“Did you read the paper today?” he asked me.
“No,” I answered. “Is there anything other than the usual garbage?”
He read a few al-Ahram headlines out to me: “Muslim Brotherhood elements call for demonstrations and security forces succeed in foiling the intrigues of the banned group. Cautious calm returns to city streets. Security forces on standby in case of renewed protests. Renewed protests in Suez demand better wages. One hundred million pounds in losses to the municipality due to vandalism, fire, and looting. Freedom of expression is guaranteed. Chaos will not be tolerated.”
I interrupted him. “Baba, tell you what—I’ve heard enough. Go get dressed, or are you not coming with me?”
“OK, OK. I’m getting up.”
It didn’t take my father long to get ready. We stopped a taxi outside the house and headed to Tahrir Square. My father stared out of the car window, and I wished I could read his mind. What did he think of what was happening? He must have been frightened. His health would not allow him to run if he needed to. But I was not going to let go of his hand; that I was sure of. In all honesty, though, I was terrified. We were facing the Unknown, with a capital U. We had no idea what might happen. There was hardly anyone on the roads except the Central Security forces. The taxi dropped us in Abd al-Moneim Riyad Square. Who were all those burly men? The first scene, not far from us: two of them falling on a skinny young man. I will never forget the sight of that kid under their boots. After beating him senseless, they dragged him to the Central Security van parked under the bridge.
I turned to my father. “That’s it. You’re going home.”
“Oh, you’ve decided for me?” He was driving me mad with his calmness.
“Please, for my sake. It’s only the start of the day, and you can see how it’s going. Tell you what—I’ll take you back to my place. So you’ll be close by, and then you can spend the night with me.”
My father could tell that I was on the verge of hysterics, or maybe he really agreed that his health would not be up to this kind of day. We walked to the bridge and waited for a few minutes for a taxi. I accompanied him to my apartment and made sure he was settled in front of the TV. “Baba, you know where everything is. You can make tea if you want. There’s a chicken in the fridge. Reheat it in the oven when you’re hungry. You need to eat so you can take your medication. I’ll be back tonight. Don’t worry, OK?”
His face was suddenly overtaken with concern. He gripped my arm. “Take care of yourself. I mean it! I couldn’t handle anything happening to you. I only agreed to come back here for your sake. But take care of yourself and don’t be reckless. Run if there’s trouble. Running is sometimes the bravest thing to do, you understand?”
I laughed and hugged him. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a coward anyway.”
“No, you’re not a coward. You can be reckless and unpredictable. But for my sake, you’ll take care of yourself today.”
I smiled as I closed the door behind me and headed back to the Unknown.
When I got back that night, I was pretty much a wreck, so tired my feet could barely carry me. I was covered in dust, and sticky because of all the soda we’d been pouring on our faces to neutralize the pain of tear gas. My long straight hair somehow managed to look like a toilet brush; it was completely disheveled. My eyes, like millions of eyes that day, were red and swollen because of the tear gas. I looked like I had stepped out of the grave.
My father opened the door. “Where have you been, damn you! I was worried sick!” He pulled me into an anxious hug. “Are you OK? Do you have any injuries? Did something happen to you? Tell me!”
“Baba, just give me a minute to breathe. I can hardly stand. I’ll tell you everything.”
I threw myself onto the small sofa and began to tell my father about the day.
“After I left you I decided not to take a taxi. I walked to the Opera House and into a massive demonstration. I marched with them. The chants were amazing—loud and powerful and full of defiance. Anyway, we got to Qasr al-Nil Bridge. There was constant tear gas, coming from all directions. It nearly blinded me. At first I rubbed my eyes, which made them burn more. The more they burned, though, the angrier I became and the more determined I was to go on. So, we were at the bridge. Then all hell broke loose. If only I knew where they were shooting from. It seemed like the gas canisters were dropping from everywhere. Everywhere. Five or six at a time, the bastards. I couldn’t control where I was going, but was just being carried along with the crowd. Everyone seemed to be pushing in the opposite direction of the bridge. I had no idea what was going on. Were we trying to cross the bridge to get to the square? Were we trying to turn back because there was no way to cross? I couldn’t move. So I breathed in the tear gas and chanted.”
I went on, watching the changing emotions on my father’s face: “Some people were starting to lose it. A boy who looked about eighteen was trying to break one of the lampposts on the bridge. Then someone else stopped him and said that was public property, and the boy broke
