The Republic of False Truths

by Alaa Al Aswany

  The colonel looked at the floor, as though the praise embarrassed him, while Madany continued to look at them without comment. Silence reigned for a moment, then Sheikh Shamel began to speak, thanking God and praising Him, calling for blessings on God’s prophet, most noble of creatures, and then saying that he had come first to perform his duty of offering condolences on the death of the late Khaled, who he thought must be a martyr in God’s eyes, God willing. Hind brought the coffee and the mint tea, but Madany gave her a look that she understood, and she left the room. The colonel set about drinking his coffee, never removing his powerful gaze from Madany’s face, while Sheikh Shamel uttered the words “In the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate,” took a sip of mint tea, and then resumed, saying that he knew that nothing in this world hurt so much as the loss of a son and cited the example of the noble prophet (God bless him and grant him peace), who, even though he was the best of God’s creation and the most patient of them in adversity, had wept when his only son, Ibrahim, had died.

  Madany continued to stare silently at Sheikh Shamel, until the latter said, “You are now, Brother Madany, the one who seeks vengeance in a blood feud, and religion allows you the right of reprisal, if the killing was deliberate.”

  “The killing was deliberate,” Madany said.

  “Have you ascertained that for sure?”

  “The companions of the late Khaled will all testify in court that the officer killed him deliberately.”

  “How do you know that the officer charged is the killer?”

  “All of them recognised him and affirmed that the officer Heisam El Meligi killed Khaled in front of their eyes.”

  Sheikh Shamel looked down, uttered the words “I ask God for His forgiveness” in apparent regret, and then raised his head and said, “Brother Madany, the one true religion allows you the right of retribution but God, Glorious and Mighty, has commanded us to grant pardon whenever possible.”

  Madany was about to say something, but Sheikh Shamel, smiling, raised his voice and said, “Praise the noblest of creatures!”

  Madany muttered the formula of praise, and Sheikh Shamel continued in a calm voice, “Hear me out, then either accept or reject what I say, as you wish. By God, who has my soul in His hand, I mean only good! I have undertaken this initiative of my own accord and I have spoken with the leading officials of the state, and our goal, God willing, is to defuse the discord into which we, as brother Muslims, have fallen. Thanks be to God, He has blessed my humble efforts and I have convinced those officials to set aside a large sum of money for the families of the victims as legal blood money. I am now, as you see, visiting the victims’ families, one by one, with my brother Colonel Hassan, my sole goal in making this effort being to acquire the approval of God, Glorious and Mighty, and of his noble messenger.”

  Madany remained unchanged, staring at the two of them with a hard expression and a vacant look. The sheikh resumed, “Think well, Brother Madany. Your son has met his end and he would in any case have died, even if he had taken no part in this discord. Has not Our Lord, Great and Glorious, said, in the chapter of the Koran titled ‘The Ramparts,’ ‘To every nation a time; when their time comes they shall not delay it by a single hour nor advance it’? (God has spoken truly!)

  “Your late son went to his maker at his determined time, at the instant at which his term came to an end. Neither you nor I nor any mortal whosoever is capable of keeping death from a person once his ordained time has come. If the late Khaled hadn’t been killed, he would have died in an accident, or he would have contracted a fatal disease, or even died in his bed. You, Brother Madany, are a believer, and the believer is astute and intelligent. I see you have a daughter, a beautiful young woman who will marry, God willing, and need money for expenses, and you owe her the duty of assuring her future, God willing.”

  Madany remained silent, and Sheikh Shamel said once more, “Accept the blood money, Brother Madany! Be merciful, that God may be merciful to you on the Day of Resurrection, God willing.”

  “What blood money?” said Madany.

  “Blood money is a sum set by the One True Religion to be paid by the family of the killer to the family of the one killed in return for their exempting them from retribution.”

  Madany looked at the two men and asked in a low voice, “And how much is the sum?”

  Relief appeared on Sheikh Shamel’s face and he said, “In the days of the Prophet (God bless him and grant him peace!) the blood money set by law was a hundred camels. We calculate that to be—God willing—at today’s prices, the equivalent of half a million pounds.”

  Madany looked at the colonel and asked him, “And what is required of me in return for the blood money?”

  In his powerful voice, the colonel replied, “You are required to withdraw the complaint made in your name. You can leave the rest to us.”

  Madany said nothing, and the colonel continued, fervently, “Listen to what I say, Hagg Madany. The living last longer than the dead. Your son is with Our Lord in Heaven, God willing. What will you gain if the officer is condemned to death or life in prison? Common sense says you should take the blood money.”

  Sheikh Shamel said, “By accepting the blood money, Brother Madany, you will become a winner in this world and the next, God willing. You will have been merciful, and God loves mercy, and you will have acquired a goodly sum of money that will be of help to you in bearing the burdens of this life.”

