Sonallah Ibrahim - Stealth

He grabs my hand violently and pulls me through the lane all the way to the house. He closes the door of the apartment behind us and pushes me into our room. “Get up. Lie down on the bed.” He bends over me and tucks the covers around me. “Can’t you stay by yourself for even a little while? Do you think an afreet will eat you or something? Do I have to pull you along by the hand every place I go?”

He moves away from me and sits down on the bed. I cough. He goes out to the balcony, moving out of my sight. Then he comes back in and walks towards the door of the apartment. “I’m fed up. That’s it. What did I do to deserve this torture? I should’ve done like Aly Safa. He couldn’t give a damn about his daughters.” The chair turns into something like a cart that sells cucumbers and red dates. Its wooden brake keeps me from losing control and sliding across the tile floor, so I creep all around the apartment as I look for mother. There’s a seat with an opening and putty underneath me. I play around aimlessly with the red, blue and yellow rings fastened on to the thick plastic cable on one side of the cart.

I try to fight off the urge to cough. I follow him as he paces back and forth next to the dresser. He turns his face away from me and I raise my head up a little bit off the pillow. I see him searching around the desk, then sitting down, resting his arms on its surface. His fez slants a little bit backwards. His lips are trembling in soundless murmurs. He pulls off his suit coat, takes out his half-smoked cigarette from his waistcoat, feels around for his matches until he finds them, then lights his half a cigarette. He puffs on it and lets it dangle from the side of his mouth as he says: “I can’t leave for even five minutes. Was I just screwing around or something? It’s all for your sake in the first place. I only have a month to catch up with the judge. Your grandma wants to take you from me. Do you want to go live at her house? And sleep on the ground?” The stairs are long. The door to the roof is half opened. The room is narrow. The bed is in one corner and the cooking things are in the other. There’s a cold wind on the way to the toilet. My grandma’s yellow face.

He picks up a book and takes his glasses out of the breast pocket of his coat. He puts them on and then looks for one special page that he wants to find. He can’t find it, so he just reads randomly for a while. He puts the book down. Stands up. Heads towards the door. Is he going back out again? He turns and comes back. I am following him from the corner of my eye. He sighs: “It was a dark day when I saw your face and the face of your mother.” I cough. “If only the Lord would take you and give me some respite.” I cough again. I shudder. My teeth start to chatter. I blink my eyes. The angels are surrounding me. Mother carries me. Light comes in from the hallway. It swirls around me in circles.

I open my eyes. The light is spinning in circles. His head is bent over me. It is covered with his woolen cap. That means he won’t go out again. He feels around my temples. He lifts my head up and puts a spoon of Belmonks in my mouth. He unfolds a wet handkerchief. Spreads it over my forehead. He disappears. He comes back with a glass of water, and squeezes two lemons into it. He brings out the aspirin bottle. He empties two pills into his hand. Dissolves them into the water. He raises my head. Forces me to drink. After the first sip, I push the cup away with my hand. I can’t breathe, so I open my mouth to breathe through it. My chest heaves and I gasp for air. He pulls me to his chest. Raises a handkerchief to my nose. He tells me to blow. My nose is clogged. He raises a small mirror in front of my face. I see my two nostrils stained with bright red spots of mercurochrome.

He leaves the bed. I follow him with my eyes. He opens the dresser and starts to root around in it. He comes back with a thin glass tube. He gets up on to the bed. Leans over me. Puts the end of the tube in one of my nostrils. He drains the stuff clogging one nostril. He dumps it on a plate. Then he does the other nostril. He drains it and dumps it. I can breathe again. He puts his hand on my head and recites the verse of the throne from the Quran. The coughing won’t stop. I’m parched, and he gives me a drink of a coloring of iodine mixed with water. He takes me to a well that has a gas smell coming up from it. He sits me down at its edge. He tells me to lean my head over and breathe in. The well is deep. His strong arms surround me and hold me back from falling.

I open the door carefully and look behind me. Father is deep into his nap. I go out to the living room. I walk softly to the door of the constable’s room. It is shut. I put my eye to the keyhole. The end of the bed. Four bare feet over it. The feet are all tangled and they’re not moving. I go over to the skylight and have a look at the window of Um Zakiya. It is open. The side of her bare arm is showing. I go around the table. I notice a mouse running towards the bathroom and the kitchen. I go back to Mama Tahiya’s room. I hear moving inside, so I hurry back to our room.

Father is sleeping on his left side with his back to me. He’s snoring. I sit at the desk and open up my science book.

I hear movement in the living room and hurry back to the door to look through the keyhole. The constable has a T-shirt and pyjama bottoms on and is standing in front of the wash basin. He washes up, then goes back to his room. I wait. Mama Tahiya is in her white robe. I wait until she finishes washing and goes back. I open the door and go out to the living room. She waves at me to follow her to the room.

The constable is lying on the bed. He is still in the t-shirt. His hands are clasped behind his head, leaning against the wall. The hair under his arms is thick. The bed covers are piled up. She pulls them off to make a place for me. She gives me a plate with lotus fruit that I love so much and says: “Kareem brought it back with him from Assyut.” She combs her hair in front of the mirror then passes the lipstick over her lips.

I pick out a fat orange-colored piece. Wipe it off with the sleeve of my pyjamas. I love the taste of the fruit’s dry, sweet flesh. I spit out the seed and look around me, not knowing what to do with it. I end up putting it in my pocket. I pick out another. It’s bitter. I spit it out and choose a red one instead.

I look up at Mama Tahiya. She lets her hair down below her shoulders. Her eyes shine. She looks at “Kareem.” Some anger shows on his face. She smiles. I feel that he’s annoyed at my being there.

“Shall I make tea?”

She leaves the room without waiting for him to answer. I notice a picture magazine tossed to the side of the bed. I grab it and start flipping through its pages. A picture of the king at his meeting with the army officers heading to Palestine. In a military uniform with short sleeves. He holds the end of a staff under his arm. His glasses have big black frames. His thick moustache has two raised ends on either side of his mouth. He has a beret on his head leaning to the right.

I ask the constable: “So, are we going to war?” He says it has to happen now that Israel has declared statehood. He adds: “There’s also America; they said they’d cut off petrol and farming materials if we go into Palestine.”

Mama Tahiya comes back carrying a tray with three cups of tea. We drink them without talking. She throws herself into gathering up the playing cards scattered all over the room. She organizes them and counts them out while sitting cross-legged. Her robe slides up and shows her bare legs.

She says: “Come on. Let’s play Old Maid.”

She sets aside three cards with old kings on them. She shuffles the cards again. The constable turns over on to his left side. He leans on his right elbow and draws a card. I look at my cards. I notice his hand sneaking to the thigh of Mama Tahiya. She laughs and pulls her body away. We start to run out of cards quickly. He only has one card left. He lays it down to reveal the other king.