Nael Eltoukhy - Women of Karantina

Yara was provoked beyond measure. The words that came from her mouth were like bullets: Stop them in their tracks how, sister? Show us. (Receiving no answer from Amira, she stood up and waved her arms.) Amira! Sweetheart! If my sister and I weren’t so well brought up you’d have been dead and buried long ago. And not just you, my girl, but all those useless men you’ve got as well.

Lara: Yeah. All of them. From the youngest to the oldest.

For a while, Amira said nothing. She seemed to be undergoing some ghastly nervous collapse. She ground her teeth. Looked at the sisters. Then, in a faint voice, she said: And Yehya Volcano?

What about Yehya Volcano?

Amira decided to reveal her terrible secret: That Yehya Volcano happens to be my husband, dear. Married me ages ago. Just after he married you. And to be honest the man’s never shortchanged me. Brings the guns to my men in person. And your news. Tells me all about it, every last morsel. You going to kill him too, sweetheart? Amira fell silent again. Decided to introduce a more human note into her discourse. Her face turned to the floor. She added: And I’m pregnant by Yehya Volcano, by the way. There’s that. You’d kill Yehya and leave his child an orphan? Yara stared at the belly of her enemy. She was shaking.

Yara sat down. She stared at Amira in silence, her eyes full of defiance. Amira had something to say. Amira had bumped into Yehya Volcano after his marriage to Yara. And as before, she was much taken by his appearance and his muscles, but as a God-fearing woman, a woman who valued her friendships, she did not breathe a word to him. Not before he did. He flirted with her once, then again, then his hands started wandering, and she, as a God-fearing woman, was careful to make it quite clear that they could never be together outside the divinely sanctioned bond of marriage, unless he divorced Yara as soon as circumstances permitted. Amira laid all this out, cold-bloodedly, along with a few other little surprises. Yehya Volcano sold guns to the men in the tunnel. Yara knew that he sold guns to her men, and Amira knew that he sold guns to her men, but what neither of them knew was that he was selling guns to both sides and that he was leaking information about both sides to the other in return for cash. This is what the two women discovered during the course of their conversation.

The conversation ended at around six in the morning, Yara pale and exhausted, Amira looking as though a great weight had been lifted from her, and Lara on the verge of saying something, but saying nothing. Only at the very end did Yara say a few halting words, her voice almost inaudible:

So that’s how it is. Even if you’re telling the truth, let Yehya stand with us when the police come on Friday. We’ll stand together and afterward we’ll rip each other to pieces. There’s only one thing to do now. Either we shoulder the responsibility together or we sit at home, heads in our hands.

And the three of them agreed to shoulder the responsibility.

That night we might fairly term The Night With No End. As soon as Amira left, Yara went off to try to get some sleep. Half an hour later, Lara came over. She patted her sister, and Yara looked up. Lara said what she had been unable to say earlier: Now don’t be upset with me for what I’m about to tell you. Yehya Volcano’s a filthy human being. I know him. (She fell silent for a few seconds.) Always trying to get me into bed.

(Expressionless) Trying to get you into bed or got you into bed?

(Looking at the floor) Got me into bed. Three times. When you weren’t around. I tried to tell him no, but I didn’t know how.

Yara turned away from her sister, without answering. She closed her eyes. Lara noticed that her sister’s body was trembling violently and heard the sound of muffled sobs.

From this we might conclude — tentatively, no guarantees we’re right — that Yara, bundled up in her tear-soaked blanket, was thinking two thoughts at once: the first concerned the curse of female enemies, of girls who made enemies of each other and were loved by one man — one man, it was always one man, not two or three — who left them to stumble along, living out the worst of all existences; and the second, a song from the distant past, now echoing round her mind, the tune, the rhythm, the beat, the moves, she can’t remember where she heard it or who sang it or why she memorized it, the song whose opening line ran, If my finger were snipped off, it would never hurt me again; I’d never suffer any pain, never, never, never again. Only when she remembered the words did the drowsiness start to steal over her eyes. Peace of mind.

