In response she threw him a glance which, at first, he couldn’t interpret. Was it mute reproach? Or was it helpless resignation to fate? Or was it a sort of disapproval which she couldn’t express? Perhaps it was all of these combined. But the mystery was unraveled when he saw a slow, shy tear that painfully wavered before it glistened in her eyes. This was disturbing in the extreme, for in spite of all their frequent predicaments and misfortunes, he found it difficult to remember ever having seen his mother in tears. The thought vanished as in pain and astonishment a stream of images of her stoicism and self-control passed through his mind. Now, he thought, she’s like a ferocious lioness in the pangs of death. But once alone, Hassanein was concerned only for his own pains and fears; the others didn’t matter. As his anger increased, he cursed both himself and his mother.
The following afternoon he received a further shock. He was sitting on the bed conversing with his mother and brother. Nefisa was out. Suddenly the bell rang and the servant went to the door. Returning in obvious confusion, she addressed Hassanein.
“Master, a policeman wants to speak to you!”
EIGHTY-NINE
At the sound of the word “policeman,” their souls burst apart like shrapnel. Hassanein leapt to his feet, staring at the servant. Hassan flung one of his feet from the bed to the floor. With a gruesome glance at the window, he muttered, “Escape!” Their mother looked dazedly from one son to the other, her throat so dry that she was unable to utter a word. Hassanein remained momentarily immobile. Realizing how stupid it was just to stand there doing nothing, he shrugged his shoulders in despair and went to the policeman at the door. They exchanged salutes.
“Yes?” Hassanein inquired.
“Am I addressing the respected officer Hassanein Kamel Ali?” the man asked gruffly.
“You are.”
“The respected officer of Al Sakakini police station wants to see you at once.”
Looking beyond the policeman as far as the road, Hassanein was reassured when he saw none of the faces he might have expected. Uncertain, he inquired, “What does he want me for?”
“He ordered me only to inform you that he wanted to see you.”
Hassanein hesitated a little. Then he went to the room to put on his clothes. He found his brother eavesdropping behind the door. At once Hassan asked anxiously, “Have they come?” In a sickly, feeble voice his mother repeated the question. As he dressed, Hassanein recounted the conversation with the policeman.
“Perhaps,” Hassan spoke up immediately, “this officer is one of your acquaintances. Maybe he wants to alert you before they ambush the house. This is clear enough. Listen to me. If he asks you about me, tell him you haven’t seen me for ages. Don’t hesitate and don’t be afraid about lying to them, for they’ll never be able to trace me. As soon as you leave, I’ll disappear. So have no scruples about what you tell them. May God protect you!”
Hassanein hid his eyes from his brother lest they reveal the gleam of an emerging hope. “Are you strong enough to make your escape?” he asked.
Hassan snatched his suit from the peg. “I’m all right,” he said. “Goodbye!”
Hassanein went off with the policeman. The first thing to occur to him was to ask the officer’s name. Maybe he actually was one of his acquaintances. But he was once more in the dark when the policeman gave him a name he had never heard before. Now matters were complicated indeed. However, Hassanein was relieved and reassured at Hassan’s decision to disappear. They reached the police station a little before sunset, and the policeman led him to the officer, stopped, and saluted.
“Lieutenant Hassanein Kamel Ali,” he said.
At arm’s length from the officer as he sat at his desk stood two lower-class men and a woman, the marks of a recent fight on their faces. The officer rose, stretched out his hand.
“Welcome!” he said. He ordered the policeman to leave the room and close the door. He waved the young man to a chair in front of the desk.
What does it all mean? Hassanein thought as he sat down. Welcome and compliments. What next?
The officer rose, and leaning with his right hand on the edge of the desk, stood facing Hassanein, carefully studying his face; a curious, perplexed sort of glance, as if he didn’t quite know how to begin the conversation. Hassanein found this short interval of silence coarse and intolerable. An abhorrent feeling of awe, worry, and annoyance had come over him from the very moment he stepped into the station.
Maybe he’s a refined officer and is too embarrassed to fling the charge in my face, he thought. This is curious in itself. Speak out and take the burden off my chest. How much I’ve dreaded this nightmarish moment. I already know what you want to say. Speak.
“The policeman said you wanted to see me,” he said, losing his patience.
“Sorry to bother you,” the officer apologized. “I’d have preferred to meet you under better circumstances. But you know what duty dictates sometimes!”
Breathing out his last hope of safety, Hassanein replied gloomily, “Thank you for your kindness. I’m listening.”
“I hope you’ll take what I have to say with courage,” the officer said earnestly and gently, “and behave in a manner that suits an officer who respects the law.”
Hassanein was wan and almost fainting. “Naturally,” he said.
The officer clenched his teeth, his cheeks contracting. “This,” he said curtly, “has to do with your sister.”
Hassanein raised his eyebows in surprise. “You mean my brother?” he said.
“I mean Madam, your sister. But excuse me. First I should like to ask you: Do you have a sister by the name of Nefisa?”
“Yes. Has she had an accident?” Hassanein asked.
“I’m sorry to tell you this,” the man said, lowering his eyes, “but she was arrested in a certain house in Al Sakakini.”
Hassanein rose to his feet. Frightened, rigid, and pale, he stared at the officer. “What are you saying?” he asked, out of breath.
The officer patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Get hold of yourself,” he said. “This has to be handled with reason and calm judgment. I hope you’ll help me do my duty without making me regret the measures I’ve taken to protect your reputation.”
Staggered, Hassanein stared at the officer, listened vaguely to his voice. As if in a dream, the voice would vanish, the face remain; the face vanished, the voice remained, sometimes only two lips spewing forth a stream of frightful, disconnected, incomprehensible words. Despairing, Hassanein glanced nervously around the room, his eyes blinking: a gun fixed on the wall here, a row of rifles there, an inkstand, and the strange odors, the dead smell of old tobacco, the strange scent of leather. In a kind of receding consciousness, his mind harked back to memories which had no connection with the present. The old alley floated in his mind’s eye; now he was again a boy playing with marbles with his brother Hussein.
She was arrested in a certain house, he thought. What house? Surely one of us has lost his mind! But which one of us? First, I’ve got to be sure that I’ve not gone crazy.
Resigned, Hassanein sighed weakly. “What did you say, sir?” he asked the officer.
“A Greek woman has a house in this quarter,” the officer continued. “She rents rooms to lovers at so much per hour. This afternoon, we raided the house, and found Madam…with a young man. We arrested her, of course, and I proceeded with the customary cold-blooded formalities, of which, of course, she was frightened, you know, and in the hope that I would release her, she confided that her brother was an officer.”