Friendly Fire, Alaa Aswany [10 ebook reader .TXT] 📗

prayer was given. I was so furious I couldn’t get to sleep. The idea that that animal Sa‘id should evaluate my conduct and control my behavior, and that the ignoramuses and servants of the department should treat me cheekily, filled me with gall.

The morning of the following day, I determined on a course of action. I asked the maid, Huda, to make me a thermos full of coffee, took the flask under my arm, and marched in, ready for a fight. On reaching my room, I found stuck up on the door a piece of paper on which I read, “Gentlemen members of the Research Department are kindly requested to refrain from partaking of drinks during the month of Exalted Ramadan out of respect for the feelings of those fasting. Signed: The Administration.” I recognized Dr. Sa‘id’s handwriting so I put out my hand, tore the piece of paper violently down, squashed it into a ball, and threw it on the floor, looking around in search of one of them with whom to initiate battle, but the corridor was deserted. I went into the office, poured myself a cup of coffee, and lit a cigarette. I tried to read the newspapers but was incapable of concentrating I was so excited. I could sense the coming confrontation and was trying to hasten it along. I would teach that mule a lesson he’d never forget, I thought to myself, and I pictured myself throwing him to the ground and my shoe pummeling his bald head with kicks until the blood flowed.

After half an hour I heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor and soon Dr. Sa‘id appeared at the door to the room, Abd el-Alim behind him. Sa‘id looked at the cigarette in my hand and said in a loud voice, “What’s this, Isam? What’s going on? This is quite unacceptable.”

“What’s unacceptable?” I asked him in a voice shaking with excitement.

Dr. Sa‘id’s voice rose even higher.

“My dear friend, ‘If you must do ill, then conceal yourselves.’ Are you or are you not a Muslim?”

“Not.”

“What?” Dr. Sa‘id said in astonishment.

“Didn’t you just ask me if I’m a Muslim? Now I’ve told you—I’m not. I am not a Muslim.”

“So what are you?”

“What business is it of yours?”

A moment of silence elapsed. Then Sa‘id advanced a few steps and his voice rang out in fury: “No, now you’ve gone too far. Listen to me, my fine friend. I don’t intend to get into a slanging match with you out of respect for the Noble Month, but just remember you’re talking to your administrative director. Do you understand me?”

My body was quivering with rage and I said nothing but I stood up and stared into his face with fury, while he smiled mockingly, wagged a finger at me, and said, “Plus, can you tell me why a big boy like you can’t manage to fast?”

“He’s sure to have a valid excuse, doctor!”* exclaimed one of the employees who had gathered behind Dr. Sa‘id,

and a few laughs rang out. I was so angry I lost my wits and found myself striking the thermos, which fell to the ground making a great clatter, and the top came off and the coffee poured out over the floor. The employees took a few steps back and were startled into silence, and I shouted with the full force of my anger, “You make fun of me, you imbeciles? You understand nothing.”

My outburst took them aback for a moment, and then the same employee, who was called Ahmad Guda, called out, “Of course not. You’re the one that knows it all, Mr. Know-It-All.”

Some of those who were standing there laughed and Guda clapped his hands and said, in a silly, drawn out voice, “Mr. Knoooooooow-It-All!” The raucous laughter grew and I yelled at them, my voice lost in the noise, “Go ahead! Laugh! I’ve read more about Islam than any of you.”

They didn’t listen to me and the laughter continued. I got the impression that the way I looked when I was shouting at them increased their mirth, and my indignation flared back up and I screamed at them, “Idiots! Trash!”

The laughter came to an immediate stop. Whispers ran around and Dr. Sa‘id exclaimed, coming up to me, “Shut your mouth!”

“Shut your own mouth, you animal! You’re just trash and you know nothing!”

They were shocked. Silence reigned for a moment. Then suddenly Abd el-Alim rushed at me, hand raised, and screamed hoarsely, “Blasphemer! Dog!”

All I have after that is confused impressions. Abd el-Alim launched himself at me and I tried to slap him on the face but my hand missed and hit his neck. He grabbed me by my shirt and started shouting abuse at me and the employees separated us and dragged me by force out of the room, Dr. Sa‘id’s deep voice following me as he shouted, “See, he’s a communist! A communist! I had my suspicions from the beginning. Refer him for investigation immediately!”

5

To look at, a drop of water is as pure and transparent as crystal, but if you magnify it under a lens, a thousand impurities appear. The moon is beautiful and unsullied as long as it’s far away, but if you get close it looks like a filthy, deserted beach. Even the face of the one you love, whose fresh, rosy complexion captivates your heart, appears—as soon as you have learned to see it properly—like ugly, wrinkled cloth. You can test this truth every time. Our love of beauty is merely a trick produced by the way we look, and the broader the vision grows the clearer the wrinkles are seen.

6

Our house—forties style; high, decorated ceilings; large floor tiles with small squares, their colors worn away by people’s feet; sedate wooden furniture with an old smell; chair covers and table cloths whose color had changed and which had worn through in several places from age. Our house had spacious echoing rooms, large balconies looking out over the street and other, narrower