Rebels by Accident
Page 18
Hassan sighs and shakes his head but says nothing more.
Samia says to me, “Thank you for being here.” She kisses me on both cheeks as hard as Sittu did at the airport. “It’s important the world see Egyptian-Americans like you here, supporting us.”
“Shukran,” I say.
“You mean afwan, ‘you’re welcome,’” she says.
“No, I mean shukran.”
Samia smiles at me, but I don’t know if she really understands why I’m thanking her. I want to tell her I’m thanking her for her courage and her love of Misr, a place that, until this trip, I didn’t want to know, but now I never want to forget. Ever. But she’s gone before I can get another word out.
“Mariam, if this is all over the news, we have to go back to Sittu,” Hassan says. “She’s going to be so worried for you.”
“She thinks I’m at the mall.”
“Mariam.” Hassan shakes his head. “This is Sittu we’re talking about.”
Of course he’s right. She will know Deanna came here and that I came to find her. Just like she knew she couldn’t have stopped me if she’d tried. This is Sittu. She just knows things.
“But what about Deanna and Muhammad?”
“Muhammad can take care of himself, believe me, and I’m sure Deanna…”
“Yeah, she’s okay,” I say, wanting to believe that my friend, the girl who isn’t afraid to tell you want she thinks or feels, who stands up to bullies and always has my back, can take care of herself now. But this may be more than even Deanna can handle. There’s a noise like firecrackers in the distance, and now everyone is screaming and scattering in different directions.
“They’re shooting,” Hassan says, pulling me with him and running until we reach his car.
chapter
TWENTY-TWO
“Ahmed, please!” Sittu’s voice is loud and strong, even through the closed door of her hospital room.
I turn to Hassan. “Wait here. If she sees you, she’ll ask for Deanna, and I want a minute before I tell her.”
Hassan agrees.
In the room, Ahmed is hovering over Sittu, trying to fluff her pillow.
“Stop your fussing!” Sittu has the same exasperated tone I’ve heard from Baba so many times. I run to hug her, and squeeze her like I never want to let go. Immediately the ancient heart monitor beside her bed beeps loudly.
I jump back like I’ve been electrocuted, and Sittu and Ahmed smile at me as a nurse comes into the room. She walks straight to Sittu and, without looking at me, fixes the piece of Velcro wrapped around Sittu’s pointer finger.
“Did I hurt something?” I ask the nurse.
“We just have to keep this on her finger.” She looks at the machine behind Sittu, which flashes numbers. “It’s how we monitor her heart.”
“My heart is fine.” Sittu raises the tip of her finger. “I’m E.T.” She smiles, and I try to smile back, but I can’t. I’m too upset. “You get the joke?”
“Is that the alien with a glowing finger who rides a bicycle?” I ask, watching the nurse press a button on the machine. The beeping stops.
“You never saw E.T.?” Sittu sounds surprised.
I shake my head.
“I think I have the tape of it. We can watch it when we go home.”
“That would be great.” This time, I manage to force a smile for Sittu. I don’t want her to see how worried I am about her.
“I will be back to take your pressure soon,” the nurse says, and walks out of the room.
“Not necessary!” Sittu shouts after her, and coughs.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“How are you feeling?” Sittu counters. “So serious. What took your smile?”
I’m thinking Deanna’s somewhere out there, lost in Cairo. I always thought she was okay and didn’t care what other people thought of her. I can’t believe that I needed her to tell me what she was really feeling. Was I too self-centered to see the truth? Maybe Deanna worked so hard to protect me from her pain that I couldn’t see it. Just like Baba has tried to protect me from his pain all these years. Now, here is Sittu lying in this hospital bed, pretending like all is okay when obviously it’s not. I can’t let her try and protect me too.
“Stop the serious.” Sittu puts her hand to my face and tries to push my cheeks up into a smile. “Remember, there are many things Egyptians are known for—some good and some bad—but the best is our sense of humor. We always try to find a way to keep ourselves laughing.”
“That’s when we’re not crying,” Ahmed says, and then he laughs. It feels good to hear him happy.
“Well, no crying today.” Sittu drops her hand from my face, and I hold the smile for her. “Today is a new beginning for us, a true revolution.” She grins, looking happier than I’ve seen her. “I only wish I could have been there with you today.”
It’s hurting to keep this forced all-is-great expression on my face. I must now tell her about Deanna, the police, the tear gas, and the shooting.
“Sittu.”
“Habibti?”
“I have to tell you something about…”
Sittu looks past me for a moment and says, “Deanna?!”
I turn and Deanna’s standing right behind me. Hassan’s beside her. He looks at the machine above Sittu’s head, then walks to the other side of Sittu’s bed and takes her hand. He says something that I can’t hear because Deanna is giving me a huge hug. I don’t know whether I want to kiss her because she’s safe or shake her for worrying me so much.
“Hassan told me you were there too—” Deanna puts her hand over her big mouth.
“Sittu knows we were there,” I say.
Deanna looks relieved, and then steps toward Sittu and kisses her on the forehead. “I wish you’d been with us.” Deanna’s unnaturally bubbly, as though she were talking about going to a street fair. “It was amazing.”
