“Thank you.”
“Tonight we have a meeting at the Egyptian Student Union. Would you like to come so I can introduce you to our colleagues?”
I looked reluctant but he went on, “I’ll wait for you at six. Here’s the address.”
~~~~~~~~~
I went back to my apartment and sat, smoking and thinking: Ahmad Danana was an agent of the State Secret Security. No good would ever come from him. Why was he so friendly with me? There must be something behind it. Why did I get involved with him? I should’ve avoided him completely. I was about to call him to turn down the invitation, but I said to myself that the union belonged to all Egyptian students in Chicago and I had every right to participate and to get acquainted with them. I wouldn’t give up my right because of my fear of Danana. I bathed and put on my clothes and went to the meeting. The address was printed clearly with a detailed map, so I arrived at the union headquarters easily. There were twenty-three students, three of whom were veiled females. I shook hands with them and we introduced ourselves.
When the meeting began I started to look closely at them. They were all hardworking, highly successful young men and women like hundreds of junior faculty members in Egyptian universities. I didn’t think any of them cared about anything more than their academic achievement, their future, and improving their income. Most of them were religious and had prayer marks and some were bearded. Most likely they understood religion as nothing more than prayer, fasting, and veiling for the women. I noticed a tape recorder close to Danana, so I asked him, “Do you record what we say?”
“Of course. Do you have any objections?” he said gruffly and fixed me with a hostile stare. I was surprised at the sudden change of his tone with me. I remained silent and watched how he talked with the students. I was surprised by the complete authority he exercised over them. They addressed him in awe and flattered him, as if he were their boss or military commander and not just a colleague. After half an hour of small talk and boring details, Danana announced enthusiastically, “By the way, I have happy news for all of you: I have learned from reliable sources that our revered president will visit the United States soon and will come to Chicago.”
There were murmurs and he went on in a louder voice, “You are lucky. One of these days you will be able to tell your children that you have met the great leader face-to-face.”
Then, taking a drag on his cigarette he said, “I am asking you for your permission to send, in your names, a telegram to our revered president in which we renew our pledge of allegiance to him and express our happiness for his gracious visit.”
“I don’t agree,” I said quickly. Whispering around me died down,
and a heavy silence fell. Danana turned to me slowly and said in a cautionary tone of voice, “What exactly don’t you agree with?”
“I object to sending a telegram of allegiance to the president. This hypocrisy does not become us as students.”
“We are not hypocrites. We actually love our president. Are you denying his historic leadership? Are you denying that Egypt under him has witnessed gigantic, unprecedented achievements?”
“Do you call corruption, poverty, unemployment, and subservience ‘achievements’?”
“Are you still a communist, Nagi? I thought you’d grown up and got wise. Listen, in this union there is no room for communism.
We are all, thank God, committed Muslims.”
“I am not a communist, and if you understand what it means, it is not a crime to be one.”
“Our revered president, whom you don’t like, took over a coun try burdened with chronic problems and, thanks to his wisdom and leadership, was able to steer it to safety.”
“These are lies of the ruling party. Actually more than half of all Egyptians live below the poverty line. In Cairo alone about four million people live in unplanned communities and shantytowns—”
He interrupted me loudly. “Even if you think there are negative aspects in the way our revered president rules, your religious duty mandates that you obey him.”
“Who said that?”
“Islam, if you are a Muslim. Sunni jurisprudents have unanimously agreed that it is the duty of Muslims to obey their rulers even if they are oppressive, so long as that ruler professes his faith and performs the prayers on time, because sedition arising from opposing the ruler is much more harmful to the Muslim nation than putting up with oppression.”
“This has nothing to do with Islam. This was fabricated by the sultan’s jurists, who used religion to shore up despotic regimes.”
“If you disagree with what I said, you would be contradicting the consensus of religious scholars and, by extension, denying established religion. Do you know what the punishment for that is?”
“Shall I tell him, Doctor?” volunteered a bearded young man sarcastically. Danana, laughing, looked at him gratefully and said, “There’s no need for that. Arguing with communists never ends. They are experts in useless debates. We have no time to waste. I am putting the matter to a vote. Everybody, do you agree to send a telegram of allegiance to our revered president? Please do so by show of hands.”
They all raised their hands without hesitation. Danana laughed sarcastically as he shot me a disdainful glance. “What do you think now?”
I didn’t answer and remained silent until the meeting came to an end. I noticed that my colleagues ignored me. I left hurriedly, saying, “Peace be upon you,” but no one returned the greeting. The train was crowded and I had to stand. I said to myself that Danana had invited me to the meeting in order to tarnish my image among my fellow students so that I might not be able to convince them later on to take any patriotic stand. In their view I was an atheist communist: it was an old and hackneyed secret police tactic that still worked to discredit anyone. I felt a hand patting me on the shoulder; I turned around and saw that standing next to me was the bearded young man who had mocked me at the meeting. He smiled and said, “You are at Illinois Medical, right?”
“Yes.”
