Ehab tried to get back into Zephyr, but it was impossible. They had posted an enlarged photocopy of his ID card at the entrance and distributed it to the Concealment Force. He headed to the newspaper headquarters, where he met his editor and filled him in on what had happened, and then he set off for the queue in search of Nagy. He didn’t want to tell Yehya what had happened because he didn’t want to worry him, especially as Ehab didn’t have anything reassuring to say. After the scuffle in the lobby and being thrown out of the hospital, he had nothing good to report, and now Amani’s phone wasn’t in service, either. He and Nagy left the queue together, unseen by Yehya, and headed to Amani’s apartment. They knocked on her door for nearly a quarter of an hour, until the bawab came up to say he hadn’t seen her since that morning. She was probably still at work, the old doorman said, and he invited them to wait with him in front of the building until she returned.
They sat with the bawab for a long time as he made tea, took a few cigarettes out of his pocket and placed them in front of them, and then told them about the building he’d guarded since he was a boy. When he first arrived, the district had been a vast and remote expanse, there were no other buildings or people — just this one, its residents, and the desert beyond. The closest inhabited district was a few miles down the highway. But the place he had known had vanished long ago. High-rise buildings sprouted, scores of people marched in and settled down, markets opened up, and the area was now bursting at the seams. He let out a grievous sigh and gestured off into the distance with a veiny hand, saying that there was still one empty plot of land out there, vacant and vast. Ehab got excited, as he knew the land the doorman was referring to: it was now under the Gate’s dominion. The old man laughed and coughed, spouting a puff of smoke, and added that although many years had gone by, people were still reluctant to buy there because of its past. Everyone knew what had once stood there: a detention center from which those who’d entered never returned, not even after decades.
The old man said the area had changed a great deal since the Gate appeared, and even more so after it had closed and the queue formed nearby. Back when the Gate had still been open, there was always a huge commotion during working hours, with people shouting. But when its work ended, it became deathly still, and not a single voice was heard, as if no one had ever gone in and no one ever left. As time passed, he told them, people said the weather in the area was always strangely stifling — but only around the Gate — and that sometimes the sun both rose and set over the Northern Building, perhaps bowing to whatever went on in there. People passing by it became increasingly wary and didn’t even act like themselves when they were nearby, especially after the Disgraceful Events.
He leaned in a little closer, having decided he could trust them, and whispered that Amani had gone to Zephyr Hospital, that Zephyr Hospital belonged to the Gate, and that he had suspicions about her work, and about her involvement in those Events people talked about. On the night after the Events she hadn’t returned home until after midnight, which was unusual for her, and on more than one occasion people from strange organizations had come asking about her, although they’d never asked to speak to her directly.
They waited all day in front of her building, but Amani had vanished. Nagy and Ehab returned to the queue to look for Yehya, filled with a greater sense of helplessness than ever before. They both felt guilty that they hadn’t been with Amani from the start. When Um Mabrouk heard the news, she immediately decided to distribute leaflets; Abbas designed them in exchange for a few free phone calls, wafers, and juice, and signed it at the bottom as usual. He made copies at a nearby photocopier, whose owner owed him a favor, and gave her a hundred copies. The flyer featured an old photo of Amani, since Um Mabrouk didn’t have a recent one. Abbas had written her full name with great care, followed by the standard wording for these kinds of cases: an appeal to the Gate to intervene, find the person, and investigate the strange circumstances around the disappearance. Um Mabrouk put the flyers next to her wares, wailing and lamenting her eternal bad luck, and explaining — even in the absence of customers — that Amani was like a daughter to her. When she’d buried her elder daughter the day after she died, Amani had come from so far, cried like no one had ever cried before, and hadn’t even gone home until the funeral was finished and all the lights were out.
NOTHING
The man questioned her about her name, age, marital status, education, profession, and place of residence, but it was clear that he already knew all the answers. Then he leaned back from the desk and asked what Amani was doing on the fifth floor when she knew it was a restricted area. She tried to remain as calm and polite as possible, and apologized. She wasn’t familiar with the place, she said, she just wanted to pick up her cousin’s X-ray, and was running late for their meeting with the doctor. He was bound to come looking for her, and would tell her family, she added, who no doubt were worried sick because she hadn’t called. Amani was standing in the middle of the room with the pink sign, where they’d brought her once they’d found her. The room was filled with files stacked so high that she couldn’t see the walls. She had a vague sense of fear and the feeling that she was somewhere she shouldn’t be, but she trusted that she could talk her way out, and her thoughts remained firmly on Yehya and helping him. The man said nothing. Someone she couldn’t see came up from behind her and stopped in front of him, addressing him with effusive respect.
“Safwat basha, there aren’t any files under the name Yehya Gad el-Rab Saeed here, sir.”
“That should be sufficient for you,” he said to Amani. “We have no files under that name here, so don’t go troubling yourself and troubling me, too.”
“But I know he was transferred here to Zephyr Hospital, and left two days later.”
“Excellent. Then clearly he had no reason to stick around, and no need for treatment.”
She raised her voice in response; his comment had provoked her, and she grew angry when she realized he was enjoying toying with her.
“No, there was a lot he needed — there was a bullet in his pelvis, a bullet from when he was shot during the Disgraceful Events.”
The stony-faced man rose from his seat, tall and broad, and then slammed his fist down on the desk with a loud crack. The files shook on their shelves and some fell to the floor.
“No one was injured by any bullet that day or the day after or on any other day, do you understand?”