Last night he had said to Zeinab on the telephone, “I’ll prove to you that I am not a coward.” She asked him how and he answered with a proud laugh, “Tomorrow you’ll know. The whole world will know.”
He reached the podium and brought his head close to the microphone. He thought to himself: I am not a coward, Zeinab. You’ll see for yourself. I’ve never been a coward. I left Egypt because it closed her doors in my face. I didn’t run away. I’ll show you now what courage is like. What I am going to do is considered by the jurists as the highest form of jihad: telling the truth to an oppressive ruler’s face. Now he was going to be rid of his ordinary life; he would take it off and discard it as if it were an old, worn-out coat. His name would be written in history and would be passed on from generation to generation: the hero who confronted the tyrant.
He stood erect, adjusted his glasses with his finger, then nervously reached into his shirt pocket and took several folded sheets of paper. He opened them and began to read, his voice coming out tentative and a little raspy, “A statement from Egyptians living in Chicago.” He stopped suddenly, looked at the president sitting on the dais, and saw on his face a sort of welcoming smile. A profound silence fell on the whole place. He seemed somewhat confused as he dried with his handkerchief the copious sweat that had gathered on his forehead. The longer his silence continued, the more pronounced an uneasy hum from the crowd grew. He opened his mouth to go on reading, but suddenly his face changed and he looked upward, as if he had suddenly remembered something he had forgotten. In a very quick movement, he put the papers he had taken out into his jacket and took out of the other pocket a small piece of paper that he spread in front of him and started to read in a shaking voice. “Speaking for myself and on behalf of all Egyptians in Chicago, we welcome you, Mr. President, and thank you from the bottom of our hearts for all the historic achievements you have offered the fatherland. We pledge to you that we will follow your example — that we will continue to love our country and offer her our best, as you have taught us. Long live Egypt and may you live long for Egypt.” When he was finished, there was enthusiastic applause. Then he turned around, going back to his seat in slow, heavy steps.
Chapter 37
The receptionist was a beautiful young woman with a smiling, sunny face. As soon as she heard the name Ra’fat Thabit, however, her smile vanished and she bowed her head slowly. She tried to say something appropriate, but she got confused and let out some incomprehensible murmur. She came out from behind the reception desk’s marble counter and, followed by Ra’fat, crossed the hallway then the long corridor. Then she went left and entered another corridor. Her pace was heavy and hesitant at the beginning, and then it became regular and acquired a dignified rhythm fraught with meaning. Finally they reached a room. The receptionist held the doorknob and brought her head closer, as if pricking up her ears. Then she tapped with her fingers and a gruff voice came from inside. She opened the door slowly and motioned to Dr. Ra’fat, and he went in with her. The room was of a medium size, quiet and clean. To the right, there was a window that let in the daylight. The doctor was in his forties, bald, and wearing a white coat and glasses with silver frames. He stood in silence next to the bed. Ra’fat saw Sarah stretched out in the same clothes she had on the last time he saw her: the worn-out blue jeans and the yellow T-shirt with a dirty collar. Her face was totally calm, her eyes closed, and her lips relaxed but not open. The doctor said in a deep voice, whose reverberations echoed in the silence, “Last night at about three a.m. a car dropped her at the door of the hospital and sped away. We did all we could to save her, but the overdose caused a sharp drop in brain function. Please accept my sincere condolences.”
* * *
The demonstration was over. We walked to the car: Karam Doss, John Graham, and me. I left the front seat for Graham and rode in the back. We remained silent for a while. We were dejected. Karam suggested we have a drink. Graham murmured in agreement. I remained silent. We went to our favorite place on Rush Street. With drinks we warmed up. Karam Doss said, “I don’t understand Dr. Salah. Why did he do that? He could’ve refused to read the statement from the beginning. He ruined everything.”
I was bitter over what had happened, so I said, “You have no idea how angry I am with this man. I don’t know how I’ll have any dealings with him in the department after this.” We fell silent again, then Karam said, “I think what Salah has done was totally deliberate. He conspired with Safwat Shakir to sabotage the whole thing.”
I didn’t comment. My disappointment was mixed with a feeling of guilt. It was I who agreed with Salah that he would deliver the statement. I remembered how he showed an enthusiasm that surprised me when I offered him the task. I asked Karam, still unable to think clearly, “You think he works for Security?”
“Of course.”
“No,” said Graham. He took a sip from his drink and added, “I think the man really wanted to deliver the statement but was frightened at the last moment.”
“Why did he accept, and why was he so enthusiastic at the beginning?”
“A man may sometimes try to overcome his fear then fail.”
