The Republic of False Truths

by Alaa Al Aswany

  Shanawany looked at her in amazement, and she continued, “First, the Reverend Sheikh Shamel has stated clearly that it’s a sin, because it changes the work of the Creator, Mighty and Glorious. Second, why should a woman refuse to acknowledge that she’s grown old? And third, frankly, I can’t understand how a man can bear to be close to his wife when her face is all blown up like a balloon.”

  At this point, Shanawany finally got what she was aiming at and deftly shifted the conversation to another subject. As was her custom, Nourhan satisfied her husband’s sexual needs so well that, had religion not required that he have sex with his two other wives, he might have found the pleasure he enjoyed with her enough: he left Nourhan’s with no energy left. Not only was he of an advanced age, but Shanawany had recently had open-heart surgery and each morning took a variety of pills and capsules. Nourhan realised that she would have to apply with Shanawany an abbreviated form of the sexual programme she had used with her two previous husbands. She cut out the belly dancing number and likewise the one where she played with the “seven spots” of the man’s body. She focused her energy on sucking the hagg’s penis, which rose only with difficulty because of the blood pressure medicine and the widening of the arteries. Once it was up, she had to put on a show of ecstasy because the hagg was also, unfortunately, given to premature ejaculation. Sometimes, when she was giving it her all but the erection was slow in coming, Shanawany would stretch out his hand, raise his head, and whisper in embarrassment, “I seem to be worn out this evening.”

  At this, she would hug him and whisper, “Don’t you mind. The only thing that matters to me is being in your arms.”

  Nourhan was neither crude nor demanding. On the contrary, she treated her intimate encounters with the hagg as a task requiring a certain technical precision and one that she strove to carry out correctly. In musical terms, their encounters were more like concertos than symphonies, in that Nourhan would have to play on her own and wait for a long while before the hagg’s ancient instruments, with their frayed strings, responded. It follows that she bears no responsibility for what happened on a certain Friday.

  Shanawany had come to her after the prayer, as usual. She’d made him the dish of macaroni with bechamel sauce that he loved. The hagg had begun with a passionate kiss and a fondling of her breasts, and Nourhan, faking arousal, had let out a passionate moan to excite him, lowered her head to perform the usual task, and his penis had responded, its stiffness gradually increasing. Then suddenly Nourhan had felt the hagg’s body tremble. Raising her eyes, she saw that he was extremely pale and, abandoning his penis, she exclaimed with concern, “What’s the matter, Hagg?”

  He was panting and sweating, and a strange, absent look had appeared on his face, as though he couldn’t make out what he was seeing. He opened his mouth and tried to say something but emitted instead a single gasp, after which his head fell back onto the pillow.

  50

  At the appointed time, a little before the afternoon prayer, a black BMW halted in front of the villa and two assistants and three armed guards descended and formed a circle around the Supreme Guide of the Muslim Brotherhood. Naturally, the Apparatus’s security people wouldn’t let the Guide’s guards bring their weapons in with them; the guards handed their weapons over as soon as the Guide had passed through the gate.

  The meeting began with the prayer. General Alwany led his office manager, the Guide, his assistants, and his guards in the prayer, and then everyone withdrew, leaving the general and the Guide on their own together. Meetings between the two men were normally quick and focused due to General Alwany’s lack of time. After the customary greetings, the general said to the Guide, “On behalf of the members of the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces, I thank you and your brothers for keeping your word.”

  “Don’t mention it, my dear sir. Does God not say, in ‘The Night Journey,’ ‘Keep your promises; you will be called to account for every promise you have made’?”

  “The Brotherhood’s stand with us against the writing of a new constitution has saved Egypt from confusion and chaos.”

  “God preserve Egypt! I have a request to make of Your Excellency.”

  “Please tell me.”

  “I would like to meet with the honourable members of the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces. I wish to convey to them in person the allegiance and support of the Brotherhood.”

  The general smiled and said, “Rest assured, I shall convey your messages without delay, but circumstances don’t permit a meeting now. Following the resignation of His Excellency President Mubarak, the press has been acting like a wild animal. If you were to be seen entering army command headquarters, it would open the doors to the kind of gossip mongering that we can do without.”

  The Guide nodded understandingly and said, “The media are, indeed, out of control.”

  “The patriotic businessmen did their duty and opened television channels to raise the Egyptians’ awareness, but a large part of the media is still calling for chaos.”

  “Among the wonders of the Koran is that there is no matter, great or small, regarding the life of the Muslims for which it does not provide a rule. Our Lord, Mighty and Sublime, says, in ‘The Apartments,’ ‘Believers, if an evil-doer brings you news, ascertain the correctness of the report fully, lest you unwittingly harm others, and then regret what you have done’ (God has spoken truly!). Should this verse not be considered a charter for the media?”

  “How very true!”

  Silence briefly reigned, then General Alwany said, “I asked you to come today to talk to you about an important matter.”

  “There’s nothing wrong, I hope?”

