City of the Sun (22 page)

“It is I, it is I,” Kesner said, adjusting the gray cap he’d chosen to wear today instead of a tarbush, which would have attracted more attention in this neighborhood. “You’re looking fairly well, Herr Sadat, although I know it must pain you to wear a uniform after that terrible insult of having your weapons taken from you by the British.” He placed his hand on his chest. “My heart went out to you when I heard about it.”

Sadat did not flinch. “I must tell you right away that we do not intend to arm the Brotherhood,” he declared. “My colleagues assisted you in getting Sheik al-Banna out of prison, but that is as far as we will go.”

“Nobody’s talking about arming anybody,” Kesner responded, annoyed with the youngster’s naïve idealism. “I just ask that you meet with him. You may have more in common than you realize.”

Sadat looked away. When he looked back, his face wore a pained expression. He gestured at the laundry that hung between tombstones to dry. “This is what the British have done for Egypt. They’ve reduced us to animals.” He suddenly pointed behind Kesner. “There he is, I think.”

“That’s him, all right,” Kesner confirmed as he turned toward the slight silhouette of Hassan al-Banna. The sheik wore his distinctive red
abaya
with the hood pulled low over his face, his long beard sticking out. He was carrying a heavy wooden staff and stood on top of a large stone. Kesner waved to him.

Al-Banna did not wave back but raised his stick over his head—
follow me
—and began to jump from stone to stone over the broken ground like a mountain goat. Although he was wearing sandals,
he was spry and moved quickly as he led them deeper into the cemetery. He finally came to a halt in an uninhabited section and crouched down behind a rock.

Two men appeared out of nowhere, rifles on their shoulders.

“He is swift for an old man,” Sadat whispered, panting.

“Old man? He’s only in his midthirties,” Kesner replied, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. He looked around, feeling claustrophobic amid the closely packed tombstones and cenotaphs. Except for the occasional buzzing of a fly, the cemetery was a strange and creepy oasis of calm.

The sheik sprang to his feet as they approached and pulled back his hood, revealing deep-set, sad eyes and leathery skin. He reminded Kesner of a lizard. There wasn’t a single bead of sweat on his face. Al-Banna and Sadat sized one another up.

“Unusual place to set up shop, eh?” Kesner joked in Arabic, trying to break the awkwardness of the moment. He shook hands with the sheik and tapped his back, but the sheik was still eyeing Sadat.

“Peace be with you.” Al-Banna spoke first, addressing Sadat with a toothy smile and offering his hand.

Sadat took it. “And also with you.” He embraced him before continuing. “Sheik Hassan al-Banna, you may not know that we have met once before—some years ago, when I was only a boy. I came to hear you speak outside a mosque near the Bab El Khalq.”

“That must have been a long time ago. I have not spoken publicly in Cairo for many years,” the sheik replied.

“How are you enjoying your freedom?” Kesner asked him.

“As long as the British are in Egypt none of us are truly free. But I don’t wish to seem ungrateful.” Al-Banna took Kesner’s hand into his own two hands. “Thank you, my friend, for releasing me from jail. I did not understand at first why I was being transferred to a higher security jail, but then, when I was taken to the car and heard the crickets in the reeds along the banks of the Nile and smelled the
sweet scent of the river, I knew I was being set free. Thanks be to God.” He raised his eyes piously to heaven.

“Thanks be to God,” Kesner agreed heartily. “Without the Almighty the operation would never have been successful.” From the corner of his eye, he noticed Sadat giving him a dirty look, impatient with this religious pronouncement.

“We will go somewhere we can talk,” the sheik announced, turning on his heel and leading them to a doorway. Stairs inside would lead down to catacombs, no doubt. Above it was a cenotaph still richly carved with Arabic markings even though the white glare of the sun had bleached the color from the weather-beaten stone.

The burial chambers below had been transformed into tidy rooms furnished with cots and tables and chairs where men could gather in groups. The sheik showed Kesner and Sadat to a private room furnished with large pillows.

