Chicago, Alaa Aswany [first e reader .TXT] 📗

At the end of the sentence I detected a slight accent in his Arabic. I thanked him profusely, saying I appreciated his generosity for leaving his family on his day off to meet me at the airport. He made a gesture with his hand in the American way, as if he were chasing away a fly, as if to say that thanks were not needed or deserved. He tried to help me carry the suitcase to the car, but I refused, thanking him. He said as he started the car, “We Egyptians like to be welcomed with warm feelings. When we travel, even a short distance, we like to have somebody meet us, right?”

“Thank you very much, Doctor.”

“That’s the mayor’s duty!”

I looked at him quizzically and he laughed loudly then said merrily as he turned the car on the curving road, “Egyptians here call me ‘the mayor of Chicago,’ and I do my best not to lose the title.”

“Sir, have you been here a long time?”

“Thirty years.”

“Thirty years?” I repeated in astonishment. We were both silent for a moment, then he said in a different tone of voice, “The president of the Egyptian Student Union in America was supposed to meet you, but he begged to be excused for circumstances. He’s your colleague from Cairo University Medical School.”

“What’s his name?”

“Ahmad Danana.”

“Ahmad Abd al-Hafeez Danana?”

“I think this is his full name. Do you know him?”

“All graduates of Qasr al-Ayni know him. He’s an agent of the secret police.”

Dr. Salah fell silent and looked slightly upset. I felt sorry and said, “Sorry, Doctor, but this Danana got me and many colleagues arrested and detained during the second Gulf war.”

He remained silent, his eyes on the road, then said, “Even if that were true, I advise you to forget it; you should start your scientific journey having got rid of all your old quarrels.”

I was on the point of answering him, but he quickly asked me, to change the subject, “What do you think of Chicago?”

“It’s big and beautiful.”

“Chicago is a fantastic city but it is treated unfairly. Its reputation in the world is that it’s a city of gangsters. But the truth is, it is one of the most important centers of American culture.”

“There are no gangs?”

“In the 1920s and 1930s the Mafia was quite active here, during the days of Al Capone. But now gangs in Chicago are similar to those in any other American city. On the contrary, Chicago is safer than New York, for instance. At least here the dangerous neighborhoods are well known, but in New York, the danger is all over the place; armed men might attack you anywhere in the city. Would you like a little tour?”

He didn’t wait for my answer. He left the expressway and for half an hour he showed me around Sears Tower and Water Tower Place, and drove by the Museum of Contemporary Art, slowing down so that I could see the sculpture that Picasso gave as a gift to Chiago. And when he drove on Lake Shore Drive he pointed, saying, “This is Grant Park. Doesn’t this spot remind you of the Corniche in Alexandria?”

“You still remember Egypt?”

He smiled and said, “Of course. And by the way, what’s happening in Egypt these days? What I read in the newspapers worries me.”

“On the contrary, recent events make one optimistic. The Egyptians have awakened and started demanding their rights. The corrupt regime is shaking hard and I believe its days are numbered.”

“Don’t you think the demonstrations and the strikes will lead the country to anarchy?”

“We cannot obtain freedom without paying a price.”

“You think Egyptians are ready for democracy?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that half the Egyptians are illiterate. Wouldn’t we do better concentrating on teaching them how to read and write?”

“Egypt has the oldest parliament in the East. Besides, illiteracy does not impede the practice of democracy, as witnessed by the success of democracy in India despite the high illiteracy rate. One doesn’t need a university diploma to realize that the ruler is oppressive and corrupt. On the other hand, to eradicate illiteracy requires that we elect a fair and efficient political regime.”

For the second time I felt that he was upset with what I said. He turned once again onto a highway and said, “You must be quite tired. You’ve got to rest. We will have time to take a tour of Chicago later on. We’re now heading for the university, learn the route.”

“I’ll try. I’m not good with directions.”

“It’s impossible to get lost in Chicago because it is organized on regular north-south and east-west lines. It’s enough to know the number of a building to reach it easily.”

We took a tour of the university shopping center, and he helped me buy groceries. Then he said kindly, “If you like ful medammis, there are cans in the back row.”

“Do Americans eat ful and taamiya like us?”

“Of course not, but a Palestinian immigrant produces them here in Chicago. Would you like to try?”

“While in Egypt, I’ve eaten enough ful to last me till Judgment Day.”

When he laughs his face looks quite friendly and affectionate. We arrived at the student dormitory. It’s a big building surrounded by a large garden. The black receptionist welcomed us, and it was clear that she and Dr. Salah were friends, for he inquired about her family. She typed my name and the information appeared on the monitor. “Apartment 407, fourth floor,” she said as she handed me the key with a smile. I said good-bye to Dr. Salah and thanked him anew. I took my suitcase, went up to my apartment, closed the door behind me, and took off my clothes. It was warm, so I stayed in my underwear. As soon as I saw the bed I fell upon it and slept very soundly, waking up in the afternoon. The apartment has one bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen opening to a small living room big enough only for a table and two chairs. It’s