Before going up to her apartment, Amira called on Sheikha Salha.

On the way she thought hundreds of thoughts. She thought that now, with half a lifetime behind her, she had finally achieved her heart’s desire. Her whole life she had yearned to be something and now she was something, and something important too. Amira wasn’t bragging; she had dropped any tendency she had to brag since getting to know Sheikha Salha. She only spoke the truth: that now she was something very important — in the neighborhood, in the city, in the state of Egypt — but the knife thrust of treachery. . this is the hardest thing of all, and we might fairly say that it was this knife thrust of treachery that had robbed her existence of the very meaning she had been searching for her whole life long. Amira was a woman whose life had no meaning.

With tears in her eyes, Amira told her woes to Sheikha Salha. She told her she had thought she could make Yehya Volcano change; that he’d divorce Yara and be hers alone. I never denied him anything, Sheikha Salha, everything he wanted he got. Why, Yehya? Why? Sheikha Salha dried her tears. For a few seconds Amira lay in her arms, then immediately sprang up again. What do Yara and her sister want from me? Just think of it, Sheikha, just think: he was sleeping with that Lara too. Her sister sent me a message to let me know. What do they want from me? Who was it helped them with their homework when they were little? Who lent them money when they were in need? Wasn’t it me? Why, Yara? Lara, why? Oh my darlings, why oh why?

In the face of Amira’s tears, all Sheikha Salha could do was call for tolerance and love. We’re all God’s creatures, Amira. All of us, no exceptions, and you’re no better than any one of them. Remember that well. No one’s better than anyone else. Amira looked at her for a long time. Thought about what she’d said. She decided to take her words as her guide in the days to come. No one’s better than anyone else.

When Amira came in to Sheikha Salha’s apartment, she didn’t say Peace be upon you. It was something like Pissonyou, and from our earlier discussion on this subject, we know what that signifies to her — and to us. Without fear of exaggeration, we can state that Amira was in pieces, no longer the spiritual Amira she was before — not just because of Yara and Lara, but also, but mainly, because of Yehya Volcano. The subject of Yehya Volcano was the last to arise in her meeting with the sheikha. Her gaze was unwavering, fixed on the sheikha’s shoulder, and it never moved. She had come to the brink of total nervous breakdown. Despite her unvarying, mechanical tone, the softness of her voice, the unbroken fixity of her gaze, Amira was destroyed. Every cell in her body destroyed, every syllable of her speech destroyed. Why, do you think? Why didn’t he fancy me? You know? He never slept with me once, can you believe it? Every day he’d come over from Yara’s and say, I’m tired, and, We’ll do it tomorrow. He didn’t even sleep with me on our wedding night. Imagine! You don’t believe me. Fine, well, for your information that was our agreement. He tells me, I’ll marry you because I know you want a man to look after you and take care of your business, but I won’t sleep with you, he says — because he doesn’t want to cheat on his wife. And that’s all nonsense. You know why? Because afterward I hear that he’s sleeping with the woman’s sister. Don’t believe me? It’s like I’m telling you, swear to God. Yara and Lara, sure, but Amira? No way. Amira’s ugly. Amira wears her khimar down to her knees and she’s all God-this and the Prophet-that and believes there are things that aren’t right and proper between a man and his wife. Amira’s a bore. (Sneering) What, and those two are so much fun? (Her expression grows harder, less forgiving.) Just imagine, I’m still a virgin. That’s right. Why so surprised? Still a virgin. I’ve never done anything wrong in my life and that’s why I’m waiting for God to make it up to me, make it up to me good. Is there a God or isn’t there? (She hides her face in her hands. Her body begins to tremble.) But I told her I was pregnant. I want that so much. I wish my belly would get big like hers. Lord, I wish my belly would get so very big.