  Madany kept looking at him and was about to say something but thought better of it and returned to his silence. At this point, the colonel lifted the case off the ground and placed it on his knees. Then he opened it and said, in a loud voice, “Let’s get it over with. We come prepared, Brother Madany, and ‘the best acts of piety are those that are done swiftly,’ as the Prophet said. Take the money and take as much time as you like to count it. When you’re sure it’s correct, I’ll give you the complaint withdrawal to sign.”

  45

  The phone call was unexpected, curt, and strange. It didn’t come from one of the National Security officers, who were known to Essam Shaalan. It came from the Apparatus. The officer introduced himself, told Essam that he wanted to see him, and gave him the address of a villa in Zamalek. Then, in a tone of finality, he said, “I shall be waiting for you tomorrow at 10 a.m.”

  Essam spent that night sitting on the balcony, drinking and thinking. Why would Apparatus officials want to meet with him? He knew that the Apparatus was more important than National Security. A junior officer in the Apparatus wielded greater influence than many a general. But wasn’t that before Mubarak’s fall? Did the Apparatus still enjoy its old influence? And, in addition, what did they want from him? They must surely be in need of him in these difficult circumstances. Would they bestow a new position on him? Naturally, he’d accept any position they offered, though his preference would be to return to his job at the factory. He’d like them to make him manager again, if only for a week, so that he could take revenge on the workers who’d insulted him and would have beaten him up if it weren’t for the protection of the army. He knew each of them by name and would wreak vengeance on them all. Though even if his new position were far from the factory, he’d still be able, using the influence of the Apparatus, to take revenge on that rabble. An idea occurred to him that amazed him at first but that he quickly put into action. He set about writing down on a piece of paper the names of the workers who’d insulted him. There were eight of them. It hadn’t been enough for them just to shout slogans against him; they’d insulted him to his face. He’d preserved their names on the piece of paper. Under the influence of the liquor, he felt his anger rising. “I’ll show you what you get for humiliating me, you slaves and sons of slaves! You’ll understand in the end, after you’ve paid a heavy price, that revolution isn’t made for you and you aren’t made for revolution. Your fate is the whip, as it has been for your ancestors for centuries.�
� He didn’t try to sleep as he knew he wouldn’t be able to. As soon as the sun rose, he took a quick shower, shaved carefully, ate a quick breakfast, then drank a number of cups of coffee laced with a little whisky, a few drops of which cleared his mind and relaxed him. His new driver was a young man in his twenties whom the doorkeeper of his building had found for him. He found the address of the villa in Zamalek easily. At the gate, he was subjected to a minute inspection, for which the young officer apologised after he finished by saying, “Please excuse the inconvenience. You’ll take the circumstances into consideration, I’m sure, sir.”

  Essam nodded understandingly. They led him to an office in which sat a man of roughly his age whom he guessed to be a general. He was aware that, in the Apparatus, they didn’t display signs with the officers’ names on and that they most probably used assumed names. The general received him affably, shook his hand with a smile, invited him to sit, and said jovially, “What will you drink, Essam Bey?”

  Essam asked for Turkish coffee without sugar, amazed to find that the general seemed to be in such a good mood, as though the state of the country was quite normal. A friendly silence prevailed, the general giving the impression that he was preparing himself to speak, though it was Essam who said, suddenly, “God protect Egypt, sir!”

  The general looked at him with a friendly expression and said, “Thank God, the Lord has extended His protection.”

  “The credit is all yours, sir!”

  “Everything is according to God’s will.”

  “I would dearly hope, sir, that you will bring all the conspirators who have got the people involved in this to trial!”

  The general smiled and said, “Look, we know them by name. Every one of them will get his turn. I swear to God Almighty, not one will escape!”

  The general leant back in his armchair, seemingly having decided to end this conversation and to turn to another topic.

  “Listen, Essam Bey,” he said. “All of us in the Apparatus are aware of your patriotism and your loyalty. Unfortunately, the current situation required you to leave your position, but don’t let that worry you. Soon, God willing, we’ll have need of your help in another appropriate position.”

  “I am at the service of the state at any time, sir.”

  “That’s just what we’d expect of you, Chief Engineer Essam.”

  Essam felt confused. Things suddenly seemed unclear. The general was talking about a post in the future. So why had they summoned him? He remembered the piece of paper in his pocket and the names of the workers whom he wished to punish. He had a headache from lack of sleep, alcohol, and tension. The general gazed at the ceiling for a few moments and seemed to be arranging his thoughts. Then he said, in friendly tones, “The fact is, I invited you because I want to talk to you about a certain subject.”

  “At your service, sir.”

  “By the way, we’re almost the same age. I’d like you to think of me as your younger brother.”

  “That would be an honour, sir.”

  “The subject is Madame Nourhan. She’s asked you for a divorce and waived all her material rights. I’d like the divorce to take place quietly and respectably, and at the earliest opportunity.”

