Duplicitas

© Copyright 2012 Dr. Sherif Adel.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

isbn: 978-1-4669-2699-8 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-2700-1 (hc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-2701-8 (e)

Trafford rev. 06/14/2012

TFSG-logo_BWFC.psd www.traffordpublishing.com.sg

Singapore

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In memory of my mother, Dr. Laila Ibrahim Fahmy

To my wife Amal and my daughter Laila

We may have all come on different ships, but we’re in the same boat now.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

Contents

Cairo and What Happened to the Heart of the City That Never Cared

A Wistful City Night

A Thin Thread

A Spider Web in the Depth of the City

I Hereby Confess, Me, George Ayad Samy

I Hereby Confess, Me, Mohamed Said Alhendawy

I Hereby Confess, Me Maged Boushra Abdel Noor

I Hereby Confess, Me Mustafa Ibrahim Hassanein

The Hollow Circles

Noor Fouad Al Masry

Noor Disappeared, Leaving Behind A Warm Bed

Conflicting Statements About A Vanished Suspect

Noor Fouad Al Masry, The Story Of A Man

Je Suis Malade

Noor … The story as she told

Duplicitas

Musk and Incense

Cairo and What Happened to the

Heart of the City That

Never Cared

Will this city ever care for its people?

A morning similar to every morning, Cairo moans under the bright sun shining on the roofs of its old, diverse houses. As the show must go on in the heart of the city, its people are used to greeting the city’s usual moan with a smile faking hope in what’s coming.

A morning similar to every morning, Cairo opens its arms to millions of commuters, eloping from all cities around with their hungry zeal. All of them flowing out from the old trains with one call Will Cairo ever care for us? Crowds fill the old train station with their silent screams. Screams that are interrupted only by the voices of the merchants, and the sounds of thousands who are trying to take advantage of the remnants of their dreams.

They leave the station to fill its streets fascinated by the endless rhythm of life and the diversity of colors all around them. Fancy cars and costumes on one side, and on the other, bending bodies from buses sneaking looks inside cars, dreaming of exchanging roles, while car drivers move on, oblivious in their carelessness.

This is Cairo, and the rituals of its daily life.

A morning like every morning, Cairo shows up its sidewalks, provoking more dreams for the comers of having one small booth that may hiding them from the eyes of the municipal officials. Cairo opens its roads for wandering hopes for a basket to show up somewhere in some balcony, calling for their goods and thus ensuring food for today.

Despite all this randomness, nobody can ever say the old city is random. It has always hidden behind the wrinkles covering it some real law, a law that nobody seems to understand.

Let the newspapers criticize its apparent randomness, let the movies and television series reveal its weaknesses, in the end a careful eye would never dare to deny its law… an unwritten and unregistered law… it is the law of the street that rules every side of this city. A law no one dares to defy, even the most dangerous of lawbreakers.

This law was the secret why (Agawaty), the owner of the traditional coffee shop (Etemad), sealed his anger against (Sayed Algarib)—the beans seller—for years. He could never send (Sayed) away from his favorite place in front of his coffee shop below Abbassia¹ Bridge, and (Sayed) never cared.

For years, the old man—who was at one point of time with no name until people named him (Sayed Algarib)—followed consistently his daily habit of pushing his wooden chariot, carrying the huge jars of beans and boiled wheat, hot Egyptian bread, onion bags, and the bottles of oil and tahina from Al Deweika village for a huge distance to reach his favorite place. Despite the distance and his old age, (Sayed) never failed in chasing his dream in front of (Agawaty’s) coffee shop in Abbassia Square.

(Agawaty), on the other hand, never failed in trying to get rid of (Sayed), but he has always been stopped by the streets’ law:

-   What’s wrong with you Agawaty? Don’t you ever give up? I guess I have clearly said my word before.

This was the firm answer of (Araby Elfawal)—the only supplier of bean jars to Abbassia area—when (Agawaty) asked his help in resolving his problem with (Sayed):

-   Please understand me boss. Everywhere else in Abbassia is available for him to set his business. Why here?

(Araby) did not respond immediately, he inhaled a huge puff of smoke from his Argeela and looked deeply in (Agawaty’s) eyes:

-   Listen. I need no more of this headache. Each one of you gets his share from my bean jars and I am the only supplier here. So the only one who decides who sells beans and where to sell it is me, and I decided that Sayed will sell his beans in front of your coffee shop. If I were in your shoes I would thank God that people still come in your lousy shop drinking your tasteless tea after they get their breakfast from Sayed. Do you understand?

