Taking advantage of the security lapse in the mess hall, I slunk my way out through the kitchen door to the administrative wing and the investigating judge’s office. I told the guard that I had some crucially important information to convey to the judge; it was really urgent, I told him. When he seemed reluctant, I threatened him with the dire consequences of not responding to my request. He went inside to ask the secretary about it, and I slunk in right behind him and shouted out the information that I had provided to the guard. The secretary upbraided me for my behavior and ordered me to be taken out. But, while she was still on the phone, she suddenly calmed down. Telling the guard to leave, she instructed me to sit down.
I took a seat opposite this woman, who seemed to be in charge but still to be showing some kind of understanding. I relished the fact that I had managed to inveigle my way into the administrative wing and grab the opportunity for a meeting with the investigating judge without an appointment. I gazed at this new secretary who was busy working, at the computer, on files, or other stuff. For sure she was not like either of her two predecessors, Nahid al-Busni and the earlier woman called Jumana. This woman was pretty and had her head uncovered, a pair of languid tawny eyes and silky black hair. Her clothes were contemporary but modest, and she was lightly made-up. Her facial expression was neither vicious nor flirtatious, and she seemed so serene and relaxed that the overall effect led me to nurse other feelings as well.
I felt a strong urge to talk to her, even though the fact that she was on the telephone made that difficult. When she started typing, I seized the opportunity.
“Which country are you from, Miss?” I asked her.
She did not answer, but instead asked me what was the purpose of my visit.
“The purpose of my visit?” I replied, acting dumb. “The purpose of my visit? Well, Miss, in your presence the purpose has gone right out of my mind. Maybe I’ll remember in a while. .”
“Are you intending to tell the judge about the events in the cafeteria?” she asked me. “If so, his excellency already has all the details.”
I did not dare ask her whether the judge had a concealed camera somewhere with a private screen to keep him informed about everything going on in the mess hall, the game field, the exercise yard, the corridors, the cells, and every conceivable part of this complex. Perhaps he was well aware of the all the secret activities of my own life, everything that had happened when I was in the shock and terror cellar, not to mention my first and second cells. Perhaps he also knew about the terrible way I had been treated during that phony soccer game and the various types of torture that that female ghoul had inflicted on me — May God destroy her in this world before she even reaches the next!
The fact that the judge was aware of what had happened in the cafeteria just as soon as the events had occurred was extremely valuable information. It was not clear whether this modest beauty had revealed the information by accident or deliberately. Here I was sitting next to her, wishing that this situation could go on and on so that I could savor her feminine beauty, if only from a distance, and listen to her melodious voice.
“Have you remembered?” I heard her asking me.
“Remembered?” I asked. “What? My senses? My mind?”
“No, what you came here for.”
I rubbed my shaved head as though pondering.
“Not yet,” I told her, “but when I do. . But let’s get to know each other a bit better and have a chat. Please, let me kiss your hand. .”
She pulled her hair back off her face and gave me an affectionate glance.
“I know everything about you,” she said, “but, when it comes to me, you’ll only find out what the judge allows you to know.”
I presumed that the reason she was being so coy was that the judge was watching the whole thing on a screen in his office. With that in mind, I stopped pushing the point. Just then, a noise from the buzzer on the desk indicated that I was supposed to go in to see the judge. The secretary came over to do a body search, and I helped her by removing my clothing as far as my underwear. I was delighted to catch a few whiffs of her perfume, which enveloped my head and face. That done, she hurriedly helped me put my clothes back on and took me over to a dark corner of the judge’s office. He was still busy on the phone, so she invited me to take a seat and take it easy for a few moments. She then greeted her boss and left.
While the judge was involved with his various phones, my mind kept swinging to and fro between an effort to pick up as much as possible of what he was saying and the thought of that lovely, gentle, and sweet secretary I had just met. The very thought of her provided a ray of sunshine and hope in the long night of my stay in this awful center — all of which calmed my much troubled spirit.
Here’s part of what the judge was saying on the phone:
“Quite right, Your Excellency. What they’re telling us is true: prisoner number 67 behaved in a disgusting and debauched manner in the cafeteria. He exposed his bottom in public and then started waving it around. He must be punished and made an example. But it shouldn’t be by castration, something about which I’ve expressed my strong reservations to Your Excellency before. Above all, unforeseen consequences. . Yes, that’s true, there have been eunuchs throughout the course of history, and it’s also the case that failures in such cases have been rare, and so you can’t judge things on that basis. So your opinion in this matter is the one that counts. . Exactly so, Your Excellency. So farewell, and my warmest regards to you!”
I have no idea whether this was a real conversation or the judge was faking it. At any rate, once it was over, the judge kept talking to himself.
“My predecessor in this job, Judge Faysal al-Hawi, declared castration to be legal and justified its practice on the basis of precedents whose only possible rationalization involved the use of entirely arbitrary judgment and coercion. He claimed that the arguments were definitive, whereas in my book they’re speculative. The use of the tradition of castrating eunuchs in the harem and slaves goes back to an era that is long past. The fact that the Turkish soldiers brought in by the Abbasid caliphs decided to castrate the caliph of one day and night, Ibn al-Mu‘tazz, is a decision that will work against them rather than for them on the Day of Judgment. In short, I don’t go along with that judge’s mode of reasoning or its application. .”
He suddenly stopped his ruminations and addressed me directly.
“What about you?” he asked, staring straight at me. “What do you think of castration as a punishment?”
“Invalid both intellectually and legally,” I hurriedly replied. “A heretical act that rides roughshod over the rights of men. Anyone who orders its implementation will go straight to hell — and ‘evil is the resort.’”
“Bravo!” he responded. “So you agree with me and support my views. Na‘ima, come back in here. .”
The secretary came in with a washing bowl and started pouring water on to her boss’s hands. He kept rubbing them with soap over the bowl. When he had finished, he dried his hands with a towel. She handed him a bottle from which he sprayed his bald pate, and his neck, back and front. She then carried the bowl out of the room.
The judge now noticed that I was there and told me to come over and sit by him.
“Wow,” he yelled, “just look at Hamuda! Unbelievable! The new look Hamuda, I do declare! All praise be to Him who changes conditions and faces! What’s brought you here? But first of all, tell me how the soccer game went. People tell me your star was in the ascendant during the game!”
“My dear Judge,” I responded, unable to conceal my sarcasm, “my team used a good deal of bodily skill to score a large number of goals through clever passing and powerful shots at goal, but we were eventually defeated through an overwhelming force. My sandals were ripped apart, and I was subjected to all kinds of physical violence. You now see me before you, my body completely crushed and my feet bare. Only God is the victor. .”