“Come with me,” she said.
“Where to?”
“To my place.”
Abu Khalil was waiting for us in the outer reception area, and he walked ahead of us to the stairs. We followed him down to the front door, where we were met by the two guards, brandishing their guns.
Abu Khalil asked us to wait inside; he gestured to Ibrahim, one of the guards, and left the building. After a few moments, he reappeared in the front seat of the Chevrolet, next to its driver wearing an official uniform.
At a nod from Abu Khalil, Ibrahim raised his gun to his chest, as his eyes swept across the rooftops, windows, and entrances of nearby buildings. He walked up confidently to the car; pulling open the back door, he nodded at Lamia. He remained standing there until she got in, then he closed the door behind her. Then he walked around the car and opened the other door. Stepping aside, he addressed me: “This way, sir.”
Ibrahim closed the door, then wheeled around the car and opened the door next to Lamia. She moved over in my direction to make room for him, so that she was pressed up against me. He sat down with his gun in his hand.
“I was planning to get rid of His Excellency here at the end of the month,” Lamia said to me in English. “But it seems as though I still need him.”
The driver set off through a network of intersecting streets, carrying out the instructions from Ibrahim, who kept his eye on the cars, watching them come up behind us until we reached her house.
Before the car came to a complete stop, Abu Khalil had opened the door and jumped onto the sidewalk with his gun in his hand. The armed man did likewise, and he stood next to the car with his machinegun up to his chest and his finger on the trigger.
We got out of the car and walked up to the building under the protection of the gun and the Kalashnikov. We were joined by two of the armed men standing in the entranceway. We went up the wide marble stairs, then we crossed the inner reception room. Ibrahim took the key to the elevator from Lamia, and rode up to the top floor to make sure there were no explosives.
The elevator came down after a few minutes, and Lamia and I took it to her apartment. She led me to the room I had sat in the last time, and she left me there.
I headed to the library and stood looking at its contents. I saw that the shelf with the photograph of Adnan was empty, and I discovered the photo placed on the floor, next to the library, with Adnan’s face to the wall.
I pulled out a fat, strangely-shaped volume, and found that it was an Arabic — Hebrew dictionary. I flipped through its pages until Lamia walked in on me. I noticed that she had added a new layer of eyeliner to her eyes, making them appear wider.
“The food is ready, ya bey,” she said.
I put the dictionary back in its place, and followed her to the living room. Sections of carpet hung on its walls, as well as giant trays made of silver engraved with Islamic decorative motifs. In the middle of the room sat a large wooden table, with a large number of chairs lined up around it.
The table was set for only two people, so I asked her, “Won’t your daughter be eating with us?”
“Salma ate with her nanny and they went out for a walk,” she explained, sitting down.
I sat down in front of her and looked around me.
“Isn’t there anything to drink?” I asked.
She pointed to a bottle of orange juice and smiled.
“We don’t keep any liquor in the house. You forget that we’re Muslims.”
Two waiters in white jackets and black pants took charge of serving us. We moved from various kinds of salads to kishk with chicken breasts and stuffed grape leaves. Then pieces of cooked meat with the light-green zucchini known as kusa, and boiled carrots.
Dessert was a concoction of chocolate. I contented myself with an apple I took from a wide bowl filled with apples, plums and grapes.
I lit a cigarette and we moved to the library, where they brought the coffee to us. Lamia left the room for some time, and when she came back, she sat down next to me and took my hand. My hands were cold, so she let go of them.
“Come with me. I’ll show you my room,” she said.
We walked down a long corridor with a marble floor. She stopped in front of a room.
“Is the bathroom near here?” I asked.
She pointed to the opposite door, so I opened it and went in. I found myself in a wide cave made of black marble streaked with pink veins. Mirrors covered a large part of its walls.
I urinated and washed my hands and mouth in a wide sink with gleaming yellow faucets that looked as though they were made of gold. Then I dried my hands while contemplating my face, which had several reflections in the mirrors. Finally, I left the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind me.
The room where she was waiting for me was medium-sized. In the center was a low, round bed without pillows, but covered by a thick pink bedspread.
She pulled me by the hand and led me to a plush couch, then she sat down in front of me on the edge of the bed, watching me with interest, and observing my mood.
My eyes wandered from the thick carpet topped with wavy tufts of wool to the enormous curtains that revealed a glass panel looking out over a wide balcony. I relaxed into the couch, burying my body among the soft cushions.
I felt at peace as I cast my eye over the clean, carefully arranged furniture, and the dark sky visible through the glass. The peaceful feeling was total. I felt the desire to succumb to the couch and its cushions. And the desire not to move or speak, in order to prolong this moment a little.
She leaned over to me and put her hand on my knee. I took her arm and gently pulled her toward me. She moved over to sit next to me and buried her head in my neck.
Her body was warm, and I felt her tremble. But my nerves were relaxed, and I was enveloped in a kind of numbness.
I put my hand on her leg, and felt her soft skin. Then I ran my hand along the curves of her thighs. I looked up at her and saw that she was breathing heavily, with her eyes closed. Soon she began trembling with every touch of my fingers.
My fingers grew tired after a little while and my wrist started to hurt. But I continued touching her without taking my eyes off her face until her shudders subsided, and I took my hand away.
She collapsed on my chest, with her eyes still closed. After a while, she opened them, then sat up straight and readjusted her clothes, saying, “We’d better go back.”
I followed her to the library and sat facing her. I lit a cigarette as I watched her. She had a serious look in her eyes, lost in a flow of inner thoughts.
“I have to go now,” I said, glancing at my watch.
“Hmm?”
I repeated what I’d said.
“Stay for a little,” she said without enthusiasm. “I have an Egyptian movie starring Nadia El Guindy.”
“And I have a movie that needs a voiceover commentary.”
“As you wish,” she said.
She walked me to the elevator door.
“Will you be here tonight?” I asked as I walked into the elevator.
She nodded.
“Should I call you or will you call me?” I asked.
“No. I’ll call you,” she replied.
“I’ll be waiting.”
Chapter 25
It seemed to me that the commentary should be reportorial and terse, without a trace of stirring emotions or sorrow in the tone. What would be the value of an impassioned, eloquent speech in the face of indelible scenes of bloodletting, conflagration and destruction? I was troubled by doubt for a moment about the need for a voiceover at all. Then I remembered that film required many things to give it vitality, and it could be that one of them was a human voice.