  Essam stared at the officer’s face and it took a few moments for the surprise to sink in. Then, trying to hide his anger, he said, “Did Nourhan contact you, sir?”

  “No.”

  Essam smiled with irritation and said, “I imagine you will agree with me, sir, that my divorce from Nourhan is a personal matter.”

  “I have orders from the head of the Apparatus to see the divorce goes through. His Excellency has asked me to talk to you friend to friend. Tomorrow morning, God willing, you will honour me with your presence here and bring with you the common-law marriage contract. Madame Nourhan will be present. You will swear before her that she’s divorced, we will tear up the contract, and everyone will go their own way.”

  “What does His Excellency the head of the Apparatus have to do with divorces and marriages?”

  “My job is to carry out His Excellency’s orders, not discuss them.”

  “I reject this intervention in my personal life.”

  “Look, Essam. If you really think of me as a brother, I’d advise you to divorce Nourhan so as to avoid difficulties you don’t need,” said the general, his face taking on a grim expression, as though the earlier friendliness had been nothing but a mask.

  In a loud voice, Essam said, “If Your Excellency is threatening me, I refuse to accept your threats.”

  Angrily, the general shouted, “Drop the commie talk because it’ll only hurt you. We protect you and we can take that protection away at any time.”

  “You protect me from what?”

  The general sighed, as though his patience had run out, took hold of a file bulging with papers that was on his desk, and held it out to Essam, saying, “It seems the drink has affected your memory.”

  “I object to Your Excellency’s choice of words!” said Essam, in a low voice, but the general went on as though he hadn’t heard him. “Read! These are copies of the reports on you by the Office of the Administrative Auditor and the Central Accounts Apparatus. We can send them to the prosecutor general’s office tomorrow morning and you will be tried and imprisoned. If that happens, you will have no one to blame but yourself.”

  46

  Dear Asmaa,

  The criminal virginity tests caused me sadness beyond description. How could an Egyptian officer, or soldier, do that to the girls? How could he violate them with such brutality and then return with a clear conscience to his home and children? I understand that the generals are defending the interests of the regime of which they are a part and I understand that the military regime forces people to carry out orders, but why make such a vicious example of girls who were utterly helpless? A friend, whose brother is an officer, told me that the army command feeds the troops and the officers the idea that the revolution is a conspiracy and that the revolutionaries are agents who take money to cause chaos and destroy the country. The generals of the Military Council denied having carried out this crime, and then one of them admitted to CNN that virginity tests are a tradition in the army when any girl is arrested so that she can’t claim afterwards that anyone assaulted her. A stupid and illogical thing to say. I don’t want to hate the army because it’s the people’s army, not the dictator’s. I always remember the image of Captain Maged from the police who defended the young people of the revolution when the thugs attacked them at the Battle of the Camel. We no longer have a choice, Asmaa. All we can do is keep up the battle out of respect for the thousands who sacrificed themselves for the revolution—the ones who died and the ones who lost an eye or were crippled.

  The workers threw Essam Shaalan out. I regard his expulsion as a true victory for them but I can’t rejoice over it as they do. My relationship with Essam is complicated, as I told you. I’m against him as a manager but I love him because he was my father’s friend. We have taken over the entire management of the factory and written the undertaking; we, the members of the four-man committee, signed it and deposited it with the military police. We have undertaken to keep the factory safe and to manage it and deliver the profits to the owners after deduction of the workers’ dividends. Do you remember your question about the people who would watch the revolution from the balconies without joining in? We have people like them in the factory too—a group of the workers and administrative staff that is by no means, unfortunately, small. They watched events without getting involved on either side. They were sure the Italian administration would win. When we did, they were completely confused. Many of them stayed away from the factory, waiting to see how things turned out. After about a week, they delegated one of the staff to come to me. He’s called Uncle Fahmi and he’s one of the factory’s longest-standing employees. He said to me, “Listen to me, Engineer Mazen, sir. I an
d lots of my colleagues don’t understand who the factory belongs to now.”

  I explained to him what he already knew very well about the new situation, and he said, “Look, you’re my son’s age. To be honest, we don’t care for the revolution and all that stuff. We just want to earn a living and raise our children.”

  “The revolution came about so that you could earn a living and raise your children.”

  “Listen to what I’m saying. Suppose we meet with you now as the new management and after a month or two the owner of the factory returns and takes it back and throws us out. If that happens, nobody will be able to do anything for us.”

  I was going to argue with him but when I looked at his fearful face, I realised that there was no point in talking. I told him, “Okay, Uncle Fahmi. I’ll sort the matter out.”

  I went back to the military police commander and asked him for a written statement from Fabio, the owners’ representative, recognising the four-man committee. I told him, “It won’t be possible for us to carry out our undertaking without a clear statement from the owners’ representative, to reassure the workers and staff, so that they go back to work.”