yourself?”
“I’m proud of what I’m doing.”
“The problem with intellectuals like you is that you are prison ers of books and theories. You don’t know anything about what really happens in your country. I’ve worked as a police officer for ten years in different governorates, in villages, hamlets, and alleys. I’ve come to know the lower depths of Egyptian society. I can assure you that Egyptians are not concerned with democracy at all. Besides, they are not cut out for it. Egyptians are concerned about three things only: their religion, their livelihood, and their children. And religion is the most important; the only thing that pushes Egyptians to revolt is when someone attacks their religion. When Napoleon came to Egypt and pretended to respect Islam, Egyptians supported him and forgot that he was an occupier.”
“It seems you haven’t read your history. Egyptians revolted against the French expedition twice within a three-year period and they killed the commander.”
He looked at me angrily. I felt some comfort in having insulted him. He went on in an arrogant tone of voice, “I don’t have time to waste with you. I wanted to help you but you insist on your stupidity. One thing you can be sure of is: that statement for which you are gathering signatures is just child’s play.”
“If it was just child’s play, then why did you take the trouble of coming here?”
“You’re playing with fire.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I am just warning you. If you don’t give up on this statement, you cannot imagine what I’ll do to you.”
“Do your worst,” I shouted, having got over the surprise. For the first time, it occurred to me to kick him out. He moved, backing off a few steps toward the door, saying, “You are plowing the sea. Do you think you’ll embarrass the regime in front of the Americans? I assure you the regime is as solid as a mountain and organically connected to the American establishment. Everything you’ve written in the statement is well known to the Americans and they couldn’t care less, so long as the Egyptian regime is looking after their interests.”
“So, you admit that the Egyptian regime is just a servant of the Americans.”
“I warn you for the last time. You’re mistaken to think that being in America will protect you from punishment. Come back to your senses, Nagi, if not for your own future then for the sake of your mother, who has toiled for years for you, and for your sister Noha, the student in the College of Economics and Political Science. She is a tender girl and would not withstand one night of detention at State Security. The officers there are lowlifes and they love women.”
“Get out of here.”
“You will pay dearly. You’ll discover how we can teach you manners, but it will be too late.” He said the last few words as he opened the door, then he suddenly turned toward me and said, “By the way, greetings to your Jewish beloved, Wendy. I’ve received videos of the two of you having sex. Thank you. They are very enjoyable.”
He let out a loud laugh then closed the door and disappeared. I collapsed on the nearest chair. I couldn’t describe how I felt at that moment. It was a mixture of shock, anger, and humiliation. I opened a bottle of wine and lit a cigarette and began to smoke and drink. How did Safwat get a copy of the statement? How did he come to know everything about me? More seriously: How did he enter the apartment? I got up and opened the door and examined it carefully. I found no sign of forced entry. He had used a copy of the key. Where did he get it from? There must be some kind of cooperation between Egyptian intelligence and the university administration. I should change residence at the earliest opportunity. I could cut down on my expenses to afford off-campus housing. I was possessed by a strange desire, so I got up and went to the bedroom, turned on the lights, and began to examine the walls, as if I were going to find the secret camera that had filmed Wendy and me. In a short while I laughed at myself, turned off the lights, and went back to the living room. I soon heard the sound of a key turning in the door. I got up, ready for a confrontation, but I saw Wendy, who said, smiling as soon as she saw me, “Hello. How are you?”
I kissed her as usual. I tried to seem natural. She exclaimed cheerfully, “Listen, Nagi. I’m going to the bathroom. Please close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you.”
“Can we do this some other time?”
“No, we can’t,” she said good-naturedly and planted a quick kiss on my cheek then dashed off to the bathroom. I gulped down my glass of wine and poured myself another and began to chide myself anew. How did I allow Safwat Shakir to break into my house and threaten me? Why didn’t I call the police? What he had done was a crime in American law; even if he had diplomatic immunity, I would have caused a major scandal for him. Why didn’t I do that?
“Are your eyes closed?” Wendy’s voice came from the bathroom. I closed my eyes as I lost myself in thought then I came to when I heard her voice nearby: “Now open your eyes.”
It was a strange sight: Wendy was wearing a belly dancing outfit; her breasts bulging out of a tight, low bra, revealing most of her chest, her belly fully exposed with a star covering her belly button, and her waist tied by a scarf that accentuated her hips. From that girdle long tassels descended, barely covering her bare legs. She was excited and happy. She turned around several times and cried, “What do you think? I am now a dancer from Andalusia. Do I look like the picture in your imagination?”
“Of course.”
“I had a very hard time finding the store that sold belly dancing outfits. Do you know what I did?”
“What?”
“I went to a costume party last year and I saw a girl wearing an outfit like this one. I kept looking for her telephone number until I found it and she told me where the store was.”
My ability to keep up with her was limited and fragile. I kept following her with my eyes while my mind was wandering off. She soon realized that, and her face clouded over. She sat next to me and asked me in alarm, “What’s wrong?”
Her appearance as she sat next to me in the dance outfit was bizarre. It was as if she were an actress sitting in the wings in her costume. It occurred to me to conceal what had happened, to ask her to leave, or to leave myself, using any excuse. Suddenly, however, I found myself telling her everything. She looked lost in deep thought and then said in a soft voice, “I had no idea you lived in such a police state.”
“Without American support the Egyptian regime wouldn’t last a single day.”
She put her arms around me and got so close I could feel her breath. She whispered, “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll go on collecting signatures.”
“Aren’t you afraid to?”
“Yes, naturally, but I’ll overcome it.”
“But it is no longer just you. They’ll harm your mother and sister.”
The faces of Noha and my mother materialized in my mind. I could see the scene with the officers and plainclothesmen storming the house and arresting them. I said in a loud voice, “Let them do what they want to do. I am not backing off.”
“You are free to take a stand. But what have your mother and sister done to deserve this?”
“They are no better than the mothers and sisters of tens of thousands of detainees.”
“Nagi, I truly don’t understand you. Why do you go looking for trouble?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you still care about Egypt’s problems now that you’re out of it?”
“It’s my country.”
“Egypt, like so many countries in the third world, is suffering from many deep-rooted problems that have accumulated over centuries. Your lifetime and my lifetime would not be enough to fix these problems.”
What she said was unexpected to me. I downed my drink, staring at her in disbelief. She got up and stood in front of me. Then she pulled my face toward her bare belly and whispered, “Our relationship is wonderful. With you I have feelings I’ve never known before. Please, think of our future.”
“I am not going to give up on my duty.”
“Why don’t you think in a different way? America was built on the shoulders of talented, ambitious young people like you. They came from all over the world looking for a better future. America is the land of opportunity. If you stay here, you’ll do great things.”
“You’re talking like Safwat Shakir.”