~~~~~~~~~
I went home at about midnight. I took off my clothes and threw myself on the bed and was soon fast asleep. I still remember what happened in an uncertain way, as if recalling a dream. I opened my eyes and saw shadows moving in the dark of the room. I was frightened and stayed in that state between being awake and being in a dream until the light was turned on and I saw them clearly. They were three large American men, two in military uniform and the third in civilian clothes. It was very clear that he was in charge. He came over to me and said, as he showed a card from his inside pocket, “FBI. We have a search warrant and another for your arrest.”
It took me a while to collect my thoughts, and then I asked him why. He said, “We’ll show you the information we have later on.”
He was talking to me as the other two were carefully searching the house. Finally he allowed me to put on my clothes. He came over to me and put the handcuffs on. Strangely enough, I gave in, as if I were hypnotized and had no will. We rode in a large car driven by a black driver with whom the man in charge rode in front. The two military men sat on either side of me in the backseat. I said as I tried to concentrate again, “I want to see your badge again.”
He was taken aback for a moment then reached in his pocket in slow, suppressed anger and showed the badge. We remained silent. After about half an hour, we arrived at an isolated building in north Chicago, surrounded by a garden and a winding driveway that we ascended in the car until we stopped at the entrance. There were some guards who gave military salutes. We entered an office on the left side of the hallway. As soon as the door was closed, the features of the man in charge changed. The muscles of his face contracted, as if he were grinding his teeth. He fixed me with a stern look and said, “We have definitive information that you are part of a cell planning a terrorist attack in the United States. What do you say to that?”
I remained silent. Events were moving too fast for me to think. He got so close to me I could smell a light aftershave scent. He shouted angrily, “Speak! Are you deaf?”
Then suddenly he slapped me in the face. I felt a sharp stinging heat and a dark spot began to form on my left eye. I shouted in a raspy voice, “You have no right to hit me. What you’re doing is illegal.”
He slapped me again several times then punched me hard in the belly. I felt nauseated and was about to lose consciousness. “Egyptian intelligence has given us everything about the organization you belong to. It’s no use denying it.”
“All of this is made up.”
He hit me again. I began to feel sticky blood trickling down from my nose onto my lips. He shouted in an angry voice, “Speak, you son of a bitch. Why do you want to destroy our country? We’ve opened America’s doors to you. We welcomed you to get an education and become a respectable human being. In return you are conspiring to kill innocent Americans
. If you don’t confess, I’ll do to you what they do in your country: whip you, give you electric shocks, and rape you.”
Chapter 38
Dr. Bill Friedman bowed his head and placed it between his hands. Chris was sitting before him. The silence was so profound that the soft music from the PA system sounded melancholy. He looked at her and asked, “When did Salah’s problem begin?”
“A year ago.”
“Did he see a doctor?”
“He went once and refused to continue.”
“I thought the change I noticed was because of work exhaustion.”
“He’s sick, Bill. Since he came back from the Egyptian president’s meeting his condition has deteriorated rapidly. He hasn’t eaten or slept in three days. The doctor says that under such conditions he has to be involuntarily institutionalized.”
“Involuntarily?”
“Yes. The usual practice is to forcibly inject him with a tranquilizer, then move him to the hospital.”
“If that’s the only way to help him, I guess we have no choice.” Silence fell again. Chris began to sob then said, “It’s hard for me to see him like this.” Bill Friedman held her hand and said in a consoling tone, “Don’t worry. He’ll be all right.”
“You’re a dear friend. I came to you to help me.”
“I’ll do whatever I can.”
“I hope he won’t lose his job.”
Dr. Friedman looked pensive then said, “Administratively speaking, we have to indicate why he has stopped coming to work. I won’t mention that he’s undergoing psychiatric care because that would be a negative in his professional record. I will consider his absence part of his annual vacation and I’ll ask one of his colleagues to take up his classes.”
“Thank you, Bill.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“I have to go now.”
Bill Friedman got up, shook her hand warmly, and kissed her cheek, saying, “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to get in touch with me.”
Chris left the building and as she drove she thought that her lesser task had been accomplished: now, at least, Salah won’t lose his job. The greater task remained — to move him to the hospital to receive treatment. Unfortunately, she was going to have to be tough with him, so that he could be cured and return to normal. It was for his own good. She no longer remembered their disagreement. She forgot their problems and their agreeing to divorce. All she could think of now was that he was sick and needed her. She couldn’t just let him collapse without doing something for him. Even if he no longer loved her. Even if he wanted to divorce her. Even if he was in love with another woman. Even if he had been deceiving her all those years. She couldn’t give up on him. He was all alone. If she left him, he wouldn’t find anyone by his side. Her tears flowed again; she dabbed her eyes and then parked in front of the hospital. She waited for a few moments until she got a grip on herself then hurried into the building. Half an hour later, she came out accompanied by a young doctor. He sat next to her in her car as she drove and an ambulance followed. They agreed that she would go alone to Salah and try to convince him to go to the hospital. If he refused, the doctor would join her. Ultimately, if he persisted in refusing, the two paramedics would be called upon to give him the injection. The two cars stopped in front of the house. Chris went ahead, opened the door, and looked inside. She sighed and said, “Well, he’s in his study. This should make our task easier.”