“We thank Allah, the Merciful and Compassionate, for giving us the strength to lead the struggle against the infidel,” the sheik began when they’d settled. “Lieutenant Sadat, I understand you, too, are involved in the
mujahida
.” His voice was soft, and the light from the torch illuminating the chamber cast long shadows on his face.

“You could say that,” Sadat replied, folding his legs Indian style. “I am an officer in the Egyptian army, but I am a member of the Revolutionary Committee.”

“And they are striving in the path of Allah?”

“We are striving for the people of Egypt.” Sadat spoke solemnly. “We are seeking to throw the colonialist invaders out of our country and overturn the feudalism that persists.”

The sheik smiled, pleased. “And this will mark a return to Islam.”

“The aim of the Revolutionary Committee is to establish a people’s republic in Egypt. We are not interested in going back to the
Middle Ages or becoming a theocracy,” Sadat stated flatly, staring defiantly into the sheik’s eyes.

Kesner bit his lip. “But as you said,” he quickly reminded Sadat, “you both are dedicated to getting rid of the occupier.” The young officer was being impetuous. Kesner thought that as a leader of his group he should show more diplomacy.

“Anwar, why do you seek a path that turns away from the light of Allah and emulates foreign systems of government that we know do not work?” the sheik asked, looking pained. “Why overthrow something, only to replace it with its copy? The Holy Qur’an contains all the laws you need.” He counted on his fingers: “Human rights; equality; brotherhood; right to freedom of speech; right to life, to property, to dignity and to justice. All this is in the sayings of the prophet.”

“Yes, and they are also the principles of the French Revolution,” Kesner interjected, knowing this would strike a chord with the young officer.
“Liberté, égalité, fraternité.”

“The Qur’an is a great and wonderful book, Sheik Hassan,” Sadat replied, ignoring Kesner, “but it is just a guide. It is not government in practice.”

“There you are wrong, my young friend!” the sheik cried out, his voice rising for the first time. “The four caliphs governed only by the Holy Book, and for centuries we had a golden era for Islam.”

“The caliphs ruled in another time,” Sadat argued.

“The caliphs were entrusted with their power from God. Sovereignty belongs to Allah alone. Man is merely a temporary custodian. Even the king is not empowered by God.”

“That’s right, he owes his throne to the British,” Sadat responded.

“The true representative of Allah’s power here on earth must be pious and unfailingly dedicated to His word.”

“Who do you think Allah has in mind for the job?” Sadat asked sardonically.

Kesner was dying inside. Sadat was going too far.

But the sheik did not flinch. He just looked to heaven and opened his hands, gesturing that he didn’t know—or, perhaps, that it would be him.

“The ruler must be chosen by the people,” Sadat continued.

“The ruler is chosen by God,” the sheik corrected.

Kesner had to stop this conversation before it spiraled into an argument. “First things first. Why don’t we wait and see what comes after the British have been removed?” he suggested. “They have brought such shame and misery to your country that you must unite to overthrow them and settle your differences afterward.” He looked from Sadat to al-Banna.

After a short silence, the sheik waved his hand and said, “Herr Kesner is right. We must be brothers now. Our country is suffocating.”

But Sadat looked wary.

Kesner nodded to the sheik and got to his feet. “Come.” He held out his hand to Sadat on the floor. “Let’s you and I talk in private.”

He led him to the room next door where three men scurried away when they entered.

“Lieutenant, you must understand,” Kesner whispered. “The Brotherhood can bring about the collapse of British rule. They are brave guerrilla fighters, loyal to the sheik’s every word. They have been very successful at sabotaging communications lines, as you know.”

“You want me to arm them,” Sadat replied loudly, confronting Kesner.

“The sooner they are armed, the sooner you will have your revolution,” Kesner conceded, whispering hoarsely and gesturing with his hand for Sadat to lower his voice. “Only God knows what will happen afterward.”

