The Day the Leader Was Killed (7 page)

“What does this mean?” inquired Gulstan.

“Where’s the government?” I asked in turn.

“These are uncertain times,” answered Anwar.

“That poor generation of yours has all my sympathy,” said Gulstan with compassion, looking my way.

“And rebuke,” I added, irritated.

“Excuse me for a few minutes, I have some urgent phone calls to make,” said Anwar, standing up.

When we were alone, she drew close to me and murmured gently:

“People like you deserve the very best.”

I was wondering what she meant by that. Politics or my own personal tragedy? But I was suddenly aroused by the proximity of her ripe and attractive body. I stared at it with a look of utter shamelessness. All I wanted at the moment was to have her as my mistress.

“I’d like to be alone with you,” I whispered, my throat parched.

“I’d be delighted to be alone with a decent person like you,” she said sedately.

The electric current running through me came to a sudden halt. She was saying a great deal in the least possible words. Although she had put an end to my reckless
dreams on the one hand, yet she seemed to beckon me on the other.

“I respect myself and appreciate those who respect themselves,” she said in an attempt to clarify herself.

“I’m very happy to hear that,” I said, concealing my disappointment.

“You’re welcome to come here at any time. I know a great deal about you, but you hardly know anything about me.”

H
e wants to get married as soon as possible and I can find no excuse for procrastinating. We decided to hold the celebrations in Gulstan Hanem’s villa. My father, though, was unable to attend. It was a silent party. The buffet was excellent and it was attended by the company’s top executives and a group of businessmen. I wore the inevitable mask of joy. In fact, I had long prayed—and was determined—to succeed. I had a genuine desire to try to make it work and to adjust to my new life. What I dreaded most was the possibility of finding Elwan among the guests, but he was not there. Although I was not attracted to him, I did not find him altogether repulsive. Imagine if Elwan had been the bridegroom tonight. What would he have done? I lived my whole life imagining I could not give myself to anyone but him. But, there it is, reality dictates a different
set of options. Suffice it that I now feel that I could come to love Anwar one of these days.

In the days that followed, there was an uninterrupted stream of well-wishers, particularly on my side of the family. But what about these men? They come bearing gifts. We welcome them and offer them drinks. Night after night, this wretched stream of men, and some of them are most persistent. I was worn out by these permanent fixtures and by having to exert painstaking efforts at being courteous.

“You’ve so many friends in the business world!” I told him.

“Actually, they are our future,” he replied with a telling bluntness.

“What do you mean?” I inquired, perplexed.

“My job is worthless except in the eyes of a young employee. Our real future is in the private sector, in the intelligent gamble which enables a person to move up from one class to another. So spare no efforts in making them feel at home!”

These, then, are business calls! I did not feel comfortable.

“I had been given to understand that you were financially secure,” I said.

“Only in this sense. Other than that there’s no sense of security for anyone with this perpetual rise in prices!” he answered blatantly. I was totally dumbfounded while he went on excitedly:

“God won’t forgive you if you don’t amass an incredible fortune under these circumstances.”

“Isn’t it enough to have what will allow us to live comfortably?”

“Comfortably? We’re in a merciless rat race, my dear.”

Here, then, is a new person emerging, with amazing rapidity, from behind that other person. He will not hear of patience nor will he be satisfied with rising gradually. As for my reactions, they’re beside the point. He’s very simply saying: That’s me, pure and simple, with no retouches. How about that? He sees only his own ambitions in this world, and those are his sole concern. He prostrates himself before them in prayer a hundred times a day. It’s as though I have no existence apart from the role I may be able to play in his broader strategy. Even those false pretenses of his, he’s no good at them, and doesn’t even seem to care. He’s a total surprise to me, a colossal surprise which strikes me like a thunderbolt. Love is only a thing of the moment. I soon experienced an inconsolable sense of disappointment. I had sold myself for nothing. Or maybe things are even worse than that. I am ashamed to confess my disappointment. I was deluded into thinking that I was, to say the least, an end, and I now discover that I am no more than simply a means to an end, quite worthless other than my function as such. My job here is to be courteous, to entertain, and offer drinks. He was not even satisfied with that, and soon informed me that he could no longer postpone his evening duties and that I would myself have to be responsible for receiving and entertaining guests.

