I listen to them with my head out of the window. Two women in short dresses come out of Simonds. They are wearing high heels and have bags on their arms. Their hair is up like Mama’s. They have dresses like Mama’s. They have necklaces like Mama’s. They look different. They are laughing and throwing their heads back. I remember when Mama looked like them. They walk to the edge of the street and stand talking. I look back at them. We pass a new building. There used to be only two buildings on the island. Then people started building everywhere. It’s not what it used to be. Everyone is always saying that. That’s why our house is special. Now they are even building a bridge. There are piles of sand and bricks and big trucks every night and Mama complains about the noise. On TV they tell us the president will build five new bridges. Mama calls it a catastrophe. I try to imagine the island still just fields and houses. The taxi is the car like Grandpa had, white with an open top. He would take Mama to Simonds, but the one downtown, and they would have bombe glacée. It was a famous ice cream that they don’t make anymore. Mama said it was something of the past. Everything is of the past.
—
At home Dido sits on the sofa where Mama usually sits. It’s Baba’s place. I sit on the armchair next to him. He picks up the blue address book from the table. He turns it over. It’s Baba’s. He looks at me and puts it down. It’s hot. I get up and turn on Granny’s fan. Dido asks about Mama’s plant mister on the table. I hand it to him. He sprays himself and says he loves the house. It makes him sad now. He misses Granny’s lunches. I ask him where Mama went. He puts his elbows on his knees and leans close to me. He mists me. I squint. We laugh. Mama had some business to do. Does he miss Baba? Of course, just like me. Let’s watch TV, he says. I get up and switch it on. There is a documentary about Egypt on Channel One. Dido tells me to leave it on. I frown. But it’s always documentaries. He stares at the screen. First there are pictures of the king. He is standing on a boat holding a baby. The queen is next to him. She is dressed like Mama and doesn’t look like a queen. They are leaving from Montazah Palace where we used to go in the summer. All of Montazah Gardens used to belong to the king, Dido says. That’s why ’52 was good. It gave the gardens to the people. If there had been no revolution our summers would be different. Alexandria would be different. I ask again. Revolution. What does it mean? You could say it means change. Do Mama and Baba think it was good? It’s complicated. Mama told me the story once but I forgot. He tells me the story. The revolution happened in the summer. Granny and Grandpa would move from Cairo to Alexandria. The whole government would move to the coast during the summer months. It was too hot to be in the city. Mama, Granny, Nesma, and all the family would be there. They would go to the beach while Grandpa was at work. Grandpa was a judge in the royal court. It was very early in the morning when the revolution happened. Mama was on the balcony having breakfast. They heard a rumble from far away. Minutes later they saw army tanks. They went by right under their balcony, right along the corniche and towards Montazah Palace. Granny and Grandpa both said a prayer. I remember that part. Mama told me that she could tell from their faces that something bad was happening. She doesn’t remember anything else except that the summer ended suddenly. Dido says the revolution was bad for people like Grandpa because it took things away from them. But how come they didn’t take our house when they took all of Mama’s friends’ houses? It’s just one of those things. Mama says the house is the only thing we have left. Dido doesn’t say anything. I love the house but I liked it better before, I say. Before what? Before it became so empty. Before everyone died and Baba left. Before people stopped coming and everything changed. He looks at me. Is that a revolution too? I ask.
Dido turns to the TV. They are showing pictures from inside a museum. The camera shows two glass cabinets. Opera music plays. One display has fields, mud huts, donkeys, men in galabias, women with big dishes on their heads, children playing in the canal. The other has roads and nice buildings and a red bus and men dressed like Baba. The camera zooms close to the writing on the displays. What does it say? I can’t read so quickly. He reads. Before the revolution. And—he unzips his jeans—after the revolution. I watch him. He gets up and starts to pull them down. He says the house feels like a furnace. He doesn’t remember it being so hot. I stare at him from the side of my eye. He is wearing shorts underneath. Blue ones with pink stripes. I turn my head and look. There is a man outside the school who also unzips his trousers but he has nothing underneath, I say. When did this happen? He is there on many days. Have I told Mama? I shake my head. Why? I am scared she will get angry. He tells me I shouldn’t tell anyone and that it’s very bad. He will take care of it. I also saw something else. I saw my girl cousin kissing another girl on the mouth. Is it bad? He tells me it’s not a secret but I should never talk about it to anyone. I nod. Why do they always play the film about the war on Fridays? Because everyone is watching TV waiting for the football match. They want people to remember and to forget. What do they want us to remember? How we won in 1973. What did we win? We crossed the Suez Canal and won back the Sinai from Israel. What do they want us to forget? About 1967. I already know about the Naksa. It was the war Baba wanted to fight in. He thought we were winning but then he looked up at the sky and knew. What did he know? That we had lost. That the president had lied. Why did the president lie? To protect us. When I asked him how he knew we had lost, he said the Israeli planes were flying right over his head. How did he know they were Israeli? The blue star. Baba said that day changed everything.
—
Every Saturday the two men would come to the house. They would ring the bell twice. The first time they came Mama was still asleep. I looked out of the window. They were wearing safari suits. The kind the president wears when he opens factories. They had papers in their hands. When they saw me they called me little girl and asked for Baba. He hasn’t come back. Mama? She is still sleeping. Can you come down and take these papers? I’m not allowed. I put my head back in and closed the window. I went inside and spied on them from the bathroom. They stood at the gate for a long time. When Mama woke I told her. She shouted and said I should never open the window by the door again. She picked up the phone and dialed a number. She spoke French. I stood at the corner of the doorway watching. She talked for a long time then put the phone down loudly. Get dressed, she said, and went into her bedroom. Her red silk robe was open and the sash fell to the floor. I rushed to pick it up. She closed her door. I stood with it in my hand and waited. There was no sound from her room. After a while I rolled it and put it on the floor. I moved it to the right to make sure Mama would see it when she came out. I went to my room and looked out of the window. The street was empty but I could hear the street sweeper. He had a straw broom and you could hear him on weekends and in the middle of the night. I changed out of my pajamas into red trousers and a white T-shirt. I put on white socks and my favorite blue shoes. I had three pairs of shoes. I went back outside and sat on the sofa. I waited with my hands on my lap.