“Understand me,” Sadat replied in a softer voice. “I am a Muslim, and I believe that our people should be taught the prophet’s teachings about humility and charity and goodness. But I cannot arm civilians and send them hopelessly against the might of the English. That is the job of the army. I am sorry.” On these words, he strode out of the chamber toward the exit.

As Kesner started after Sadat, he noticed in the adjacent room, lit by a feeble candle, the silhouette of a young man sitting at a table, one hand placed on the Qur’an, the other on a revolver. He was repeating the oath of initiation into the Brotherhood that an officiate was administering: “Dying in the way of Allah is our highest hope. The messenger is our leader. The Qur’an is our law. And Jihad is our way.” He pledged with such passionate religious fervor that it gave Kesner goose bumps and he stopped in his tracks. He’d catch Sadat another time.

When he returned to the chamber, he found the sheik crouched on the floor, cleaning his nails with a large curved knife that he’d produced from the folds of his robe.

“He will come around,” Kesner assured him. “But I need a favor from you. I’m looking for a Jew. His name is Erik Blumenthal.”

CHAPTER 21

“Pssst … Lili,” Maya whispered, “are you awake?”

But no response came back from the girl, who, along with the entire household, had gone to bed right after the enormous meal Allegra had served following the Yom Kippur service. She found the Levis’ custom of breaking the fast with coffee and sweets to be rather strange, and she wondered how the family could still have an appetite after that. But they’d gorged themselves at the dinner table nevertheless, except for Maya, who was furious with Erik for having gotten into a fight with Vati. Since returning from schul, Vati had been complaining about how lax the rabbi’s service had been and criticizing the Sephardim for their materialism and lack of spirituality. Erik, the atheist, had finally exploded, expressing his contempt for all forms of organized religion, including his own family’s Ashkenazi brand of Judaism. He called his father weak-minded. The two men did not talk to one another all evening.

Mutter would have been horrified by this rift, Maya thought, too agitated to fall asleep. She tossed and turned, trying to find a good position. But sleep still did not come. Her mind was restlessly replaying the events of the day and churning with the innumerable other anxieties that haunted her relentlessly.

Finally, she sat up and looked at her watch. It wasn’t quite midnight. She wondered if Mickey was awake. It had taken
some doing, but she’d managed to talk to him a few times since their first date. She would cheerfully offer to do errands, such as taking Allegra’s unbaked cakes and breads to the baker’s oven, fetching the mail at the post office, and picking up the children from school. These ventures provided her with the opportunity to place a call to him, and the excitement of sneaking into telephone booths in strange places was becoming intoxicating. He was a breath of fresh air in her life—her secret. His quiet strength and gentle sense of humor never failed to calm her down. And why not indulge in some momentary pleasure? She would be leaving Cairo soon. There had been some kind of complication with their papers, but everything was back on track now, and the tension in the house had eased somewhat.

Maya quietly slipped out of bed and went into the living room, where the telephone was located. She dialed Mickey’s number and smiled when he answered.

“Hi, it’s me,” she whispered, biting her finger. “I hope I’m not waking you up?” She couldn’t believe she’d had the nerve to call Mickey while everybody in the house was asleep—at least she hoped they were.

“No, not at all,” he said in a groggy voice. “I was just thinking about some of the people I interviewed today. Pretty boring stuff. What about you? Did you go to synagogue today?”

“Yes, I went. It’s our holiest day, the Day of Atonement. It’s the only time I go. It was boring, too. Everything was in Hebrew and I don’t understand a word of it. I just like it at the very end when they blow the shofar.”

“What’s the shofar?”

“It’s a ram’s horn. They blow it at the end of the service in long, powerful bursts. It always gives me goose bumps.”

“How come?”

She shrugged. “It’s a strange, shrill sound. It’s very plaintive. It makes me cry. It’s hard to explain. It goes straight into my heart.”