Basma Aziz - The Queue

Sabah immediately took advantage of Tarek’s leniency toward her. She left work early that day, while Tarek headed to the plush sofa in the corner of his office, stretched out, and closed his eyes. He plunged into a desperate struggle for sleep, pressing against the back of the sofa, then turning over and facing it, bending his knees and curling into a fetal position, then flipping onto his back, stretching his legs over the arm-rest, and staring up at the ceiling. When met with failure, as he was every time he tried to sleep now, he got up. He went over to his desk, picked up the key to the bottom drawer, and pulled out the file. Its papers were worn and tattered from how often he’d handled them.

The fifth document contained nothing more than a large box as long and wide as the page itself, yellow like all the other pages. It didn’t contain a single word and remained empty and pristine. So many times he’d hoped to open the file and find a sentence or two printed there, the way all the other papers he read over and over were inexplicably updated. But he knew that this one would remain blank, would wait for Yehya to receive either a permit to remove the bullet or an official rejection. A permit for the operation was practically hopeless at this point. And if he received a rejection, the file would be closed and sealed with red tape forever.

The box merged with the Gate in his mind, the resemblance overpowering. Vast and vague, able to contain so much. Everything in his world was determined by the Gate, bound to its decisions. His future depended on it, as did Yehya’s life, his friends’ lives, the lives of countless others. Whether he slept or lay awake, was unperturbed or miserable, everything depended on the Gate — even his work, which had been affected by the closure of the radiology department. And now Sabah was blackmailing him, forcing him into line with her. There was no question that life was more restrictive now, though they’d promised the exact opposite when the Gate first appeared and everyone had rejoiced. They’d said the Gate was going to make everything easier, that it would bring peace, joy, and security to each and every citizen. He was a citizen, a dutiful one, too, but now it was clear that these promises had been empty. The space on the page grew wider before his eyes, encompassing him, as if to swallow him whole and imprison him within it. His head dropped and his eyelids began to close, and then he impulsively turned the paper over, buried his head in his arms, and fell asleep.

Amani woke up early. She picked out a plain pair of jeans and a jacket that wouldn’t draw attention, but she was also careful not to look as if she were poor or in a precarious situation. Public officials had a distaste for serving people poor like themselves, even in a hospital like Zephyr, where things should have been different. Standing before the mirror, she rehearsed the manner she used with customers at work, settled on a tone that would sway the official, and practiced a small, friendly smile on her thin lips. Reassured by her appearance, she left the apartment.

A guard from the Concealment Force stopped her at the hospital doors and asked for her ID. He directed her to the Investigations and Instructions Desk, where she left her ID card and took a temporary one. She headed to the main sign with its list of names and arrows, and from there toward the surgery department, following signs that led her down a long corridor with exits to other departments branching off on both sides.

The floor was covered with what looked like rubber; it was dark and an indeterminate color, and the ceiling loomed high above her. The dull gray walls almost seemed to hold the shadows of people who had passed before her, and appeared even more imposing as they towered above her. She felt a coldness in the air, and shivers rippled through her body despite the sweat that was beginning to form along her hairline. Several doctors in white coats with distinctive badges walked past her whispering, but she didn’t see the doctor who had visited her at the office, and was reassured a little by this. She looked behind her; she was the only one in the corridor. The last sign pointed toward the surgery department, and she turned down the corridor, then continued until she reached the secretary’s office, where she stopped and summoned all the courage she possessed.

She stood before the official in silence; he was busy with a thick notebook open in front of him. Her eyes swept over the writing on the forms, searching for a word about Yehya, but she wasn’t used to reading upside down. He noticed her attempts and closed the book quickly, and raising his hand at her, he asked what she wanted by standing there. Her quick, forced smile seemed to have no effect.

“Good morning. I need a copy of an X-ray that was brought here about two months ago.”

“What’s your name?”

“Actually, it’s not under my name, it’s for Yehya Gad el-Rab Saeed.”

“What’s the relation?”

“He’s my cousin — my mother’s sister’s son.”

“Do you have authorization to pick it up?”

“I don’t, actually … I lost it.”

“We can’t just hand over an X-ray to anyone who walks in here. Not even if belongs to him, not without authorization.”

“But he really needs it, the doctor asked him for it, said he needed to get it, as quickly as possible, and it’s so hard for him to wait for another X-ray, there are so many people ahead of him, and he’ll have to wait maybe a whole month until he gets his turn … Please, will you help? I’ll do anything.”

He looked at her with disinterest, and then opened the notebook again and looked through the names. He asked her if she could remember the date Yehya was admitted, give or take a week or two. She could, but when he searched again he realized that the time period she’d told him included four days that hadn’t been entered in the book. His eyes narrowed, almost maliciously, and he stood up and reached over to a huge cabinet. With difficulty, he removed a medium-size file wedged between the massive folders and ran his finger down a list of names on the front.

“His name is here. He was injured in the Disgraceful Events. You should have said that from the start.”

“I just came for the X-ray, to be honest, that’s all … I don’t know anything about anything else … Do you think I could have it? Please?”

“Of course not. First of all, you need a special form, particularly in cases like this, signed by the doctor who treated him here, and then you have to bring me authorization from the director himself, stamped by him and by the hospital. And secondly, ya madam , I don’t have the X-ray. It’s in the filing department on the fifth floor, and just so you know, no one’s permitted up there.”

The color had left her face; the official knew how Yehya had been injured. Her attempt at naïveté had failed, but she maintained her composure, refusing to be defeated so quickly, and decided to see it through to the end. She asked him for the name of the doctor attending to Yehya’s case and where he could be found. He ripped a scrap of paper from the corner of a roll that happened to be nearby, scribbled something down, folded it, and held it out to her. He bade her goodbye with a mocking glare, and she hurried away. She didn’t open the piece of paper until she was far from the window and sure she was no longer in range of his sneering gaze, which felt like it pierced right through her. Dr. Safwat Kamel Abdel Azeem — Fourth Floor, Special Cases . She put the scrap of paper in the inside pocket of her purse and took out her cell phone, and saw several missed calls, all from the same number. She called the number back, and an unfamiliar voice picked up on the other end.