  “You are aware of the magnitude of the responsibility shouldered by both myself and the members of the Military Council.”

  “May God help you and bless you for your efforts!”

  “In the coming period, we shall be forced to employ certain harsh measures to ensure security and restore respect for the state. We will not allow sit-ins or demonstrations in the streets.”

  “And we shall support you in that, God willing, till things are back to normal and the state is functioning again.”

  General Alwany smiled and said, “I’m asking you—from the perspective of religious law, does not the ruler have the right, in Islam, to ‘strike the hands’ of those who stir up civil strife?”

  “That is not merely his right but his duty. The scholars of religion are in agreement that the punishment for one who stirs up civil strife is imprisonment and flogging, and some scholars go so far as to call for his execution.”

  General Alwany said nothing. Then he looked at the Guide and said, “We don’t want the Brotherhood to take part in any sit-in or demonstration.”

  “I give Your Excellency my word that not one member of the Brotherhood will take part in any civil disobedience. We have previously announced that the sit-ins are contrary to God’s law because they allow young people of both sexes to mingle in a way that could encourage sinful acts, God forbid!”

  “I don’t want to hear any criticism from any leader or even from any individual member of the Brotherhood of any harsh measures we may take.”

  “We shall not simply refrain from criticising them, we shall, God willing, back them and support them.”

  General Alwany gave him an enquiring look, as though probing his hidden depths, and said slowly, “The elections for the People’s Assembly are growing close, and I have promised you that we will allow the Brotherhood this opportunity to win as many seats as they wish without interference from us. If any member of the Brotherhood should happen to object to any measure we take against the saboteurs, our agreement concerning the People’s Assembly will be cancelled.”

  The Guide smiled and said, “The Brotherhood’s support for you will be complete, God willing.”

  General Alwany smiled once more and said, “Let us read ‘T
he Opening.’ ”

  The two men reverently bowed their heads and murmured the opening chapter of the Koran.

  “To work, then,” murmured General Alwany, who wanted to bring the meeting to a close, but the Guide smiled and said, “I know that Your Excellency is very busy, but I have a request.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope, Your Reverence,” said General Alwany in a none too welcoming tone.

  The Guide said, “As Your Excellency knows, our first and last goal is to call people to God. We would like to open new centres for the Brotherhood and we have, God be thanked, the locations and the necessary funds. However, the security forces are making things difficult for us.”

  General Alwany frowned as though in denial and asked, “In what way are the security forces making things difficult for you?”

  As though the general had made a joke, the Guide smiled and said, “Your Excellency knows better than I, naturally. The security forces have numerous ways of preventing the opening of the new centres.”

  “And what is it you want?”

  “One word from Your Excellency would see the Brotherhood’s new centres opened.”

  “Very well.”

  The Guide kept up a stream of thanks until he was gone, and a pleased expression appeared on General Alwany’s face. Everything was going to plan. He looked like a director who has succeeded in having all the actors learn their parts and now awaits the beginning of the performance with confidence. Calling in his office manager, he said to him, “Tell the colonel in charge at the Military Council that the Brothers have agreed. Use the cipher. No writing and no telephone.”

  The director nodded understandingly, and General Alwany said as he got up, “I’m going home and I’ll be back tonight.”

  In the car on his way home, his anxieties returned. In the thick of the battle that he was waging to retain control of the country, he’d forgotten about his other battle, at home. When he arrived, he found his wife Tahany in a terrible state, and the moment he asked her what was wrong, she shouted, through her tears, “Do I have ten daughters, Ahmad? My only daughter is slipping away before my eyes and I can’t do anything.”

  General Alwany set off in the direction of Danya’s room, but her mother rushed after him, grabbed him, and said, “I beg you, don’t put pressure on her, Ahmad. She’s been through enough already.”

  The general nodded and tapped with his fingers on the door of Danya’s room, but she didn’t answer. Opening the door gently, he found her sitting on the couch. She looked tired. It appeared she hadn’t slept, and he realised that she had been crying. He smiled and told her, “I came home early from work. I thought I’d say hello. I’ve missed you, Danya.”

  She looked at him, nodded, and tried to smile but couldn’t.

  He sat next to her on the couch and it occurred to him that sitting with her like this had once provided some of the most pleasant moments of his life. Recalling Tahany’s warning, he said to her in a calm, affectionate tone, “Danya, you’ve always been an intelligent person and I’ve always been proud of the way you think. Do you think the way you’re behaving will solve any problems?”

  She didn’t reply, so he resumed, affectionately, “Do you think the solution is to stay away from your classes?”

  “I can’t go to the faculty,” Danya responded in a low voice, as though talking to herself.

  “Danya, none of what you’re doing will change a thing. You’re destroying yourself.”

  “I can’t forget Khaled being murdered in front of my eyes.”

  “You believe in God and you know that every life has a fated end.”

  “We can’t murder people and then say that the life God decreed for them came to an end.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m trying to say that Khaled wasn’t the only one who died. Lots of young people died during the revolution.”

