Once they had made love he would gaze at her with genuine gratitude and cover her hands, face, and hair with kisses. He had become an expert in the topography of her body and learned its language so well that their lovemaking would last for hours, during which Radwa’s face would light up at times with intoxication.
Months passed in his life with her in which he tasted happiness. Then one night he was with her in bed when his performance unexpectedly faltered and he grew confused and finally desisted. Silence reigned and suddenly he jumped up, shaking the bed beneath them, and rushed over to switch on the light. She gathered together her clothes to cover her naked body and asked him anxiously, “What’s the matter?”
He stayed silent and seated himself on the couch. Then he slowly doubled over and put his head in his hands, his faced creasing as though something was hurting him. Greatly distressed, she hurried over to him and asked, “What’s wrong with you, Taha?”
Affected perhaps by her genuine concern for him, he moved restlessly, heaved a great sigh, and then said, avoiding her eyes, “Please don’t misunderstand me, Radwa. I’m happy of course with our marriage and I thank God a thousand times over for having provided me with a godly wife like you. But I didn’t join the camp to get married. I came with Sheikh Shakir for a particular purpose, to struggle for God’s cause. I’ve been here for a year, I’ve finished all the different types of training, and till now they haven’t entrusted me with a single mission. I’m scared that my determination will weaken as time passes.”
He was speaking in a soft, sad voice. Then he struck his leg with his hand and cried bitterly, “If it were all about getting married, I would have married you anywhere but in the camp. Every day I ask myself a hundred times, ‘Why am I here?’ Why, Radwa? I’m sure that Sheikh Bilal married me to you to distract my mind from the struggle.”
Radwa smiled like a wise, understanding mother and putting her arm around his shoulder said affectionately, “Seek refuge with God and chase these thoughts from your head because they’re the whisperings of Satan. Sheikh Bilal is an honest man and never lies. If he thought you weren’t worthy of gihad, he would have expelled you from the camp, just as he would never marry you to a corrupt woman who would divert you from your religion” (and here her voice took on a reproachful tone). “I’m your wife, Taha, and I’m the first to encourage you in gihad and I’ll be the first to feel proud of you if you attain martyrdom, which I pray God I may attain alongside you. But I know from my experience with the late martyr Hassan that military operations are not a game and that they are governed by precise considerations that are known only to the brothers on the Gamaa Council.”
Taha opened his mouth to object, but she quickly and gently laid her hand on it as though to stop him speaking and whispered, “Be patient, Taha, be patient. Surely God is with the patient .”
At exactly ten o’clock on Thursday morning, a black “Phantom” Mercedes pulled up in front of the Yacoubian Building. A smartly dressed man in his forties descended and made inquiries until he was conducted to Hagg Azzam’s office, where he greeted the latter and haughtily presented himself, saying, “Gamal Barakat, from the Basha’s office.”
Hagg Azzam sat next to him in the car, but throughout the journey they exchanged no more than a few compliments, after which Azzam busied himself with telling his prayer beads and saying prayers. He knew that the Big Man lived on the Mariyut Canal, but he’d never imagined that his house would look the way it did — a vast palace, reminiscent of the royal palaces he’d seen as a child, set on a high hill which made it look like an impregnable citadel, and surrounded by not less than fifty acres of land, all of it under cultivation.
To cover the distance between the outer gate and the door of the palace, it took the car about half an hour, during which it traveled along a long highway amid gardens and trees. Three times it came to a halt in front of a security barrier where it was inspected by security men. They were enormous and dressed in three-piece suits with matching ties. Large pistols hung from their belts and in their hands they held electrically operated batons that whistled and which they carefully examined the car with, proceeding thereafter to scrutinize Hagg Azzam’s identity card, comparing its details with the permit that the secretary presented to them. This happened three times and annoyed Hagg Azzam so much that on the last occasion he came close to objecting. However, he suppressed his anger and kept silent and eventually the car mounted a broad, winding driveway that took it to the door of the palace. There the security procedures were repeated with the same care and thoroughness, and this time they opened and went through Hagg Azzam’s briefcase and then asked him to go through a metal detector. The annoyance showed clearly on his face and the secretary came up to him and said rudely, “The security procedures are essential.”
The secretary then asked him to wait in the lobby and disappeared. Hagg Azzam remained waiting for a while, during which he looked at the marble columns, the Persian designs on the luxurious carpets, and the giant crystal chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling. Slowly he started to feel annoyed and insulted and thought that they must be using this long wait and the exaggerated security procedures deliberately to humiliate him. “They treat me with contempt at the same time that they rob me of my money. They want to get a quarter of the profits on a platter and don’t utter a word of thanks, the impudent thugs!” Azzam’s resentment grew, his face darkened, and he felt a strong urge to pull out of the meeting; he felt like summoning the secretary then and there, and telling him that he was leaving, come what may, but in his heart he knew that that was impossible; even if they left him waiting the whole morning, he wouldn’t dare say a word in protest. He was swimming with the big fish now and one mistake could be the end of him. It was his responsibility to prepare his gambit and draw on all his experience so as to ensure that the Big Man felt sorry for him and to convince him to reduce the percentage to less than a quarter. That was the utmost he could do and any stupidity he might commit he would pay for dearly and immediately.
Finally he heard footsteps behind him and was seized by such terror that he found himself bereft of the strength to turn around. One of the guards appeared and made a sign to him to follow him. They walked down a long corridor, their footsteps ringing on the polished marble floor, and ended up in a spacious hall, with, facing the door, a large oak desk and a large conference table around which ten chairs were lined up. The guard signaled to Azzam to sit and said insolently as he departed, “Wait here till the Basha calls you.”
Azzam was perturbed by the use of the word “call.” Did that mean that perhaps the Big Man was not actually there? Why hadn’t he contacted him to cancel the appointment and save him all this trouble and why had they left him waiting so long? Suddenly, he heard a voice echoing loudly throughout the hall saying, “Welcome, Azzam!”
Seized by terror, he leaped to his feet and looked around, searching for the source of the voice, which uttered a gentle laugh and continued, “Don’t be scared! I’m somewhere else, but I’m calling you and I can see you. Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get to the point. Why did you ask to meet me?”
The Hagg pulled his wits together and made an effort to raise his voice and say the things that he’d prepared over the past two weeks, but he was so rattled that the ideas evaporated in his head. After a few moments he was just able to get out, “I’m at your service, sir, and Your Excellency’s to command. Your graciousness overwhelms me and your goodness embraces the whole nation. May Our Lord keep you for us and preserve you for Egypt! I live in expectation that Your Excellency will regard my case with mercy, sir. I have many responsibilities and I’ve got households to support, God knows. Twenty-five percent’s a great burden for me, sir, really.”