Um Mabrouk needed to use the death of her elder daughter as leverage to save the younger one, so she gathered the death certificate and all the tattered reports she’d saved since her daughter was a child and made the rounds of her acquaintances, asking for the funds she needed to get help. She wouldn’t leave until she told them of the misfortune that had befallen her and the second tragedy that lay ahead, and she asked for help from all her neighbors, even Amani’s doorman. Yet despite her efforts, she didn’t manage to collect enough money for the operation. She knocked on the hospital director’s door more than once, and when she couldn’t find him there she waited next to his official car. She bent down and kissed his hand as soon as he appeared, pleading with him to waive just half the fee, but he shook her off with disdain and directed her to the Gate of Maladies, which presided over such cases.
The Gate of Maladies had been built a long time ago, and Um Mabrouk hadn’t been there since she was just a child, prone to illness. A doctor had warned her mother not to ignore Um Mabrouk’s chronically inflamed tonsils, so she took her to a public hospital to have them removed. The doctor there told her to go to the Gate of Maladies, a new ministry that now had jurisdiction over the hospital. There, he promised, she could sign up for free treatment. The Gate of Maladies was clean and tidy when they arrived — not many people had yet set foot inside — and she registered her name. But her turn never came. In the end, she had to go to a private doctor; he lowered his fee for her, and her mother borrowed the rest. He removed her tonsils, the matter ended, and she hadn’t been back to the Gate of Maladies since.
The Gate of Maladies was founded decades before the Gate of the Northern Building, and there wasn’t much overlap in their jurisdiction. The Gate of Maladies acted as a liaison between citizens who had complaints about their health care and the doctors and officials responsible for them; it delivered petitions and collected responses, but it never actually prosecuted anyone for wrongdoing. It took a year or two or even more for the Gate of Maladies to begin the paperwork needed to take action, and there were crumbling papers in its old chambers that had been waiting for decades to be finalized. Some, the descendants of the plaintiffs followed up on, while others were kept in trust, never to be discarded, even if no one ever asked about them again.
Um Mabrouk didn’t waste any time: she confirmed that the Gate of Maladies still stood where she remembered it to be and then headed there, following the hospital director’s instructions. Inside an office on the ground floor, an official took a quick glance at her papers and pursed his lips. She wouldn’t receive a Treatment Permit for her second daughter unless she amended the application form, he said, and her first daughter’s death certificate as well. Um Mabrouk pleaded with him, opening her wallet to show she barely had enough to survive as it was; a few measly pounds was all the money she had in the world. She followed this with a prayer to keep his family and children from harm, making sure then to reveal the fifty-pound note she’d brought hoping it would satisfy him. But he pursed his lips again and told her that the cause of death written on her daughter’s death certificate was inappropriate. The girl died because her time was up, he said; she couldn’t expect doctors to alter fate. Even if medicine could perform miracles, the doctors couldn’t have extended her daughter’s life, not even by a moment. “You do believe in God, don’t you, ya Hagga?” he asked. She said nothing, and he carried on, telling her there was no need to go around blaming other people for her own woes. Finally, she asked him for his advice. His expression softened. He invited her to make herself comfortable on the broken wooden chair sitting in front of his desk, and then leaned in closer. He whispered in her ear that to obtain a Treatment Permit, she had to fill out a new application, praising the care her dearly departed daughter had received before her time was up. Then she must go to the Gate of the Northern Building and change the cause of death to something more appropriate. Finally, she had to withdraw the complaint she had submitted about her elder daughter’s death, and the documents she’d attached to prove that her living daughter’s condition had deteriorated. And, since she didn’t have enough money to pay for it, she had to take her daughter off the wait list for surgery.
He gave her an application form that was already filled out, and she signed her name at the bottom of the page and gave it back to him to keep in the file. He told her not to worry about providing her fingerprints — she’d been so cooperative — and then he handed her more paperwork for the Gate. He assured her that obtaining a new death certificate would go smoothly now, and told her the Gate would provide her with a new copy that day since there would be no need to cross-check it. Pretending to be confused and in a rush, she let her fifty-pound note fall into the folder on his desk and turned to go, and didn’t hear a word from him as she walked out the door.
Yehya received an endless stream of news from his new position in the queue, which was no longer at the end, as it had been when he first got there, because dozens more people had since arrived behind him. Ehab brought news of an opinion poll conducted by the Center for Freedom and Righteousness, under the Gate’s supervision of course. They had dispatched droves of delegates to knock on people’s doors during dawn prayer time, to ask their opinion of recent events and how the country was being run. The results had finally been released, and were precisely the same as the results of the previous poll. Citizens had unanimously endorsed its governance, laws, and court rulings — wholeheartedly and dutifully supporting the just decrees that had recently been issued. Those conducting the poll had therefore decided not to conduct one again. To simplify matters, they would announce the previous poll’s results on a set yearly date.
A leaflet from the Violet Telecom Company arrived too, announcing a great promotion for all citizens: thousands of free phone lines and endless credit for an entire year. The leaflet said that the company would hold a lottery every two weeks to select ten winners, and would send them new phones, too, equipped with all the latest features and services, with no restrictions or terms and conditions. This piece of news was met with particular delight by everyone waiting in the queue and they considered it a fitting apology for the strange fact that the network had been down recently. Rumors also spread — though they could not be confirmed — that Upper Line and Normal Line microbuses would be forbidden to carry passengers for a few days, and that stations would be closed to conserve fuel.
A few people in the know speculated that this meant there was a need for more diesel fuel to clean up the square and the surrounding streets, and to remove the stains and traces left by the Disgraceful Events. Others said that some of the fuel would be dumped down the sewage drains, under a comprehensive national plan aimed at eradicating the insects that had spread throughout the country in swarms. These appeared to be breeding primarily around the queue, due to the crowding and unsanitary conditions. Most people scoffed at the last rumor, yet there had been an undeniable decline in the numbers of microbuses, which led some to believe it. Still, the microbus service had never before been completely suspended.
There was no shortage of reports on when the Gate would open, and this was the greatest source of chaos and contention. People at the end of the queue swapped stories that the Gate had already opened, while those stuck in the middle said they had a week ahead of them at most. Other stubborn rumors, whose provenance no one knew, said that the people standing at the front had heard voices coming from behind the Gate: whole conversations, the rustling of papers, the clatter of cups and spoons. But when these rumors finally reached the people at the front, they said they’d only seen shadows, arriving and departing, but that the gate hadn’t opened and no one had ever actually appeared.