We sit down in a cozy sitting room by the front door. Family pictures hang on the wall. Tante Zeinab shows up after a while. She moves slowly. Dark and short. She pants the whole time because she has a weak heart. “How are you, my brother?” I know she is my father’s cousin from his mother’s side. And that she was engaged to him when he was young, before he married Um Nabila. She never got married after that, and she lives with her brother Shams, who also has never married, even though he is very old too. She looks at me, smiling gently. Zahra sits at her feet. Father asks: “How’s your health?” She says: “Fine. All that God brings is fine. Any news of Rowhaya?”
“None.” The iron door is closed. In front of it are neighborhood women and their children. They are looking through a big crack in the coated glass. I can see mother through it, standing in front of the door to the apartment. Grandma is beside her. . and the daughters of the landlord. My father is all dressed up. His head is bare. She is screaming: “You want to poison me? You’ve put poison in here.” She points at a glass cup sitting on the banister. Father says in a quiet and tired voice: “Relax. Drink up and it’ll calm you.”
She says as she pants for breath: “Have you had lunch, my brother? We just ate and Shams has gone for a nap.” She makes a big effort to get up. We follow her inside. An untidy room with no furniture in it except a round table with chairs. We sit around it. Zahra brings us spaghetti and green salad. She serves me. She sprinkles grated Egyptian Romano cheese on my plate. I try to use the fork. It is the first time I’ve eaten pasta with cheese. I don’t finish all of it. Tante Zeinab asks her to open a jar of fruit compote. She brings in a stained glass jar and serves me pieces of apple and pear. She adds a spoon of syrup.
I go to the bathroom with father. Some machine is hanging on the wall. There is a drawing of a flame on it with the words “Shell Gas” above it. Father says it is to heat the water. We go back to the room at the entrance. Zahra brings a cup of coffee for father. He asks Tante Zeinab how much the water heater costs. She says: “Sixteen pounds.” They ask each other questions about members of the family.
“Do you see Nabila, my brother?”
“Yes.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Well. .” He stops and looks at me. He tells Zahra to take me to the balcony. I go along with her even though I don’t want to. I steal a glance behind me. Father is talking in a low voice. He looks like he is saying something really serious. We go out on to the small circular balcony. From its left hand corner, I can see the wide, empty square in front of the palace. He carries me in his arms and sets me down on the iron fence. His strong hand rests on my knees. I look out at the crowds gathered in the square.
~ ~ ~
I draw a map showing the ground levels on the African continent. I mark the high ground and the low spots. I mark off arrows showing the directions of the winds. Suddenly, a shout goes up from the alley. I run to the balcony. The alley is dark. The shouting is coming from the apartment of Siham and Selma. I turn my head to look at the entrance to the alley. I am waiting for father to come back from visiting Hajj Abdel ’Alim to congratulate him on being let out of jail. I turn around and go back inside. I get right up to the door to our room. I listen. The light in the living room is on. I can hear the sound of Fatima in front of the sink. She cleans the glass of the gas lantern. She hangs it on a nail over the sink and then disappears into the kitchen. I go out into the hall. I carefully go up close to the door to the washroom. I can hear her lighting the kerosene lamp.
I go back to the room. The light goes out suddenly. I call to her. She answers. Her voice is coming closer. She says the box of matches is empty. She tells me to look around for another one.
“Where?”
“In your room. Check the pockets in your papa’s robe.”
I feel my way in the dark towards the clothes stand. I stretch my hand into the pocket of the robe. I call out: “Nothing.” She yells back: “Bring a sheet of newspaper.” I try to remember where some newspaper might be. I tear off a page from the back of the geography notebook.
I shout: “Here’s the paper.”
“Give it here.”
“No. Come here and get it.”
“I can’t see because of this dark.”
I can smell in her voice that she’s scared. “Neither can I.”
I go up close to the door of the room. As I step into the hall, I am scared to death: “Here I am.” I bump into her. She snatches the paper from my hand. Um Ibrahim is sitting on the floor in the middle of the hall in front of the oil burner. Her hair is uncovered. It’s curly and red, all washed with henna. The color of her eyes is more like grey ash. You can see that she is scared. Mother is sitting in front of her on a chair. She orders her to boil the cucumbers. Um Ibrahim looks shocked: “Boil them? Do you boil cucumbers, madam?” Mother shouts at her: “What do you care? Just do as I tell you.” “Yes, madam. Of course. Just don’t scream please, madam.” She throws the cucumbers into the pot that sits on the fire. I am carrying a cup of coffee in my hand. Mother gets up. She takes a key from her breast pocket. She unlocks the door to our room. I carry in the cup of coffee carefully. My father takes it. I tell him what just happened with Um Ibrahim. He laughs: “Serves her right. She’s been driving me crazy.”
I follow her to the hallway. I turn my face away from the doorway to the toilet. She goes ahead of me into the kitchen and then comes back with the stove. It is giving out a little bit of light. She sets it on the floor under the sink. She unhooks the oil lamp from its nail. She opens its window. She uses the stove to light the paper, and lights the lamp’s wick. She gives me the lamp, saying: “Come with me to the kitchen.” I say: “It’s better to stay here in the hall.” She says: “I have washing to do.” I carry the lamp and follow her into kitchen but don’t really want to. She puts the stove down on the floor next to the tub full of dirty clothes. She takes the lamp from me and hangs it on the nail on the wall. She puts the pan of water on the fire. Sits down in front of the tub on the wooden foot stool. She reaches over. Tips out a bucket of mop water. She spreads it around with her foot between the tub and the door. She waves at me to sit down on a seat that’s facing her, between her and the door.
“Do you think papa’s going to be late?”
She answers with a scowclass="underline" “He’ll be back any minute.”
The steam comes up from the pan of water. She throws the clothes into it. She stirs them around with the end of a metal ladle. She takes out one thing. Throws it into the tub. As she rubs soap over it, she shouts out from its heat.
A burst of wind rushes in from the window. The flame in the oil lamp flickers. The shadows dance on the wall. I follow them anxiously. My eyes go to a huge cockroach. It is fixed on the wall. The head is pointed at me. Its whiskers are shaking. I look up at the tub. The clothes are still piled up in it. I feel sleepy. The strong, striking smell of the toilet comes to me. She wrings out the clothes as she studies the darkness behind me in fear. I fight off the urge to turn around and look. The ghoul shows itself, coming from far away. A huge swirl of hair spun around by the wind. The ghoul sniffs a scent of Hassan the Brave then says: “The smell of human, not like our smell or the smell of our clan!”
I blink my eyes. She kicks me to keep me awake. She stares at me with her two cold eyes. “You have to stay up until I finish the washing.” She is looking behind me, scared. “Or should I just leave you in the guest room, all alone with the afreets?”