two against. I’ll keep my opinion until the end. We’d like to hear from Dennis. I don’t know if today is one of the days Dr. Baker can talk, or do we have to wait a few days?”
Everyone laughed and some of the tensions caused by the discussion dissipated. Baker smiled and remained silent for a moment, then his eyes grew wider and he said in his gruff voice, “I’d rather we have a formal vote.”
The chairman bowed his head at once, as if he had received an order. He scribbled a few words on a piece of paper in front of him, then cleared his throat, and his voice acquired a formal tone as he said, “Gentlemen, this is a formal vote. Do you agree to admit the Egyptian student Nagi Abd al-Samad to the histology MS program? Those in favor, please raise your hands.”
Chapter 3
At the student dorm at the University of Illinois in Chicago, apartment 303, in front of the elevator on the third floor, Tariq Haseeb leads a life as precise as the hand of a clock: alone, thin, and tense, moving forward in a constant, nonchanging rhythm. From 8:00 a.m. until 3:00 p.m., every day, he moves from lecture hall to lab to library. Then he returns to his apartment to have his lunch in front of the television followed by a full two-hour siesta. At exactly 7:00 p.m., regardless of changing circumstances or events around the world, what Tariq Haseeb does doesn’t change one bit: he turns off his cell phone and turns on light music in his room. Then he assumes the position he has throughout his thirty-five years on this earth: he bends over his small desk, studying his lessons, or more precisely, waging a relentless war against the material until he controls it and records it in his mind, never to be erased afterward. He spreads the books and papers in front of him and stares at them with his big, slightly bulging eyes. He knits his brow and purses his thin lips, the muscles of his pale face contracted in a stony expression, as if patiently suffering some kind of pain. When his concentration reaches its peak, he becomes so completely isolated from his surroundings that he doesn’t hear the doorbell or forgets the teakettle on the stove until the water in it totally evaporates and it starts burning. He stays like that tirelessly until he suddenly jumps to his feet and shouts loudly or claps his hands and heaps obscene insults on an imaginary person or raises his arms and dances wantonly all over the room. That is the way he expresses joy when he manages to understand a scientific problem that he has had some difficulty comprehending.
With the same determination, Tariq Haseeb continues his holy march every day with the exception of Sunday, which he devotes to chores that might distract him from studying the rest of the week. He does his grocery shopping at the shopping center and his laundry in the apartment building, vacuums his room, and cooks for the week, keeping the food in paper containers that can be easily reheated. It is this military precision that has enabled him to achieve the difficult goal of staying at the top. He placed first in his Cairo primary school, third in preparatory school, and eighth nationally in the general secondary school certificate with a 99.8 percentile. After that Tariq maintained the grade “excellent” throughout his five years in medical school but did not have the right connections, so he was appointed to the histology department rather than the general surgery department as he had dreamed. But it didn’t take him long to overcome his sorrow, and he devoted himself to work anew, obtained an MS in histology with distinction, and was nominated for a scholarship to obtain a doctorate from the University of Illinois.