And since then, these words remained echoing in (Agawaty’s) ears every time he sees (Sayed) . . . he had no choice but accepting the situation and seeking an opportunity for a mutual benefit rather than a cold war. But, one day, (Oussa) appeared with (Sayed) and settled her own business of selling tea to (Sayed’s) customers. Once he noticed, he sent his assistant (Tolba) to bring (Sayed):

-   What’s wrong with you Sayed?

Said (Agawaty) firmly to (Sayed). Shaking from the angry look of (Agawaty), (Sayed) replied:

-   Is there anything wrong boss?

-   I have accepted to leave you run your business peacefully. I could have crushed you like a worm and now you are repaying me by bringing this girl selling tea and taking away my customers?

(Sayed) looked with a trembling move towards (Oussa) who kept on preparing tea for her customers. He looked back at (Agawaty):

-   I swear boss I have nothing to do with her. I do not even know her or from where she came.

-   Good. If you are saying that you have nothing to do with her, just keep yourself away.

He said it in a decisive tone leaving no room for (Sayed) to comment and he shouted loudly at his assistant:

-   Tolba!

(Tolba) who was standing away watching the conversation hurried to his boss and with a single look from (Agawaty) he knew his master’s wish. He took his way out of the coffee shop towards (Oussa) leaving (Sayed) totally paralyzed by the icy look in (Agawaty’s) eyes and totally unable to prevent what’s waiting for (Oussa). He turned his head slowly towards outside, watching from a distance the foot of (Tolba) kicking (Oussa’s) tea sets, splashing the hot tea everywhere.

In the middle of the chaos and the mixed sounds of (Oussa’s) screams and the voices of the witnesses who tried to keep (Tolba) away from hurting (Oussa), he looked back at (Agawaty) in a final attempt:

-   Is this the only way?

Said (Sayed) in a low voice. Without even looking at him, taken completely by arranging the burning coal on his Argeela, (Agawaty) answered:

-   You said you have nothing to do with her, so it is not your business anymore.

Then he added in a clear threatening tone:

-   If you still care about your business.

Realizing mediation will be of no benefit with (Agawaty), he pushed his heavy legs outside the coffee shop, walked through the crowd gathering around the scene, held (Oussa) firmly and pushed her away from (Tolba) while she was screaming in his face:

-   You will pay for that, bastard.

Despite the crowds attempt of keeping him away from her, (Tolba) threw himself towards her, waving with a knife in his hand and shouting:

-   Dare you call me bastard! Now I will spill your blood to mix with your tea on the street.

He raises his hand with the knife and before he digs it in (Oussa’s) heart, a roaring sound shuddered the earth beneath the Square pushing everyone to grovel subconsciously, while a dense wave of dust filled the air completely covering the scene.

Few minutes passed before (Agawaty) regained his consciousness and realized that he is lying on the ground. He looked around. Dust was everywhere. He raised his hand pushing a chair that fell on his leg. He stood up, looking through the yellow fog of dust, hearing nothing but muffled moans of customers trying to seek their way out of the coffee shop. He reached the door and stood there for a while, trying to understand what had happened. People where running aimlessly everywhere, he grabbed someone’s hand and asked him in a trembling voice:

-   What’s the matter?

-   I don’t know.

Replied the passenger and before asking him another question, a voice came from behind him screaming:

-   Oh God! What happened to the Mosque?

(Agawaty) turned his head towards Al Noor² Mosque lying in front of the coffee shop; he raised his eyes towards the high tower, shocked by what he saw, he kneeled squealing subconsciously:

-   I can’t believe it. Who would ever dare to do this?

Chaos was everywhere. When dust started to disappear, people started to realize the damage that affected the high tower of the mosque destroying all its decorations and windows. Mixed with the cries came some roaring voices shouting loudly:

-   No God but Allah… . No God but Allah

(Agawaty) turned his head towards the voices. A huge horde with angry faces was coming towards him, nobody knows when they gathered but they were all shouting the same words No God but Allah. He realized the danger, pushed himself up and looked around. The only face he knew among the crowds was (Oussa), lying on the sidewalk taking (Sayed’s) body in her arms, blood flowing from his head. She was crying for help:

-   Somebody help me. The old man is dying

He pushed his heavy legs through dozens of people running in every direction. He put his hand on her shoulder; she turned her head towards him:

-   Please help me.

