“How did Egypt change like that?”
“Repression, poverty, oppression, having no hope in the future, the absence of any national goal: Egyptians have given up on justice in this world, so they are waiting for it in the next. What’s widespread in Egypt right now is not true religiosity but a collective depression accompanied by religious symptoms. What makes matters worse is that millions of Egyptians have worked in Saudi Arabia for years and have come back with Wahhabi ideas. The regime has helped spread these ideas because they support it.”
“How?”
“Wahhabi Islam forbids rising against a Muslim ruler even if he oppresses the people. The thing that preoccupies Wahhabis most is covering a woman’s body.”
“Can Egyptians’ thinking fall so low?”
“Even lower. There are in Egypt now women who wear gloves so they won’t feel lust shaking men’s hands.”
“Isn’t Abdel Nasser responsible for all that?”
She let out a laugh that touched a soft spot in his heart and said, “You want us to resume our quarrels about Abdel Nasser? I still believe that he is the greatest man who ruled Egypt. His worst mistake, however, was his failure to bring about democracy and the fact that he left us with military rule inherited by those less sincere and less efficient.”
She paused for a moment then sighed and said, “Thank God, despite my failure in the national sphere, God granted me success on the family front. My daughter is an engineer who is successful in her work and marriage and has given me two wonderful grandchildren. How about you?”
“I got a PhD and became a university professor.”
“Did you get married?”
“Yes, married and divorced.”
“And children?”
“No children.”
He felt that his answer gave her some comfort. They talked for about two hours, and from that night on his life changed. His nocturnal life was complete. His enchanted city that he kept secret because no one would believe him if he spoke about it came into being. He kept it to himself because people would think he was crazy. During the day he lived halfheartedly, but at nightfall he turned into another creature as if he were a mythical hero, his wings soaring back into the past: he put on his old clothes, watched a 1960s black-and-white movie and listened to songs of Umm Kulthum and Abd al-Halim Hafiz until it was morning in Cairo. He would call Zeinab and tell her truthfully and sincerely everything that he did, as if he were a child who had come back from school and run to the bosom of his mother, who kissed him, took off his clothes, and washed the dust of the road off his face and hands. One night they reminisced about the old days, and the memories brought about pure sweetness to both of them. He suddenly told her, “How about me inviting you to come to America?”
“Why?”
“Perhaps to begin a new life.”
She laughed and said, “You think like Americans, Salah. What new life? At our age we ask God for a good ending.”
“Sometimes I get angry at you.”
“Why?”
“Because you brought about our separation.”
“That’s ancient history.”
“I can’t help thinking about it.”
“What good would that do now?”
“Why did you leave me, Zeinab?”
“It was you who decided to emigrate.”
“You could’ve convinced me to stay.”
“I tried but you were determined.”
“Why didn’t you come with me?”
“I can’t leave Egypt.”
“If you’d really loved me, you would’ve come with me.”
“It’s absurd to disagree now about what happened thirty years ago.”
“Do you still think I am a coward?”
“Why do you insist on bringing back bad memories?”
“Don’t be evasive: am I a coward in your opinion?”
“If I considered you a coward, I wouldn’t have had a relationship with you.”
“The last time we met you said: ‘I regret to tell you that you’re a coward.’”
“We were quarreling so I had a slip of the tongue.”
“That sentence gave me pain for years.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think it was a slip of the tongue.”
“What exactly do you want?”
“Your real opinion: am I a coward in your view?”
“Duty dictated that you stay in Egypt.”
“You’ve stayed; what was the result?
“I wasn’t waiting for any results.”
“Not one goal that you struggled for has been accomplished.”
“But I did my duty.”
“To no avail.”
“At least I didn’t run away.”
Her words had a heavy impact. They both fell silent until she whispered in an apologetic tone, “Sorry, Salah. Please don’t be angry with me. It was you who insisted on talking about this.”
CHAPTER 33
It was as though a muscle in Dr. Ra’fat Thabit’s face had contracted forever, giving his features a look of indelible bitterness, as if he were carrying a heavy burden that slowed his steps and crooked his back, replacing his former sprightly athletic gait. He lost his ability to concentrate and seemed most of the time to be staring at nothing. Only one question weighed down on him: Where had Sarah disappeared to? He looked for her everywhere to no avail. Had she escaped with Jeff to another city? Has she been attacked by a gang in Oakland? There were crimes in Chicago’s poor black neighborhoods that were discovered only by chance; some might never be discovered. He asked himself: What has happened to you, Sarah? I will never forgive myself if anything bad happened to you. How cruel I was with you! How could I have insulted you like that?
After a few days of strenuous searching he decided to inform the police. He was met by a polite black officer who listened to his story with interest, then sighed and said, “Sorry, sir. I’m a father like you and I appreciate your feelings, but your daughter is now an adult and, under the law, is a free citizen who has the right to go wherever she wants. So there’s no legal justification at this point to look for her if she’s missing.”
Ra’fat went back home,
