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Nagy discovered that Ehab knew much about life’s mysteries from his work as a journalist and connections to people from all walks of life. Meanwhile, Ehab discovered that Nagy was a well-seasoned veteran of debates and clashes from both his university days and afterward, when he found a job. A long conversation unfurled between them as they told both the notorious and the unsung tales of their lives, exchanged thoughts on the latest developments in the district, and debated what they expected the Gate to do next. Of course it would open, they agreed, but when it did, it would become even more oppressive, and they wouldn’t be rid of it anytime soon. Ehab was guardedly optimistic, while Nagy had long been burdened with an overwhelming sense of futility. In the course of their conversation, he brought up Yehya’s ordeal and mentioned a few details, but not his friend’s name or any information that might reveal why he was in the queue.
But Ehab began to act as though he had put two and two together. He started following Yehya around and checking up on him from time to time, even though his behavior aroused suspicion and Yehya tried to avoid him whenever he saw him coming. Eventually, Ehab convinced Nagy to reveal the rest of the story, thinking that he and Yehya might somehow need his help. From the moment when he understood the whole situation, Ehab refused to leave Nagy alone; he became single-mindedly focused on finding out when Amani was going to Zephyr Hospital. He knew how difficult her mission would be and smelled a story for the paper that was worth the risk. Obtaining any document from that place was like plucking a piece of meat from the mouth of a hungry lion, he said, and the odds of her failure were double those of success. His presence as a journalist could provide some backup and protection, he argued, and besides, he could be more tactful when he needed to be.
An evenly matched debate ensued, Ehab using his journalistic skills to convince Nagy, who resorted to the philosophical arguments in which he was well versed. Nagy didn’t want to expose his friends or add a new level of complication, and he wasn’t sure how Amani would react to Ehab. Nagy insisted that it was useless for Ehab or any journalist to go with her. He knew how capable Amani was (she could pluck the X-ray out of anyone’s mouth — never mind a lion’s) and knew she could do it herself. But despite Nagy’s insistence, Ehab wouldn’t stop pestering him until Nagy agreed to tell him the plan.
Um Mabrouk spread out her mat and began to sleep there most nights. Her son Mabrouk visited almost every day, and the queue delighted him with its potential for fun and games. He started to stop by after school, and soon he spent his weekends there. Away from their musty apartment, his health improved slightly; he gained weight, and his kidney attacks weren’t so severe. One day he brought Um Mabrouk a message from his older sister, who rarely left the apartment these days, asking her mother to send her latest health report. Mabrouk said that she needed it immediately to attach to a job application for a position working at a Booth. Their expenses had doubled since Um Mabrouk had stopped working in the two additional homes, and instead divided her time between the Gate and the office where Amani worked.
From the sack she pulled a pile of papers, all in disarray, and stared at one page after another, but she couldn’t find the report her daughter needed. Ehab was drawn to the commotion and offered to help. He crouched next to her and put the papers in order, by date: reports and patient certificates to one side, and examinations to the other. He was nearly finished and had just picked up the last few papers when he read the title on the first page and suddenly paused. His eyes widened, and the page trembled in his hand. On this yellow piece of paper, which didn’t resemble the one before it, he’d found a short conversation. It had seemed familiar at first glance, though he didn’t know where he’d seen or heard it. Then suddenly his memory breathed life into the words. It was a phone call he himself had made a couple of days earlier to a colleague at the newspaper. “Saeed, things have gotten strange here. There are more and more people, the Gate is closed, and I’m hearing weird tales and stories. Let’s meet next Saturday, I’ll have written it all down by then.”
In the bottom left corner of the page, he read three words in thick red ink: Important — Follow-up. He turned the page and saw his own personal information, dead center, detailed and clear. There were more discussions and conversations in the following pages, but they were other people’s, identified by names written on the back of every page.
Um Mabrouk noticed the sudden change that came over Ehab’s face, and since she herself couldn’t read, she asked if the report was really that bad. She wanted to know if her second daughter would die soon, just like her first, but he didn’t answer her. He remained silent as a shade of red crept across his face and neck, and then his voice emerged, sticking in his throat, asking her where the papers had come from. He didn’t understand anything she said; there were too many hospitals to count, and labs for analysis, and X-rays, and doctors in clinics and in centers, and health insurance; she told him there had been other papers but an official had taken them from her at the Booth right before she came to the queue, and then she made him swear to tell her the truth about her daughter’s condition and why he was so alarmed.
He gave her the report she needed, and assured her that his reaction had nothing to do with her daughter; she’d just accidentally taken some other papers and he would return them to those to whom they belonged. Um Mabrouk clung to the pages and begged him not to lie to her, she’d endured so much and just wanted the truth, she told him, and her son began to cry. She wouldn’t let him leave until he took the report, read it, and explained it to her in simple terms so she could understand. He promised to tell her the truth, and said she needed to finish her paperwork so she could do the surgery and save her daughter. His hands still trembling, he took the yellow pages, folded them carefully, and put them in his pocket. As he left, Um Mabrouk called after him with all the prayers she could remember. He headed to a place filled with scattered tree stumps and scraps of old cars, a place he would go whenever he wanted to write. He took out the papers and began to read them, patiently and deliberately, pausing over every word.
There were five pages in front of him. One was about him, another was about Ines, and the other pages concerned three people he didn’t know, not their names, and not whether they were veterans of the queue or had never been there. He went back and watched Ines from afar. She was in her usual place. Um Mabrouk was rolling out her mat, Shalaby stood next to her, and a dish of fuul beans and a handful of pickles were sitting on a page of newsprint in front of them. Um Mabrouk offered Ehab some food as he approached, introducing him to Shalaby, but he shook his head, thanking her, and walked past them to Ines. He introduced himself, but she said she knew who he was — he was well known in the area, and she’d heard of him even though they’d never spoken.
He asked her if she could spare a few minutes so he could explain something important, out of earshot of the others in the queue. They took a few steps away from her mat, but she kept her eye on it, afraid that some opportunist might steal her place. Ehab took out the paper, told her to stay calm, and asked her to read it. Curious, she took the page. The conversation was long but she clamped her hand over her mouth when she read the first two lines, suddenly on the verge of tears.
“I’m really sorry, I’m sorry, I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it, they’re just words, I didn’t mean to—”
He cut her off, saying there was no need to be sorry. He was in exactly the same position; there was a record of one of his phone calls on another page. Ines stopped crying and opened her mouth, but this time no sound came out.