Hassan just shrugs, as confused as I am.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Ahmed says from his chair next to the window. I’m just noticing how tired he looks.
“Did Mariam tell you about it?” She glances over at Ahmed, but when he doesn’t respond, she turns back to Sittu.
“Ahmed told me a little bit”—Sittu coughs a few times—“of what the news was showing.” Sittu looks weary now but still happy.
“Thousands of people!” Deanna says. “Protesting peacefully. There were even street performances—people doing skits, making fun of Mubarak. Everyone was laughing.” She sounds like she had this great time. Does she not remember the tear gas? The gunshots? The beatings? Is Deanna just trying to focus on the positive to not upset Sittu?
“I told you, Egyptians never lose their sense of humor.” Sittu smiles.
“Actually, humor is often our only weapon.” Ahmed laughs; he cracks himself up.
“I wish you could have been there, Sittu,” Deanna says again.
Okay, now I know she’s hiding something. She’s not looking Sittu in the eyes, and the only time she does that is when there’s something she doesn’t want to think about—like whenever anyone asks why she doesn’t have a dad.
“I wish I had been there too, habibti,” Sittu says. “At least my two granddaughters were there to represent the family.”
“Tomorrow, you can join us,” Deanna says.
“You’re not going back there,” Hassan says.
No kidding, I think.
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Deanna makes eye contact with Hassan for the first time since they walked into the room.
Sittu looks from Hassan to Deanna like she’s trying to work out what’s going on between them.
“Someone has to look out for you,” Hassan says. He doesn’t raise his voice, but it’s clear he’s angry. Sittu raises her eyebrows at this.
“That someone is you?�
� Deanna sounds so angry she could spit.
“Who else?” Hassan says.
Who else? Now he’s pissing me off. “What about me?” I ask. “I found my way there with no help from you.” This makes me think about Muhammad, and my stomach hurts. I’m worried about him.
“Please, Mariam, I don’t mean to offend, but it’s not like you’re the best—”
“Because she’s a girl?” Deanna asks.
“No, because she listens to everything you say without question.”
I lean over Sittu. I’m so mad I want to poke him in the chest, but he steps back so I can’t reach him. “You know, Hassan, maybe that was true yesterday, but not today. And I wasn’t the one who found her and then lost her.”
“That’s right,” Deanna says. “And who are you to talk to my friend like that?”
“Who am I?” Hassan asks.
Deanna and Hassan shout at each other. Hassan yells about American girls who think they know everything, and Deanna yells back about Egyptian guys who think they just have to snap their fingers and any girl they want will kiss their feet. (I’m sure if Sittu weren’t here, Deanna would’ve said “ass” instead of “feet.”) Then they both get really loud and stop making any sense at all.
Ahmed stands up, but Sittu waves him back down. She looks amused, watching Hassan and Deanna go at each other. Sittu is one strange bird sometimes.
“Did you tell Sittu about how you were lying on the ground?” Hassan asks, lowering his voice.
“A lie-in,” Sittu says. “Very nice.”
Hassan looks at Sittu like she’s out of her mind. “Sittu, they tear-gassed us. The police were shooting.”
“Tear gas?” All signs of joy drain from her face. “Move this bed upright now!” I’ve heard Sittu mad before but not like this. Both Deanna and I fumble around, looking for the button at the end of the bed to help Sittu to a sitting position.
“Hassan, step out of the way. I want to see my silent friend over there.” She says this with a motion of her head, indicating she means Ahmed.
Without hesitation, Hassan steps back.
Ahmed opens the heavy drapes, peering out the window to avoid Sittu’s gaze. “Hey, I can see my car from here,” he says, pointing down at the street.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Sittu demands. “Ahmed, look at me.”
Ahmed comes to Sittu’s bedside. Hassan gives him a slight pat on the back, which means either “It’s okay” or “May the force be with you.”
“Well?” Sittu asks, quieter now but somehow sounding even more upset.
Ahmed reaches for her hand, but she pulls it away and slips it under the sheet.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” he says.
“Am I a child?” Sittu’s now coughing and can’t seem to catch her breath.
“The doctor said you’re not supposed to get upset.”
Sittu stops coughing and spits out, “What a great job you’ve done.”
The machine starts to beep, and the numbers flash red. Something’s very wrong.
“We need to get the doctor,” I say.
Hassan and Ahmed both race into the hallway.
Sittu grabs Deanna’s arm and says to us, “You two stay here.”
I look at Sittu’s monitor. The numbers are lower, but it’s still beeping.
“Deanna, you’re very courageous,” Sittu says.
Deanna stays quiet.
“I remember how scared I was when the police—” Sittu begins.
“It was fine,” Deanna says, looking away.
“You were brave,” Sittu says, “but I don’t want you girls going back there. Okay?”
I nod.
Deanna doesn’t answer, but she keeps her head down.
“Deanna! You have to agree! You call me selfish. You’re the one who’s selfish. You’re going to make my grandmother sicker—”
“Mariam!” Sittu slaps me across the face.
