Basma Aziz - The Queue

One day, in a departure from this routine, she spent the morning reading out corrections and clarifications in The Truth . Apparently, investigations had revealed that the foreigner previously accused of orchestrating the Disgraceful Events was a medical officer implicated in certain war crimes. He had fled his homeland years ago and reappeared here, changed his religion, married, and settled down under a new name in District 11. He’d stayed out of political activities and hostilities, despite what he’d done in his own country under a powerful regime that fell shortly after he left. The piece added that his embassy had released a statement stating that his country’s judiciary had halted prosecution after confirming that he had died a natural death. After the judiciary’s arms had searched for him for half a century, the man’s case had been closed. This brief redaction took up just a few lines at the bottom of the second-to-last page, while the front page was plastered with a large headline about spies in the country and an article on the long history of unrest that they had stirred up while undercover.

The truth was clear for all to see, and Shalaby was thrown into confusion. His pride was broken, his shoulders sagged, and he didn’t say another word about his story, though before that day he’d never tired of rehashing the details, which few people were actually interested in. At noon, he gathered his resolve and, despite their history, asked Ines to save his place for him. She immediately agreed, without asking any questions. In those brief hours, he seemed to have changed from his usual self, so much so that she pitied him. His voice had become hollow, his face was filled with weariness, even shame.

But she didn’t delight in his sorrow as he had in hers. Shalaby, she’d discovered from people around them, was down on his luck; he and his family and his cousin’s family desperately needed a steady income to escape the landowner’s threats and intimidation. Yet she also knew that this wasn’t the only reason he was waiting to process his paperwork at the Gate. He had once confessed to her that he deeply wished to bring his family a title that was worth something, something that would make them glorious and renowned in their poor little town, something to put them on a par with the landowner.

He had arrived an optimistic braggart and was now dejected and confused. He was uncertain of what to do, just as she was, and like her was overcome by a slew of calamities that had arrived one after the next. In her case, it was all thanks to her loose lips and a tongue she couldn’t keep in check. She hadn’t been like this before coming to the queue, not at all. Something frightening had come over her here, changing her; she never used to talk back to anyone or pick fights, and had never delved into others’ affairs. Now she was the complete opposite. The strange thing was that after each slip of the tongue, she vowed she would go back to her usual self — quiet, introverted, and reserved — but then she would break her own promise the first chance she got. She was relieved to hear the correction in the newspaper; at least the person actually responsible for killing people during the Events had still not been identified. The matter had not yet been resolved, so what she’d said about Mahfouz and Shalaby and the other guards could still be proven right and beyond reproach. But she realized that there was no one to protect or defend her if disaster struck in the meantime. What friends did she have here in times of need, with this mouth of hers that would only get her into more trouble?

Later that afternoon, the woman with the short hair read out another piece from The Truth with a sarcastic smile. There was an unusual ad in the Help Wanted section about a new department in the Booth. It said anyone seeking employment there should submit their paperwork, including certificates and permits from their university and the Gate, and would undergo a personal interview within a week. It included an address where applications should be sent by registered mail: The Gate’s Booth, Communications Department, Behind the Restricted Zone . Nagy chuckled when he heard it, and told the woman that this was by far the strangest ad she’d read yet; there were no job summary, candidate profile, responsibilities, requirements, or conditions. Yet even so, it was an attractive government job with a steady salary and holiday allowance. He still hadn’t heard back from the translation department; as usual, his checkered past kept him from being hired anywhere. He considered submitting an application to this new department, not because he thought he had a shot at the job but just to spite the hiring committee. They would certainly be surprised by his file and his nerve at applying for any job, much less this one. He waved at Ehab when he saw him approaching and told him about his idea, but Ehab surprised him by saying that he was going to submit an application, too. Ehab lowered his voice to say that he suspected the ad might be connected to the phone-tapping operation. They still didn’t know the extent of the surveillance or how long it would continue, and they could get no information about those who’d vanished, although the disappearances were becoming less frequent.

Shalaby left the queue for a couple of hours and then returned without his leather bag or wristwatch, empty-handed except for a shiny golden medal on a dark-blue ribbon. He told everyone that he’d gotten it from the Booth in honor of his cousin Mahfouz. He’d shown the officials their mistake and they’d found his name on their lists, and he would be given a Certificate of Appreciation, just as soon as it was stamped by the Gate. Nagy recognized the medal, but he didn’t want to expose Shalaby’s fabrication and didn’t say a word. He only laughed and laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.

In a surprising development, Amani called Nagy. For several weeks she hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone but Yehya, who hobbled to the office when he was feeling well enough to spend an hour or two with her. At first Nagy didn’t realize it was her; the number that appeared on his phone wasn’t the one he had saved for her, and without giving him a chance to ask questions or even to say hello, she asked him to meet her immediately. At the corner by the coffee shop, across from the restaurant, she walked in circles on trembling legs, waiting for Nagy to appear. The doctor in uniform had visited her again.

He had come to her office a few days before and threatened her in front of her boss and colleagues. It hadn’t been an explicit threat, but he’d said he was waiting for Yehya to pay him a visit at Zephyr Hospital. He’d said that Yehya had to have an operation, to avoid complications that could cause his health to rapidly decline, more rapidly than she could imagine … complications that could even be life-threatening. Before leaving her office, he’d turned and told her that he knew exactly where Yehya was. And if Yehya didn’t show up at his office within the next few days, the man said, it might save him time to pay Yehya a visit himself.

When Nagy arrived she looked around wildly and pleaded with him to keep Yehya from visiting her, to keep him from coming to the office at all, or anywhere else, even to her apartment. The queue was safer, she thought; at least no one had disappeared there without returning, eventually. She still hadn’t uttered a word about those terrible days, which had come rushing back to her at the sight of the doctor alone. Things had happened to her that no one else knew, things she couldn’t speak of, things she still hadn’t admitted even to herself.

She spoke so hurriedly that Nagy wasn’t able to get a word in at first. He was shocked to see her so disturbed, and so he agreed to her request without question, and assured her that it would all work out and Yehya would be fine. Gripped with anxiety, she begged them to be careful, and he tried to calm her down. Maybe the doctor’s words were just an empty threat; these people often relied on fear, scaring others to stop them from thinking straight or acting rationally. He kept talking to her in an attempt to reassure her, but she didn’t hear a word he was saying. She just repeated herself in confusion, and then rushed away so quickly that she staggered and nearly fell several times, as Nagy watched her go.