She said in an entreating voice. He kneeled down holding (Sayed’s) bleeding head in his hands. He asked her to bring some first aid from the coffee shop. She rushed towards it leaving (Agawaty) gazing in the scene that turned the square upside down. Many cars stopped, blocking the way, some holding their heads in fear while others took advantage of registering the moment on their cell phones. He turned towards (Oussa), who arrived carrying the first aid. She kneeled down beside him, fighting her tears she asked:

-   What happened? Who did this?

-   There is no doubt. Who can ever do it except those who hate us? Those who hate that the mosque’s tower is as high as their Cathedral’s.

She turned her head towards the Cathedral³ lying only some hundred meters away. Suddenly she turned her head towards the angry mob that got bigger. An angry voice came from one man leading the mob shouting in rage:

-   Revenge!

As soon as he finished his word, the mob started to run furiously in the direction of the Cathedral. She returned to (Agawaty) appealing him:

-   Do something. It will be a massacre!

-   What are you expecting me to do? This is one thing only God can prevent. Leave him avenge us.

He looked in his hand; the blood had stopped flowing from (Sayed’s) head. Firmly he said:

-   Instead of moaning here, help me put him inside the coffee shop and make him drink something to compensate for the blood he lost.

She pushed her hand, helping him to lift the old man’s body. Suddenly, she stared at (Agawaty) in shock. He asked:

-   What’s wrong with you?

-   Look at his hand.

He looked at (Sayed’s) hand to see a tattoo figuring the cross on his wrist. They both left his body to fall back on the ground. He looked at her in anger saying:

-   Leave him to rot in hell and go to the coffee shop, grab anything and join me to go to the Cathedral.

Both left (Sayed)—or so they called him—on the ground and went towards the coffee shop. They brought wooden sticks and joined the mob to make those they thought were behind the disaster pay for their crime.

Their screams melted with the others in a river of angry fire flowing through Ramses street towards the Cathedral, with the heat of doubt pushing it in a turbulent current. The same heat that awakened the senses of (Abdul Malak), who was sitting in his small bazaar, located just in front of the Cathedral. He looked from beneath his thick glasses towards his assistant:

-   What’s happening Bishoy?

(Bishoy) left his stand towards the door, looked towards Al Abbassia Square in an attempt to know what is going on. He replied to his boss:

-   I don’t know Mr. Abdul Malak but there is something weird in the air.

(Bishoy’s) anxious tone of voice pushed (Abdul Malak) to overcome his joint pains making his way towards (Bishoy). He looked in the street and then to his assistant:

-   Where are the cars?

He posed a question that was answered by silence from (Bishoy). He looked at him to find him gazing towards the direction of the mosque. A fleet of armored vehicles was heading towards the Cathedral. He screamed to his assistant:

-   Bishoy! Bring the keys from inside and close the bazaar and follow me to the Cathedral. Jesus save us!

He kept on murmuring his prayers, leaving his assistant behind and crossing the street towards the Cathedral while (Bishoy) rushed inside the bazar, took the money and the keys and hurried to the outside. He closed the door, and before turning towards the Cathedral a huge blow pushed him forcibly against the bazaar door to break it, and he lost consciousness. Few moments passed before he regained consciousness, he opened his eyes with extreme difficulty, swept away the blood covering his face, and looked at the Cathedral that had become naked from all its ornamentations. He looked beside him in fear. A familiar face was there, crying. He asked him:

-   What happened Girgis?

(Girgis) turned towards him and in a shaking tone answered:

-   Run Bishoy! . . . run and hide anywhere. The Cathedral is destroyed and Muslims are heading to us.

He turned his head towards the direction of the mosque; through the dusty fog he saw a crowd heading towards them shouting No God but Allah. He turned back to him:

-   Who did it Girgis?

-   Sure it’s them. Run Bishoy, don’t let them reach you!

He finished his warning and pushed himself up running towards the narrow lanes leaving a question soaring in (Bishoy’s) head:

If Muslims were still heading towards the Cathedral, how did they do it then?

He resisted the dilemma and headed towards the Cathedral and as he reached the main gate, the door opened forcibly, pushing him to fall on the stairs. A huge crowd came from inside the Cathedral calling for revenge from those they thought did it. Nobody noticed him, their anger was blinding. No one saw the blood he shed on the stairs of the Cathedral while they passed over his body.

Bishoy’s heart stopped beating while his hand was holding the bazaar’s keys and (Abdul Malak’s) money. The street was still pulsating with the angry hymns of two hordes coming from