Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

At the end of our allotted time, the officer announced, “I’m sorry. The visit is over now.”

Kamel said good-bye to us the way we had greeted him, with hugs and instructions to look after ourselves. Aisha burst out crying as my mother hugged him and said, “Good-bye, my hero. Keep your spirits up.”

Mitsy and Kamel held hands and stared at each other. When it was my turn, I shook Kamel’s hand and he kissed me on the cheek and told me, “Don’t forget to study, Saleha.”

Despite having drunk so much that evening, thanks to their regular workouts, Mahmud and Fawzy still retained their agility, and their terror made them flee at full speed from the shouting doorman.

“Stop them! Catch them!”

A soldier on patrol appeared and sounded off a long wailing siren to let all other soldiers in the area know that a pursuit was taking place. The two boys kept running, almost tripping over themselves. Fawzy noticed the Seif al-Din Building, which he knew from other amorous adventures, and ran toward it with Mahmud following. They ran through the front door into the lobby, and as luck would have it, the doormen were either away or asleep. Fawzy stopped and grabbed Mahmud’s hand.

“The building has two entrances,” he panted. “We’ll go out the other door.”

They crossed the wide gloomy lobby and went out of the other door, finding themselves in Qasr al-Ayni Street. They ran toward Ismailiya Square, and then Fawzy stopped and instructed Mahmud, “Just walk normally now.”

As usual, it was Fawzy who set the pace. They walked down the street and then made their way through side streets back onto al-Sadd Street. From time to time, Fawzy stopped and looked back to make sure they were not being followed. After half an hour, the front door of their building loomed into view. They ran inside and up the stairs. When they reached the front door of Mahmud’s apartment, Fawzy whispered, “Come up to the roof with me. We’ve got to talk.”

Mahmud was beyond the point of being able to argue. He was trying slowly to understand what had happened, ending up with the sight of Tafida lying naked and dead on the bed. Fawzy unlocked the room on the roof and took out two chairs and a small table. They sat, as they always did, next to the wall that looked onto al-Sadd Street. Fawzy took a lump of hashish from his pocket and started rolling a joint.

“I need something to get my head back together. The alcohol has worn off.”

That was the way he dealt with a difficult situation, but his cheeriness seemed forced and meaningless. Mahmud sat there saying nothing, looking straight ahead but seeing nothing and occasionally letting out a sigh and banging his fists against his thighs or holding his hands on his head. Suddenly, he stood up and shouted out, in a voice raucous and strange, “The police’ll catch us and throw us in prison…”

“They’ll never find us. The doorman doesn’t know my name or yours.”

“But he knows what we look like.”

“Even if the police question us, we haven’t done anything. Life and death are matters for God, may he be praised. Tafida’s time was up. She would have died in any case, whether we were there or whether she was alone.”

“Tafida died in bed with you.”

“All right, we had a relationship with the deceased woman, but she died a natural death.”

Mahmud gave Fawzy a look of anger.

“Don’t say ‘we’! You’re the one who was screwing Tafida. I had nothing to do with it.”

“We were both there when she died.”

At this point, Mahmud could no longer control himself, and his voice reverberated in the silence of the night, “You were the one screwing her. I told you from the very beginning I didn’t want the job, and it was you who said that we had entered into a sort of traditional, oral marriage with them and that they were like the concubines of the Franks. You got me into this mess.”

Fawzy went over to Mahmud and put his hand on his shoulder, but Mahmud brushed it off.

“Get away from me. I’m going downstairs.”

Mahmud turned to leave, but then he stopped as if he had just remembered something. He turned toward Fawzy.

“I don’t want to see you again!” he shouted. “Understand?”

As soon as he got to his bedroom, Mahmud lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking. After a while, the sound of the dawn call to prayer reached his ears from the Sayyida Zeinab mosque. He got out of bed, took a shower and washed his mouth out well to remove any remnant of alcohol before dressing in his white galabiyya and saying his prayers. Seated on the prayer rug, he started reading from the Quran, but then his massive body started shaking, and he gave himself over to a fit of violent sobbing. He was beset with regret and fear. The meaning of what had happened was clear in his mind. He had been committing fornication with Rosa and Dagmar, but God Almighty had been merciful with him and was protecting him. God had given him chance after chance to return to a righteous life, but that devil Fawzy had turned his head, and so he continued committing debauchery, and now divine retribution had fallen upon him. He was mixed up in the death of a lady of some standing. He would have to prove that he had not killed her. Tafida al-Sarsawy’s family would now be able to ruin his future, not to mention the stain of scandal that would forever stick to his family. He stretched out, full of regret, before sinking into a worried sleep, in which he dreamed he was watching the naked Tafida running along behind him as he was trying to get away from her, screaming in terror.

He became aware of his mother’s hand stroking him, and he opened his eyes and sat up in bed. She smiled and said quietly, “Good morning, Mahmud. Your friend Fawzy’s here.”

His face turned ashen, and he was about to tell her that he did not want to see him, but he said nothing and nodded. His mother left his bedroom, and a short while later, Fawzy came in, shutting the door behind him.

“What are you doing here?” Mahmud protested.

Fawzy spoke quickly. “I know you’re angry with me. But by God, Mahmud, I haven’t done anything wrong. How was I to know that she would drop dead? But listen, Mahmud, I’m warning you. Don’t you dare say a word about what happened to anyone. If you say a word, we’re both done for.”

“You got me into this mess,” Mahmud wailed. “So you can get me out of it.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

“But if the police arrest us, I’ll spill the beans.”

There was fear on Fawzy’s face and he muttered, “Keep your voice down. Your mother will hear. Haven’t we agreed?”

“Agreed to what?”

“That you won’t speak of it to anyone.”

Mahmud did not reply. He sat there scowling and staring into space as if at a loss to express what he felt. When Fawzy left the bedroom, Mahmud’s mother asked him to stay for breakfast, but he thanked her and told her he had to go. Mahmud took a shower and forced himself to eat some breakfast before going to work. He carried out his orders in a state of total absentmindedness. He looked so worried that at the end of the shift, Uncle Mustafa asked him to go and have a cup of tea with him in the Paradise Café. Choosing a table on the far side, Uncle Mustafa ordered tea and a water pipe. Taking a deep drag, he asked, “What’s the matter, Mahmud?”

“Nothing.”

“You look shattered. Talk to me.”

Mahmud recalled Fawzy’s admonition about keeping mum, but Uncle Mustafa’s sympathetic and kindly demeanor got the better of him. He felt a strong urge to confess everything to this man. He trusted him. Uncle Mustafa listened to him attentively and then said, “God is our refuge. May God protect you.”