The young woman patted the old woman’s shoulder consolingly. Things weren’t what they used to be, she thought, and they weren’t going to get better any time soon. Politics had eaten away at people’s heads until they in turn had begun to devour one another. She too had chosen the pyramid symbol on her ballot, but unlike the old woman, she never admitted who she’d actually voted for, not to anyone. If she was honest with herself, she was too scared. In recent months the question “Who did you pick?” had spread like the plague, but she was cautious, wary, and knew it was better to keep quiet. Things had gotten to the point where she often relied on an old trick to avoid answering. Her response each time was to turn the question around on whoever was asking and follow their reply — whatever it was — with a wink, a shy smile, and the reliable phrase: “That’s who I voted for, too.”
She’d only made a mistake once, a few days ago. A student in the Arabic class she taught handed in an essay she’d written, just an ordinary homework assignment, the kind all students did. The girl had written a long, brilliant paper about the conditions in the district where she lived, and then went on to speak more broadly about the state of the country and developments in the region. The girl’s words echoed what Ines herself might say if no one were listening. She was so impressed that she began to doubt the student, suspecting that one of the girl’s older sisters, or perhaps a parent, had written the essay. The students usually did better on homework than exams, but perhaps someone else had written at least the outline for her. The girl swore she hadn’t had help from anyone in her family, that every thought and sentence was hers alone. Ines was inclined to believe her, so she gave the student a nearly perfect grade, had the class applaud her, and asked the girl to read her essay in front of the other students, as an example of outstanding work.
The next day, the girl was absent from school. A soft-spoken inspector arrived at the principal’s office, asking to see Ines’s Personnel File and inquiring as to how she’d been hired. He informed the principal that Ines was missing certain forms and that she needed to go to the Gate to obtain a Certificate of True Citizenship. He told him that if she didn’t, he would be forced to refer her to the Administrative Office, where she would be retested and reevaluated, and they would determine whether it was truly in everyone’s best interest for her to continue as a teacher. Before leaving the school, he left a cassette tape with the principal. Ines later learned that it was a recording of the girl reading her assignment.
Unlike other children, who flit from one idea to the next, Ines had always wanted to be a teacher. As a child she often lined up her dolls in a long row on the bed, taking a ruler in hand and explaining a lesson. She would ask them questions, one doll after the next, and imagined their answers. When she grew a bit older, she continued her favorite game by seating the neighbors’ children in a row on the stairs of their building. Holding a branch she’d snapped off a tree, she gave her students colored stones as rewards or smacked their shoulders with the stick to reprimand them for their ignorance. But now, she was the one standing there like a student who had committed the gravest mistake, waiting to be disciplined. Maybe this one slip-up would prevent her from pursuing the only thing she knew how to do. She glanced at the others standing in the queue before pausing to contemplate Yehya’s gaunt face. He was staring off into the distance.
Yehya hadn’t interrupted the old woman since she’d begun to talk. He was oblivious to her, immersed in his own thoughts. He didn’t hear a word of her story, or of the other conversations around him, but she hadn’t stopped chattering away, nor had she given up her stubborn efforts to win his attention, as if it were a personal challenge. Ines watched the scene unfold. “Everyone’s got enough of their own problems,” she whispered under her breath.
Weariness crept across Yehya’s face, and deep furrows formed between his eyebrows. Nagy, who was squatting on the ground beside his friend, had become restless and wanted to leave. Yehya bent over slightly and groaned softly, and Nagy stood up and grabbed Yehya’s arm, telling him to sit in his place for a little while. He’d been reclining under the shade of a yellow cloth banner whose colors had faded in the weeks since the election but still showed the candidate’s face, his big red heart logo, and the familiar violet party symbol. Yehya turned down Nagy’s offer, not out of pride, but because the pain was so bad he couldn’t bend his knees to lower his body that short distance to the ground. He searched in his pocket for a strip of the painkillers he always carried with him but found just an empty packet. A handsome young man in front of them had been eavesdropping over Nagy’s shoulder, and he offered a couple of pills of an over-the-counter medicine, the kind for headaches. He also offered to save Yehya’s place in the queue, if he wanted to lie down at the man’s place for a bit, but Nagy thanked him on Yehya’s behalf, saying he’d heard that the Gate would open today. It seemed certain this time, he said, and they couldn’t miss a chance that might not come again soon.
The young man took a step closer and, whispering, asked them what they needed from the Gate. Yehya gave Nagy a soft jab in the side, so slight that no one else noticed, and quickly replied, “Oh nothing, just permission for medical treatment. I’ve got this silly little stomach pain. It keeps me up at night, and I need some special medicine for it — the doctor gave me a prescription when I went to the hospital, and I asked around at several pharmacies, but no one’s got it. People who take it say it’s available in public clinics, but you know how it is — they need permission from the Gate to fill your prescription.”
The young man nodded solemnly and looked like he was about to say something else, but then changed his mind and returned to where he’d been standing. The old woman interjected, saying that medicine only made you sicker, while a cup of warm mint tea would bring back his health and get rid of his pain too. She tutted disapprovingly, leaned over to Ines, and pushed some dried mint stalks into her hand. “Tomorrow I’ll get some hot water from the coffee shop around the corner and make you tea with this,” she said. Nagy leaned over and whispered in Yehya’s ear that if he had half the faith she did, it would do him a lot of good. With a grin, Yehya shot back, “If you had half her faith, we wouldn’t have to listen to you ramble on all the time.”
UM MABROUK
Um Mabrouk had just finished tidying up the last room when it was time for her to leave. She went into the bathroom, shut the door behind her, and changed out of her wet clothes, washed her face, and put on a clean galabeya and low heels. She made sure she had everything in her handbag, felt around for the envelope inside it for the third time, and then said goodbye to the employees who were still in the office and rushed off, just managing to squeeze herself into a microbus before it pulled away from the sidewalk. When she arrived at the Gate there was a river of people flooding the street, and as she got off at the corner, she snagged her stocking on a bit of metal jutting out from the bottom of the microbus door that never closed. She hitched up the hem of her galabeya and saw a wide hole quickly unraveling upward. Her last bottle of nail polish had just run out, but she kept smiling all the same. She walked alongside the queue, assuring people she wasn’t skipping ahead of them but had just come searching for a relative, and passed dozens of people before she arrived at Yehya. She recognized him by the back of his head before seeing his face, and reached out to shake his hand.