“It’s an extension of your public relations job,” he said with a laugh.

“But there’s nothing in common between those people and myself,” I objected.

“It’s not important. Suffice it that you are eloquent, intelligent, and cultured. We’re partners and are supposed to substitute for one another, particularly when there’s ultimately much to gain from it.”

“This is the language of the market. I never thought I would have to deal with it!” I said sharply—the first sharp words uttered during our honeymoon.

“The sooner, the better,” he said with a smile.

Biting sarcasm. I felt that my experience was rapidly proving to be a failure. I found myself amid men who were drinking, laughing boisterously, leaping to break all boundaries. I could hear a dirty joke now and felt a wave of irritation and anger surging up within me.

“Enough!” I said coldly.

They looked at me gloomily.

“Enough drinking!” I said roughly.

“Were we being impolite?” asked one of them.

“It seems so!” I answered coldly.

“Is this an indication that we should leave?”

“Definitely!” I said, growing angrier.

I was in the sorriest of states as I stood waiting, tormented by misgivings and apprehensions. When he returned around midnight, he turned pale as soon as he set eyes on me, and asked:

“Is everything fine?”

“Absolutely not. This is a house, not a bar.”

“What happened?”

“In a word, I threw them out. Interpret it as you wish.”

He sank silently into the seat facing me. Following a period of silence, he muttered:

“A great structure has just collapsed.”

“On top of a handful of bastards,” I shrieked.

“A disappointment.”

“Don’t you want to understand?” I asked, highly incensed.

“I thought you understood things better,” he said in an irritatingly calm tone.

“Actually, I don’t understand you. You’re a strange person,” I continued.

And, again, with his irritating calmness, he added:

“It’s simply a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?”

“I mean a misjudgment on my part.”

“You are indeed a vile person!” I shrieked.

With a wave of his hand, he indicated that I should control myself and then continued:

“No, no, no need to bring up this subject. I’ve lived a lifetime without getting angry.”

“This speaks for you.”

“Calm down. There’s been a mistake and it can be corrected.”

“I’m going,” I said insistently.

“Why the hurry? Wait until morning.”

“I shall not remain in this house a minute longer!”

“Do what you please, but no need to get angry,” he said, giving up on me.

H
e loves not the evildoers
. What is this decree all about? You declare a revolution on May 5 and then annul it on September 5? You throw all sorts of Egyptians into prison—Muslims, Copts, party men, and intellectuals? Only the opportunists are on the loose. God help you, Egypt!

And whosoever is blind in this world shall be blind in the world to come, and he shall be even further astray from the way
.

I remember the day Saad Zaghloul was placed under house arrest in Bayt al-Umma and the opportunists started crawling toward the Palace in a show of affected loyalty. Why are you replaying that old drama that looms large in the repertoire of Egyptian tragedies? I remember the dark days of oppression. Was 1919 then a dream or a myth? (Might does not make right. The mighty are those who can, when incensed, exert self-control.) I
wonder what the morrow has in store for us? As for me, I lost my closest and very last friend yesterday. Our friendship lasted seventy-five years, ever since we first set foot in primary school. Were it not for old age and poor means of transport … Oh! I insisted on attending the funeral services, a painful journey like the pilgrimage. I leaned on Elwan. Later, during the condolence services, I recalled old memories: school, the street, the café, the pub, student committees, weddings, birthdays. That face and that smile. Have you heard the latest? Complaints about the hardships of life. We saw eye to eye about everything except football: are you for the Zamalek team or the National team? Drink a glass of water on an empty stomach. Don’t forget the medicine for the memory. I missed your comments on September 5, but I know exactly what you would have said. The Quranic recitation begins:
Every soul shall taste of death
.