“Your brother Ma’mun Arafa. I am studying for a doctorate in civil engineering at Northwestern University. Do you live at the dorm?”
“Yes.”
“I lived in a dorm for some time then moved to a cheaper apartment with a Lebanese roommate.”
I remained silent. Something was telling me to avoid talking with him. He suddenly said, “You must be a serious politico. You attack the president of the republic, no less? Don’t you know that all the union meetings are recorded?”
I ignored him. I turned my face and began to look out of the nearby window. The train had gone through several stops and I had to get off, so I began to make my way with difficulty through the crowd. Suddenly he grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear, “Listen, don’t alienate Ahmad Danana. Everything here is in his hands. If he turns against you he can ruin you.”
As soon as I saw Dr. Salah in the morning he said with a smile on his face, “Nagi, your problems don’t seem to end.”
“Why?”
“Danana told me you had a quarrel with him.”
“He’s a liar. All that happened was that he wanted to send a hypocritical telegram to the president and I objected.”
He looked closely at me and said, “Of course I admire your enthusiasm, but is this an issue worth fighting over?”
“Do you want me to sign a document pledging allegiance like the hypocrites in the National Party?”
“Of course not. But don’t waste your energy in these matters. You have a great opportunity for education — don’t waste it.”
“Learning is worthless if I don’t take a stand on what is happening in my country.”
“Learn and get your degree then serve your country as much as you like.”
“Our colleagues at Cairo University who refused to take part in patriotic marches used the same logic. These are solutions that we resort to in order to deceive ourselves, to replace patriotic duty with professional excellence. No, sir. Egypt now needs direct patrio
tic action more than teachers and accountants. If we don’t demand the people’s right to justice and freedom, no learning will do us any good.”
I was speaking enthusiastically and it seemed I got carried away, because Dr. Salah suddenly looked angry and shouted at me, “Listen, you are here to learn only. If you want to declare a revolution, go back to Egypt.”
I was taken aback by his anger so I kept silent. He took a deep breath then said apologetically, “Please understand me, Nagi. All I want is to help you. You are in one of the biggest and greatest universities in America and this is the opportunity of a lifetime. You were admitted to the department after a battle.”
“A battle?”
“They were reluctant to admit you because you are not a university instructor. I was among those who supported your admission enthusiastically.”
“Thank you.”
“Please don’t let me down.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Dr. Salah sighed in relief then said in a serious tone as he handed me a sheet of paper, “These are my suggestions for the courses you should take.”
“And how about research?”
“Do you like math?”
“I used to get a perfect score in math.”
“Great. How about doing your research on the way calcium is formed in bones? You’d be working with radioactive calcium. A great portion of your research will be based on statistics.”
“Under your supervision?”
“That’s not my specialty. There are only two who work in this area: George Roberts and John Graham.”
“Would you please tell me which one is more appropriate for me?”
“You won’t get along with Dr. Roberts.”
“Please don’t form a bad opinion of me. I can work with any professor.”
“The problem is not you. Dr. Roberts doesn’t like to work with Arabs.”
“Why?”
“He’s just like that. In any case, this should not concern us. Go to Dr. Graham.”
“When?”
He looked at the clock on the wall and said, “You can meet with him now.”
I got up to leave. He smiled and said, “You’ll find him somewhat eccentric, but he is a great professor.”
At the end of the corridor I knocked on Dr. Graham’s office door. His gruff voice said, “Come in.”
I was met by a large cloud of scented pipe tobacco smoke. I looked around to see if there was a window. He said, “Does the smoke bother you?”
“I am a smoker myself.”
“This is the first point of agreement between us.”
He let out a resounding laugh as he exhaled thick smoke. He was reclining on the chair, propping up his feet on the desk in front of him in the American way. I noticed that there was a constant cynical look in his eyes, as if he were watching something amusing. But as soon as he started talking his face became wholly serious. “How can I help you?”
“I hope you’ll supervise my MS thesis,” I said, smiling politely, trying to create a good impression.
“I have a question.”
“Please go ahead.”
“Why bother getting a master’s in histology if you don’t work in a university?”
“Please don’t be surprised at my answer. Actually, I am a poet.”
“A poet?”
“Yes. I’ve published two collections of poetry in Cairo. Poetry is the most important thing in my life, but I have to have a profession to put food on the table. They refused to appoint me at Cairo University because of my political activity. I sued the university, but I don’t think it will go anywhere. Even if I won my lawsuit the university administration could pressure me to quit my job, as has happened with some colleagues. I’d like to get a master’s from Illinois to work for a few years in an Arab Gulf country and save some money, then go back to Egypt and devote myself to literature.”
Graham looked at me then exhaled another cloud of smoke and said, “So, you are studying histology for the sake of literature?”
“Exactly.”
“Strange, but interesting. Listen, I don’t agree to supervise any student before knowing, to some extent, how he thinks. A student’s character for me is more important than what he knows. What are you doing Saturday evening?”
“Nothing in particular.”
“How about having dinner with me?”