She went up the stairs quickly, followed by the doctor. Once in front of the door outside his room, Chris stopped him with her hand and whispered, “Please sit here.”
The doctor nodded and turned, going slowly toward the nearby chair. Chris entered quietly, and as soon as she opened the door she saw the scene that would never leave her mind. Dr. Muhammad Salah, professor of histology at the University of Illinois medical school, was wearing his blue silk pajamas, stretched out on the floor, staring at nothing in particular, as if he had been surprised by something once and forever. There was blood trickling from a deep wound on the side of his head, creating a stain that was getting bigger and bigger on the carpet. Next to his relaxed, outstretched right hand was his old Beretta.
Chapter 39
It was a wonderful night to celebrate the victory. Graham and Carol went to the movies then had dinner at the revolving restaurant on top of that famous Chicago tower. As the view through the glass windows changed, Carol clapped and exclaimed in childlike joy. She looked very elegant in an evening gown that revealed her shoulders and decolletage. She had gathered her hair on top of her head, highlighting her beautiful neck, and wore pearl earrings and a necklace. She insisted on ordering an expensive bottle of French wine, and as soon as the waiter turned to leave, Graham asked her, laughing, “Are you sure you can afford to pay for this dinner?”
“Don’t worry, my dear,” she said, adding enthusiastically, “the contract I signed this week comes only once in a lifetime. Many broadcasters have worked many years for a contract like this but couldn’t get one. I’ve made it to the top, John.”
“Congratulations,” said John as he looked at her lovingly. She tasted the wine and he suggested a toast to love and success. As usual, the wine had a quick effect on her, so her eyes glistened as she said with emotion, “Because I’ve suffered so much in my life, God wanted to make it up to me for all my previous pain.”
“Why does God single you out for special treatment while not caring about millions of wretched people?”
“Would you hold back the heretical views for tonight, at least?”
Carol looked at him with a mix of reproach and fun. They talked and laughed a lot, and when they drove back in Carol’s new car, everything promised a night of love. As soon as they got home, she paid the babysitter and hurried to look in on Mark and found him sleeping peacefully as she had left him. She extended her hand and adjusted the covers around him. Then she returned to Graham, who received her with burning passionate desire. He embraced her so hard that she felt his strong arms hurting her, so she moaned lightly, which heightened his desire, and he showered her with passionate kisses on her face and neck. She backed off lightly and said in a mellow, dreamy voice, “I’ll be back in just a second.”
He sat waiting for her on the bed. She came back from the bathroom in a little while, wearing a white robe over her naked body. She stood preening and putting on perfume in front of the mirror. John put out his pipe quickly and said in a hasty voice, hoarse with desire, “I’ll take a shower too.”
In a few minutes they were rolling in bed, naked in the soft light coming from the lamp on the bedside table. He started kissing her all over her face, hands, shoulders, and breasts. When he finally entered her, she whispered his name, which aroused him so much more that he thrust at her so hard she moaned with pleasure. She felt her whole being melting in his embrace, as if she was shedding her body and soaring high. From behind her closed eyes she caught a glimpse of colored lights shining in the dark and felt that she was close to coming. Suddenly, a vague, worrying feeling came over her. She tried to remove it from her consciousness, but her pleasure continued to seep away. John slowed down his thrusting movements little by little, and then stopped. It took her a moment to come to. She felt his big body moving away. He leaned on his knees and got off her. She extended her arms and clung to his shoulders and begged, “Stay with me.”
Hearing her own voice in the dark told her that what was happening was real. Graham withdrew more, always slowly, breathing heavily, not from pleasure this time but in agitation. He lowered his feet to the floor, sat on the edge of the bed, and turned his back to her. It took her another minute to collect herself. She got up and turned on the light and said in alarm, “What happened?”
He kept his head bowed. She moved toward him and her naked body appeared graceful and beautiful. She sat next to him and again spoke tentatively. “What’s wrong?”
Graham pushed her arm aside. He raised his head and looked at the ceiling. He opened his mouth to say s
omething then bowed his head again. His voice came out hoarse. “Who is he?”
Chicago Page 32