I don’t know whether I start to tear up because she just hit me or because she looks like she put all her strength into that slap and I barely felt it.
“Don’t ever call me sick.”
To Deanna, she says, “You have no plans to go back.”
“No,” Deanna says, then adds, with her head still bowed, “I don’t want to go back.”
“So why didn’t you just say that?” I ask.
Deanna shakes her head, and I can see she’s crying. Her tears are falling onto Sittu’s hospital gown. Sittu pulls Deanna to her chest, and Deanna cries like she’s in physical pain.
“You were afraid,” Sittu says, patting Deanna on the back.
Deanna nods against Sittu’s chest and tells her, “It was wonderful at first.” She uses her hand to wipe at the tears, but they just smear. “There were a lot of people, but not like later, when the square was so packed it felt like you couldn’t move.” Deanna sits up and stares out the window.
“Deanna, please. Just tell us what happened today,” I say.
Sittu reaches out and touches my forearm. “Deanna is telling us in her own way.”
Deanna looks from me to Sittu and back again. “I have never been so scared in my life.” Her lip starts to quiver.
“It’s okay.” Sittu takes Deanna’s hand and holds it. “It’s like a bad dream. If you talk about it, some of its power will go away.”
Deanna looks at Sittu like she doesn’t believe her.
“You’ll feel better,” I say. “I promise.”
It’s another moment before Deanna starts to speak. “When I first got to the square, there were a lot of people, but it wasn’t too crowded. For a while, it felt like I was walking around sightseeing. People were holding up homemade signs, probably ones they’d just made on the spot, mostly in Arabic. But some were in English and said ‘Down with Mubarak’ and things like that. But people were happy. One group was drumming and—”
“What were the police doing then?” I ask.
“That’s the thing. They were there, wearing helmets and all, so you couldn’t miss them. But they weren’t doing much—just waiting, I guess. The police at the airport freaked me out a lot more than the ones in the square. These policemen didn’t seem that threatening, and there were so many people, they were outnumbered anyway. I mean, Mar, you were there! Did you see how cool everyone was? Little kids were running around, and even though it was intense, everything was peaceful, you know?”
Sittu nods.
“There were rows of people praying, right there in the middle of everything. Did you see them, Mar?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Maybe you came later. You couldn’t miss them early on. People were lined up, kneeling or standing side by side.”
“When we pray, we don’t leave space between us,” Sittu explains. “You don’t want the devil to stick his head there.” She smiles, but she looks tired.
“It was like watching a dance or some other beautiful performance. Someone said they were praying for Mubarak to leave.” She smiles at Sittu. “I just kept walking; I wanted to see everything. There was a lie-in, so I lay down and chanted with everyone. I even forgot about Hassan for a while, that’s how caught up I got in what was happening,” Deanna says. She looks away. “Then he showed up, of course. He said you were in the hospital, and I don’t know why, but I thought he was lying to get me to leave with him.” She gives Sittu an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I just never imagined you really would be in the hospital. So I kind of made fun of him and charged into the crowd, shouting, ‘This is for Sittu!’
“When I stopped running, I was in front of some government buildings, and there it was, right in front of me—a Sphinx Face, a little Sphinx.” Deanna’s eyes smile when she says this. “I wish I’d had a camera on me.”
“You were outside the museum,” Sittu says.
“So I started freaking out a little. I mean, how do you not breathe? But the whole time people still chanted and yelled at a police blockade. This one guy charged the police line and they beat him…they beat him and kept beating him.
“It got so bad, Sittu.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Then they shot a boy right in front of me.”
“Oh my God,” I say, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach.
“He wasn’t much older than us.”
“Muhammad?”
“Habibti, there are many thousands of young men at Tahrir Square,” Sittu says. “But insh’allah, he’s fine.”
“He was so close to me I could’ve reached out and touched his face.” Deanna blinks to clear away the tears. “He sank to his knees, and for a second, I thought he was going to pray. It almost looked like he was smiling. But then he fell forward. He’d been shot in the back.”
Sittu squeezes Deanna’s hand.
“I didn’t even hear the shots, Sittu. I was right next to him, and I didn’t even hear the shots!” Deanna and Sittu just stare at each other, like maybe they’re reading each other’s minds, as tears stream down their faces.
It’s a long time before Sittu speaks, and when she does, she says, “This will be with you for a long time. I’m sorry for that. But you will be okay, Deanna.”
Deanna shakes her head. “All I could think was, ‘When the bullet goes through my head, will it hurt?’”
I feel like I can’t breathe. Deanna rests her head on Sittu’s chest, and I smear the tears across my face. I hope Sittu’s right and Deanna feels better after telling us about what happened, but I can’t imagine how after all she saw.
“Then I ran and ran and ran until I was far away from the smoke and chanting. I didn’t know what to do, so I just kept asking people how to get to the mall until I found it.” She pauses. “That’s when I found out you really were in the hospital. The waiter at the café said you were here. I’m sorry. I should have come when Hassan told me.” She wipes the last of her tears on her sleeve. “Who’s Muhammad?” Deanna asks, sounding more like herself.