Soon death came along smiling cunningly, and sat beside me. Don’t hurry: only one step left. The death of my old friend is a rehearsal for my own death. I can just see the whole thing: the washing of the corpse, its burial, the pallbearers. I read the obituary: Muhtashimi Zayed, sometime educator and supporter of the Nationalist Movement in his youth. Do you remember him? I thought he had died ages ago. Oblivion shuffles by wearily, but I surrender willingly. Indeed, it has been a long life, but now it seems like only a fleeting moment. Love, violence, anger, hope—so many already gone. There is no difference now between your being in the coffin and my walking behind you or vice versa. His son
greeted me warmly and told me that, as he was dying, he said: Please remember me to him.

That evening, my son Fawwaz reprimanded me:

“At your age, you can be excused from these types of obligations.”

On the other hand, Hanaa was saying:

“Today I bought a priceless book entitled
How to Repair Your Household Appliances
. Let’s hope it will liberate us from the plumber and electrician.” Whereupon Elwan added:

“Is there no book that can liberate us from the rulers?”

“People are speaking of nothing but the imprisonment of those who have been thrown into jail,” continued Fawwaz.

“Professor Alyaa is in prison and so is my friend Mahmud al-Mahruqi!” rejoined Elwan nervously.

“They’ve promised to hold a quick trial so that whoever is innocent would not be harmed,” I added in an attempt to calm them down.

“You still believe those lies, Grandpa?”

Thanks to his state of confusion, he was saved from prison. Woe unto those who are committed!

“I hope you’ll muster enough courage to get over your crisis,” I told him the moment we were alone.

“When calamities accumulate they lose their sharpness and intensity,” he said in an ironic tone.

He switched off the television set and returned to his seat beside me.

“Grandpa, I want to tell you a secret.”

I listened to him anxiously as he went on:

“There are strong indications that I’ll be approached regarding a potential marriage to the sister of Anwar Allam, Randa’s husband.”

“Really! Tell me more about it.”

“She’s a widow, twenty years older than I, and very rich.”

“And looks-wise?”

“Not as you expect. She’s quite acceptable—and respectable.”

When he found that I had kept quiet, he continued: “What do you say, Grandpa?”

“It’s a very personal kind of decision, and it’s best you make it alone,” I said, trying to overcome my perplexity.

“But I insist on knowing your point of view.”

“Do you love her?”

“No, but I don’t hate her either.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“There must be something you can say.”

“I have no right to decide her fate. I belong to another world and it would not be wise that my world trespass on another.”

“But I’m not used to your being so elusive.”

For a while I was silent, and then added:

“There are undeniable advantages to this affair and also undeniable disadvantages. But, in your case, the advantages outweigh the disadvantages!”

“I refuse to sell myself!” he said quickly, with a vague smile.

I immediately felt relieved, but asked him:

“Did you give it enough thought before making up your mind?”

“More thought than necessary.”

“God bless you, then, and may He grant you what your heart desires,” I said in an emotional tone of voice. “Pray, work your miracles Sayyidi al-Hanafi!” I muttered under my breath.

“H
ave you heard, Elwan?” said my grandfather as I was getting ready to go out.

As I looked at him inquiringly, he added:

“Randa got a divorce!”

I was seized by a sudden sense of bewilderment, fear, and relief.

“She’s still on her honeymoon!” I cried.

“Your mother told me so this morning.”

“How could this have happened?”

“When living together becomes impossible.”

As he was taking leave of me, I added:

“I wanted to tell you, so it wouldn’t come as a surprise to you over there.”

As I walked to the office, I was all wrapped up in my own thoughts and emotions, conscious only of my own sorrow and joy. A sense of gloom surrounded Randa, and very soon it had spread all over the office.

“I’m …” I said as I greeted her.

“Thanks,” she said, interrupting me.

“You don’t deserve that,” I said with great sincerity.