“I’d be delighted.”
Chapter 10
For a whole hour, Ra’fat Thabit kept tossing and turning, trying to fall asleep to no avail. The room was dark and the silence profound, interrupted only by the breathing of his wife, Michelle, sleeping next to him. He pulled his body upward and rested his back on the headboard. The events of the day came back to him: it was no ordinary day, and one that he would never forget. Jeff came in the morning and took from him his only daughter. Just like that. Sarah had deserted him to live with her lover. The two lovers seemed extremely happy as they took the suitcases to the car. They were laughing and exchanging jokes and Jeff seized the opportunity and kissed her. Ra’fat was watching them from the window of his office, and then suddenly he decided to ignore his daughter completely. To hell with her. From now on he won’t care; if she didn’t love him enough, he also would stop loving her. He would live out the rest of his days as if he never had any children. He moved away from the window and lay down on the sofa. He could hear the sound of their laughter in the garden. His wife, Michelle, was taking part in their merrymaking, as if celebrating. It was then that he felt a deep-seated hatred toward all of them. Moments later, he came to as he heard a light tap on the door. It opened and Sarah appeared. She looked calm and refreshed, her face carefree, with her hair gathered at the back of her head. She fixed him with an innocent look and said in a matter-of-fact voice as if she were going on a school field trip, “I came to say good-bye.”
“Where to?”
“I think you know.”
“Well, I thought perhaps you’d reconsider.”
“I’ve made up my mind. I’m going.”
He went over to her, hugged her tightly, and kissed her forehead and cheeks several times. Her body exuded that pure smell that filled his nostrils when he carried her as a child. He looked at her for a long while and whispered, “Take good care of yourself. If you need anything, get in touch with me.”
After Sarah left, he spent an ordinary Sunday with Michelle. They went to the movies then had dinner at an Italian restaurant by the lake. It surprised him that they didn’t talk about Sarah all day long, as if they had agreed to ignore the subject. It also surprised him that, as soon as they went back home, he felt an overwhelming desire for her. He had sex with her as he hadn’t for years. He fell upon her, his feeling unleashed passionately and hard, as if he were burying his sadness inside her or seeking her protection, or stabbing her in revenge for Sarah’s departure. When they were done, she succumbed to a calm sleep but he was lost in his dark thoughts. Suddenly the bedside light was turned on and he saw her still-sleepy face.
“Ra’fat, why aren’t you asleep?”
“I can’t, because of the coffee I had after dinner.”
She smiled compassionately and laid her hand on his head.
“No, Ra’fat. It’s not because of the coffee. I know exactly how you feel. I’m also sad that Sarah left, but what can we do? This is life; we must accept it.”
He remained silent. She went on, “I’ll miss Sarah a lot, but I tell myself that she is living in Chicago and not in a faraway city. In a sense, she’s living next door. We’ll visit and invite her, from time to time, to spend the weekend with us.”
This sadness is not sincere. She’s happy for what happened, thought Ra’fat. It was she who encouraged Sarah to leave and was now pretending to be sad.
Michelle got close to him, planted a kiss on his cheek, and embraced him. He felt empty and exhausted and had nothing to say. Suddenly he asked her, “Do you know where Sarah will live wi
th Jeff?”
“At his house.”
“Of course at his house. Do you know where that house is? It’s in Oakland, the poorest and dirtiest neighborhood in Chicago.”
“Jeff explained to me. He cannot pay the rent in a better neighborhood, but when he sells his new painting, his situation will improve.”
“Did he convince you too of these delusions? Do you think anyone will pay a single dollar to buy this nonsense that he spatters on the canvases?”
“Ra’fat, I don’t understand why you hate him so much.”
“It’s I who don’t understand this apathy that’s come over you. This creep took your only daughter to the dirtiest neighborhood in Chicago and you’re still defending him?”
“I am not defending—”
“You are not only defending, you’re actually behind it.”
“What are you saying?”
“It was you who encouraged her to leave home.”
“Ra’fat!”
“Stop this silly charade.”
“Listen.”
“You listen. I am sick and tired of the role you’re playing. You’ve never loved me. You regret having married me. You’ve always believed you deserved a better husband. Every day you make me feel inferior to you in everything. You’ve done everything to prove to me that I was just a backward Egyptian whereas you were created from a superior race.”
“Stop this.”
“I am not going to stop. We need to face reality. You’ve hated me and used Sarah as your vengeance. You made me lose her.” Michelle looked at him in alarm. He was standing in the middle of the room. It seemed as if he had lost his mind. He hit the bed with his foot and began to shout, “Speak. Why don’t you tell me? Haven’t you planned for this day? Congratulations, Michelle. You’ve succeeded. You’ve made me lose my only daughter.”
He went to the closet, opened it forcefully, took off his pajamas and threw them on the floor, and began putting on his street clothes. Michelle jumped from the bed and tried to restrain him, but he pushed her away. She tried again, standing to block the door with her body. He shouted at her loudly, “Get out of my way.”
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