  “Please, Danya. I’ve made up my mind not to argue with you. What you call a revolution was a conspiracy and we have all the details.”

  “Khaled wasn’t a conspirator.”

  “Of course, there were people who were taken in and followed the conspirators. The ones who paid them to demonstrate are the ones who should be blamed.”

  “You forbade me to testify.”

  “All your colleagues testified and after hearing the submissions, the judge will postpone the case until the sentencing. If the officer was the one who killed your friend, he will get his punishment according to religion and the law.”

  “You’re keeping an eye on the case?”

  “Of course, and I’m also keeping an eye on the fact that you visit his family every day.”

  “Yes. I visit them.”

  General Alwany was trying to keep control of his feelings. Danya went on, in a low voice, “The least I can do for Khaled is make sure that his father and sister are all right.”

  The general rose and gently pulled her up by the hand, at which she suddenly threw herself into his arms and burst into tears. He stroked her head, whispering, “Danya, I beg you, fight this mood you’re in. Bear in mind that your mother’s health has declined because of you. Promise me you’ll go back to the faculty.”

  51

  TESTIMONY OF LAMYA HASSANEIN

  I don’t need to introduce myself to those who already know me but for those who don’t, my name’s Lamya Hassanein, twenty-five years old.

  I’m going to give testimony about the events of 9 October in front of Maspero, because when I went home that day and saw the TV, I felt they must be talking about some other country.

  On Sunday, I went to Shubra to go on the march which was going to Maspero from there. The march was supposed to get moving at three o’clock and join the silent candlelit vigil in front of Maspero, in mourning for the army’s violence against peaceful demonstrators the week before, at five. Obviously, it’s the right of every Egyptian, whatever his religion, to enjoy security of life, home, and place of worship, especially after the events at the Marinab church in Aswan.

  I got there at 3 p.m. The demonstration was gathering. Very large numbers, lots of entire families—children, fathers, and grandfathers all together. Crosses raised, young men and women wearing aprons with “Martyr Available” written on them and bitter cries asking why can’t an Egyptian, if he’s Christian, feel that his church is safe? Why aren’t the police and the army protecting the churches from sabotage? And why, after the revolution, is the regime still using the same methods as in the days of Mubarak?

  I liked some of the slogans but not others, and whenever I heard someone complain that some slogans were religious, I’d ask him to join the demonstration to make it clear that we were in solidarity with and concerned for every Egyptian, without discrimination, and from then on, the slogans would change.

  At 4:30 p.m., I sent a Twitter message saying, “The priest who’s acting as spokesperson has confirmed that the march is peaceful and welcomed the Muslims who have joined in.” A little later, the slogan was “Tantawi, where’s your army? They burned the houses of the Christians! They burned the churches of the Egyptians!”

  We were chanting, “Sons of Shubra, come on down! There’s a million Mubaraks still around!” and “Egyptians, come on down!” and the numbers were in fact growing, with Christians and Muslims joining the march. Most of the Muslims who passed us in Shubra showed their solidarity. They smiled, joined in the slogans—there wasn’t even the smallest communal clash in Shubra. The first problem occurred beneath the Shubra overpass. We passed beneath the overpass without any problem and as soon as we got out the other side, we found that bricks and bottles were being thrown at us by young kids on top of the overpass and from inside the Abdin area. I personally didn’t see who was doing the throwing. There was also a sound of stun grenades and tasers coming from the same direction. The man next to me shouted at me, “Run and hi
de!” The lady who was next to me began praying and calling on Our Lord to take care of us.

  This is what I sent out on Twitter:

  5:35: “The march is being pelted with bricks from on top of the overpass.”

  5:43: “The stone throwing has stopped from on top of the overpass and it’s started from the street.”

  6:00: “Bricks and bottles being thrown from inside Abdin. The march keeps going.”

  The battle went on for perhaps a quarter of an hour. They were throwing bricks and bottles and we were responding with a few bricks. Then the march made it to Maspero.

  Under the Galaa Street overpass, the marchers’ morale was high. Strong slogans. Most of the religious slogans disappeared and personally I was happy but anxious. I was afraid of what might happen when we reached Maspero. At 6:40 I wrote, “The demonstration is full of old people and children, if anything happens, it’ll be a tragedy.” We were chanting, “Enough, enough of soldiers as boss—we’re the line you cannot cross!” and “Egypt for every Egyptian—every sect and every religion!” and “Why did the church burn down? Is Adly back in town?” At that time, I learned from a friend on Twitter that there were around ten Central Security trucks loaded with soldiers parked in the Abd El Men’em Reyad car park. At the time, there were about twenty-five thousand of us and we were close to Maspero. The atmosphere on the march was great and for a moment I began to feel reassured. I thought, “Okay, the army and Central Security might beat us up at night but they aren’t crazy enough to beat us up when the march is full of children and there’s no call to.” When we’d almost reached the turn-off to Maspero, I decided to go look from somewhere else to see what the situation was.