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

get an education, and instead of looking after your future, you’ve brought a catastrophe upon yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re collecting signatures on a statement against our revered president. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“I’m proud of what I’m doing.”

“The problem with intellectuals like you is that you are prisoners of books and theories. You don’t know anything about what really happens in your country. I’ve worked as a police officer for ten years in different governorates, in villages, hamlets, and alleys. I’ve come to know the lower depths of Egyptian society. I can assure you that Egyptians are not concerned with democracy at all. Besides, they are not cut out for it. Egyptians are concerned about three things only: their religion, their livelihood, and their children. And religion is the most important; the only thing that pushes Egyptians to revolt is when someone attacks their religion. When Napoleon came to Egypt and pretended to respect Islam, Egyptians supported him and forgot that he was an occupier.”

“It seems you haven’t read your history. Egyptians revolted against the French expedition twice within a three-year period and they killed the commander.”

He looked at me angrily. I felt some comfort in having insulted him. He went on in an arrogant tone of voice, “I don’t have time to waste with you. I wanted to help you but you insist on your stupidity. One thing you can be sure of is: that statement for which you are gathering signatures is just child’s play.”

“If it was just child’s play, then why did you take the trouble of coming here?”

“You’re playing with fire.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I am just warning you. If you don’t give up on this statement, you cannot imagine what I’ll do to you.”

“Do your worst,” I shouted, having got over the surprise. For the first time, it occurred to me to kick him out. He moved, backing off a few steps toward the door, saying, “You are plowing the sea. Do you think you’ll embarrass the regime in front of the Americans? I assure you the regime is as solid as a mountain and organically connected to the American establishment. Everything you’ve written in the statement is well known to the Americans and they couldn’t care less, so long as the Egyptian regime is looking after their interests.”

“So, you admit that the Egyptian regime is just a servant of the Americans.”

“I warn you for the last time. You’re mistaken to think that being in America will protect you from punishment. Come back to your senses, Nagi, if not for your own future then for the sake of your mother, who has toiled for years for you, and for your sister Noha, the student in the College of Economics and Political Science. She is a tender girl and would not withstand one night of detention at State Security. The officers there are lowlifes and they love women.”

“Get out of here.”

“You will pay dearly. You’ll discover how we can teach you manners, but it will be too late.” He said the last few words as he opened the door, then he suddenly turned toward me and said, “By the way, greetings to your Jewish beloved, Wendy. I’ve received videos of the two of you having sex. Thank you. They are very enjoyable.”

He let out a loud laugh then closed the door and disappeared. I collapsed on the nearest chair. I couldn’t describe how I felt at that moment. It was a mixture of shock, anger, and humiliation. I opened a bottle of wine and lit a cigarette and began to smoke and drink. How did Safwat get a copy of the statement? How did he come to know everything about me? More seriously: How did he enter the apartment? I got up and opened the door and examined it carefully. I found no sign of forced entry. He had used a copy of the key. Where did he get it from? There must be some kind of cooperation between Egyptian intelligence and the university administration. I should change residence at the earliest opportunity. I could cut down on my expenses to afford off-campus housing. I was possessed by a strange desire, so I got up and went to the bedroom, turned on the lights, and began to examine the walls, as if I were going to find the secret camera that had filmed Wendy and me. In a short while I laughed at myself, turned off the lights, and went back to the living room. I soon heard the sound of a key turning in the door. I got up, ready for a confrontation, but I saw Wendy, who said, smiling as soon as she saw me, “Hello. How are you?”

I kissed her as usual. I tried to seem natural. She exclaimed cheerfully, “Listen, Nagi. I’m going to the bathroom. Please close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you.”

“Can we do this some other time?”

“No, we can’t,” she said good-naturedly and planted a quick kiss on my cheek then dashed off to the bathroom. I gulped down my glass of wine and poured myself another and began to chide myself anew. How did I allow Safwat Shakir to break into my house and threaten me? Why didn’t I call the police? What he had done was a crime in American law; even if he had diplomatic immunity, I would have caused a major scandal for him. Why didn’t I do that?

“Are your eyes closed?” Wendy’s voice came from the bathroom. I closed my eyes as I lost myself in thought then I came to when I heard her voice nearby: “Now open your eyes.”

It was a strange sight: Wendy was wearing a belly dancing outfit; her breasts bulging out of a tight, low bra, revealing most of her chest, her belly fully exposed with a star covering her belly button, and her waist tied by a scarf that accentuated her hips. From that girdle long tassels descended, barely covering her bare legs. She was