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

excited and happy. She turned around several times and cried, “What do you think? I am now a dancer from Andalusia. Do I look like the picture in your imagination?”

“Of course.”

“I had a very hard time finding the store that sold belly dancing outfits. Do you know what I did?”

“What?”

“I went to a costume party last year and I saw a girl wearing an outfit like this one. I kept looking for her telephone number until I found it and she told me where the store was.”

My ability to keep up with her was limited and fragile. I kept following her with my eyes while my mind was wandering off. She soon realized that, and her face clouded over. She sat next to me and asked me in alarm, “What’s wrong?”

Her appearance as she sat next to me in the dance outfit was bizarre. It was as if she were an actress sitting in the wings in her costume. It occurred to me to conceal what had happened, to ask her to leave, or to leave myself, using any excuse. Suddenly, however, I found myself telling her everything. She looked lost in deep thought and then said in a soft voice, “I had no idea you lived in such a police state.”

“Without American support the Egyptian regime wouldn’t last a single day.”

She put her arms around me and got so close I could feel her breath. She whispered, “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll go on collecting signatures.”

“Aren’t you afraid to?”

“Yes, naturally, but I’ll overcome it.”

“But it is no longer just you. They’ll harm your mother and sister.”

The faces of Noha and my mother materialized in my mind. I could see the scene with the officers and plainclothesmen storming the house and arresting them. I said in a loud voice, “Let them do what they want to do. I am not backing off.”

“You are free to take a stand. But what have your mother and sister done to deserve this?”

“They are no better than the mothers and sisters of tens of thousands of detainees.”

“Nagi, I truly don’t understand you. Why do you go looking for trouble?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you still care about Egypt’s problems now that you’re out of it?”

“It’s my country.”

“Egypt, like so many countries in the third world, is suffering from many deep-rooted problems that have accumulated over centuries. Your lifetime and my lifetime would not be enough to fix these problems.”

What she said was unexpected to me. I downed my drink, staring at her in disbelief. She got up and stood in front of me. Then she pulled my face toward her bare belly and whispered, “Our relationship is wonderful. With you I have feelings I’ve never known before. Please, think of our future.”

“I am not going to give up on my duty.”

“Why don’t you think in a different way? America was built on the shoulders of talented, ambitious young people like you. They came from all over the world looking for a better future. America is the land of opportunity. If you stay here, you’ll do great things.”

“You’re talking like Safwat Shakir.”

“What?”

“Yes. You even use his very words.”

My voice sounded strange to me and it occurred to me that I was drunk. I knew that alcohol had a greater influence on me when I was tense. I responded to a fateful, persistent, mysterious feeling and asked her, “Isn’t it strange that Safwat Shakir knew about our relationship? Even more strange, where did he get a copy of the apartment key? Wendy, who fed him all this information?”

She stared at me, her eyes growing wider in disbelief. She said in a voice shaking with uncontrollable agitation, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t mean anything specific. I am just wondering: How did he know the details of our relationship? And if he had videotapes of us, there must be a camera in the bedroom. Who put it here?”

She looked at me for a moment then turned and rushed to the bathroom. I stayed put. I had no ability or desire to do anything. I was hurtling down the abyss at breakneck speed and I couldn’t stop. I poured another drink and took a big gulp. After a short while Wendy appeared. She’d put on her clothes and put the dance outfit back in the bag she had brought. Her face was different. She avoided looking at me and hurried toward the door. I hurried after her.

“Wendy.”

She didn’t turn around. I held on to her, but she struggled loose and pushed me with her hand. I saw her face at that moment, wet with tears. I said in a pleading voice, “Please, listen to me.”

But she left and slammed the door.

CHAPTER 30

“Dr. Baker is known for his fanaticism against Muslims, and I, thank God, am a Muslim proud of my religion. He tried more than once to make fun of Islam in front of me but I dumbfounded and scolded him, so he decided to take his revenge on me and fabricated this issue,” Danana said to Marwa, who was sitting in front of him on the sofa. Then he bowed his head, his face looking like that of someone stoically and patiently withstanding excruciating pain. Marwa, of course, had noticed several gaping holes in his account, so she said, trying to maintain a neutral smile, “This is a strange story.”

“Strange? Why? Your enemy is the enemy of your religion and God Almighty has said in the Noble Book: ‘Never will the Jews be satisfied with thee, neither the Christians, not till thou followest their religion.’”

“But you told me before that Dr. Baker likes Egyptians.”

“That’s what I thought until the dirty reality revealed itself. You know that I am kindhearted and am easily deceived by people.”

“Couldn’t it just be a misunderstanding?”

“I tell you he is going to expel me from the department, you tell me it’s a misunderstanding?” Danana shouted angrily.

Marwa kept silent for a moment then asked