Tahrir continued to attract large numbers every day, even if most went home at night. They returned in the mornings, afternoons, evenings, injecting enthusiasm and persistence into the protestors who were sleeping there. There was no explanation for this except that the square itself was pushing us forward. The powerful monster of the ruling authorities shrank a little more every day before the spectacle and the purpose of the square.
29
Ali came over with other friends. I sat on the rocking chair and he perched next to me. I tapped my foot nervously. All eyes were on us. He casually extended his arm behind my back and stroked my shoulder. The others were talking loudly. Gradually the voices faded, leaving the two of us engulfed in our silence. Only silence brought us together. I looked at Ali’s hand and touched it for a second. It was warm. When the last person had left, he rested his head on my shoulder and slept.
This was what often happened when Ali came over with the others. He’d touch me coyly, suppressing the urge to throw himself into my arms. I knew that and saw it all the time. Ali belonged in my arms. He was like a cat. I would stroke his head and let him bury his head in my chest until he fell asleep. Sometimes, in his sleep, he would turn his back to me and continue sleeping with his face to the other side of sofa. But in order to fall asleep in the first place, he had to bury his head in my chest. I remembered my father’s advice about not treating Ali like he was my child. I’d never been a mother and knew little about maternal feelings; I just responded to Ali based on how I felt. When he wanted to hide in my arms, I held him. When he wanted to go away and never come back, I left him alone and didn’t call him.
Did I ever do anything that upset Ali? I must have. There were the days I would leave him and go to my wailing wall—in the big bathroom—then come back with puffy eyes and no explanation. He hated that. He wanted me to smile. And he wanted me to talk because he couldn’t. But even on days when I couldn’t smile at Ali, I would still look into his eyes to make sure the magic world still lived there. He didn’t know how I saw him, and I—naturally—didn’t know how he saw me. But in his eyes, I still saw all the lands I’d ever wanted to visit, all the innocence of an unspoiled world. I saw everything that was unattainable in this life.
I remember that time we went on a desert trip with our friends. There were about ten of us in a big tent and, as usual, they were all talking nonstop. I left the loud laughter and the many stories and slipped away to the void outside. At the door of the tent lay an infinity I knew well. I lay down on the soft sand, trying to sink down to its deepest layer, and looked at the sky. Since I was a child I had been looking at the sky. I looked for the three aligned stars. I’m not sure where I got the idea but I believed those three stars brought me luck and love. I always found them, but luck and love never found me.
The sky was so full of stars that night, and that time I couldn’t locate my three stars. But I saw a meteor shower, ten or so shooting stars, and at the same moment Ali came out of the tent and walked over lightly to join me. He placed his arm under my head and looked up, searching for what I was looking at. I turned to him. He lay as if he were floating above the sand. He didn’t sink like I did. I planted a kiss on his cheek. He smiled. A few minutes later he got up and set off running. I heard his laughter and sank deeper into the sand. Maybe it was on that night that I realized he was never going to be with me. I was inside the sand, sinking to the deepest possible layer, while he ran above it, his feet barely touching the ground.
Ali didn’t remember most of what happened between us. His memory was selective. I sometimes thought that he forgot things intentionally to protect himself from hurting when we eventually stopped seeing each other. But I insisted on reminding him of the moments we shared. I too had a selective memory, and I was choosing not to forget. What he didn’t know was that I loved him mainly so I could remember him when he was gone. If parting was always an unspoken presence between us, then let us save what we can. The memories would be all that was left when everything else was over. I would wait until his head was settled on my chest before sleep and start to quietly recount the moments we shared.
Do you remember, Ali, when I went to see Radwa, in the cold faraway country? I used all the communication tools of the twenty-first century to reach you, and you didn’t answer. Suddenly you had stopped taking my calls. I sat in a beautiful room where the sun shone through the winter snow, and couldn’t sleep. Long hours watching night turn into day and not sleeping. Do you remember, Ali, when you then suddenly reappeared in a text message to tell me that you were ill? Do you remember the exact moment when you told me that everything had gone suddenly dark around you and that I, sitting here
