The Queue (14 page)
Authors: Basma Abdel Aziz
Amani agreed that Ehab could come, but she stressed to Nagy that as long as she didn’t run into any problems, Ehab had to keep his distance from her, and he could only interfere if it was absolutely necessary. The tension in their conversation eased, and Yehya asked her to avoid the doctor from Zephyr who had come to the office, who was bound to recognize her face.
Amani paid the bill, easily beating them to the check; she was the only one among them who still had a steady job and reliable income. Nagy sat gazing out the window at the coffee shop across the road while Yehya headed to the toilet. While
there, he carefully inspected his underwear, and then pulled it up after counting the concentric circles of blood. There were two fresh rings. He put his head under the tap, let the water run over him, and caught up with the others by the door.
With every piece of news that another citizen had disappeared, Ines grew more anxious. She wouldn’t leave her place for more than a moment, and Um Mabrouk began to send Mabrouk to bring her breakfast every day, so she wouldn’t pass out from hunger. Ines never imagined she would fall victim to fear like this, having long considered herself one of the most resolute and resilient of people. She’d lived alone in a big apartment for years, had gotten through university and finished her studies in peace without anyone to look after her, and then had applied for jobs and been the first in her class to get one. She skillfully surpassed the other women in her cohort; she was hired first, given a permanent position first, and given a better bonus. She was known for her flawless teaching reputation, beloved by her students and their parents alike, who were always impressed by her dedication.
Yet despite this spotless record, things had changed overnight. Her first mistake had brought her to the Gate against her will, and she didn’t know where she’d end up as a result of the second one. Soon she might be no more than a note in the margins of the escalating unemployment figures. She was haunted by waking dreams, imagining a photograph of herself in a turquoise headscarf printed on one of the missing-person flyers, which her mother would distribute in the queue and pass sorrowfully among the people waiting.
Her parents would never forgive her if her mother had to
return from the Gulf because of her, if she was the reason they lost their jobs and their good salary in riyals. And if Ines tarnished the family name, it could result in divorce for her sister, who would be forced to leave her husband’s house and take her children with her. She would blame Ines for everything she’d done, even though it hadn’t been intentional. Not even in her worst nightmares had she seen things ending up like this. She’d never meant to make disparaging remarks about Shalaby, his cousin, or the guard unit he belonged to. If she had known that the exchange would be transmitted to officials behind the Gate, just the mention of his name would have given her chills, she would’ve never opened her mouth in the first place, and she wouldn’t have ignored Um Mabrouk’s advice.
The boycott against Violet Telecom suffered a harsh blow at the hands of the High Sheikh, who issued a fatwa declaring it impermissible to harm the economic interests of the country and its people. It also criminalized boycotts that negatively affected businesses owned by God-fearing believers. The fatwa declared that if anyone insulted religion in any way, boycotting and ignoring them would be not only permissible but also a religious duty. It concluded by saying that believers should continue to treat their brothers charitably, even if in doing so it brought them hardship or put them in danger.
The man in the
galabeya
was the first to embrace the High Sheikh’s fatwa: he took a microphone, stood alongside the queue, and read the statement aloud from a copy in his hand. He’d turned off his phone and placed it in his inner breast pocket so it wouldn’t attract attention; the woman with the short hair had recently accused him, in front of everyone, of discrediting the boycott campaign to defend Violet Telecom, while secretly using another phone network himself. She had discovered that he hadn’t been affected by Violet Telecom’s surveillance measures at all, and—more significantly—that he owned a large amount of stock in the company.
After concluding his slow and deliberate reading, he announced enthusiastically that he would dedicate his next weekly lesson to “God’s will,” to introduce people to fatwas
and explain their importance. He urged people who had joined the boycott campaign to attend his lecture, to listen and make use of what he said, and he secretly hoped that God would let him be the one to inspire them to turn away from temptation and embrace the truth.
Ehab didn’t hear the fatwa, but before long he found a copy on a faded slip of paper with tattered edges.
From the Fatwa and Rationalizations Committee, on the Fifth Day of this Venerable Month:
In light of its meeting today, the Committee hereby announces this fatwa to the entire nation, to ward off civil strife and its evils, and preserve the country’s integrity. To keep those of faith from succumbing to sin in the eyes of God Almighty, all believers must verify any news before giving it credence, and all those who make claims must substantiate their assertions with proof, lest they spread false allegations and therefore corruption. Believers shall not boycott their brothers, nor cause them to suffer financial or emotional distress, and shall not call upon others to take such actions, as this is one of the gravest sins, unless done in support of religion. A believer who is weak of faith, and does not join his brothers, is guilty of a sin, which shall be weighed on Judgment Day. This sin can be absolved by fasting, or by making seven consecutive phone calls, each one not separated by more than a month. Our Book pronounces this truth upon you. May God lead you to the path of righteousness, and may His peace, blessings, and mercy be upon you
.
[
The High Sheikh’s signature, and an illegible date
]
Ehab folded the paper up and put it in his notebook, and then wrote the time of the lesson on the last page, the one filled with lists of numbers and dates and names. He walked off, determined to attend the lesson and record what wisdom the man in the
galabeya
would bestow upon his disciples. He wondered how the man would answer their questions, and Ehab’s own, which he also wrote in his notebook, underlining several times the ones he considered most important.
After opening prayers, appeals for protection from Satan and his vile machinations, and entreaties that his supporters be spared eternal damnation, the man in the
galabeya
began a rousing discourse. He spoke of the need to verify every word one utters, and insisted that a believer’s behavior and decisions could not be built upon doubt. He didn’t say a word without supporting it with passages from the scripture, and he won most people over, especially those who had come from beyond the queue for the first time. Many wept during the lesson, including Um Mabrouk. She realized that much of her bad luck wasn’t due to God’s anger with her personally, but with humanity as a whole, due to those who had forsaken religion’s teachings, and given in to Satan’s whispers. She cried harder as the man sonorously recited a passage from the Greater Book that cautioned against telling untruths about others or passing on false rumors, and when he explained the passage, she felt that his speech was meant for her. Her tears streamed down her face, and she swore to herself repentantly that she’d abandon the cell-phone boycott and instead only blacklist the candy factory, since she’d seen with her own eyes the candies that Shalaby had destroyed. The man in the
galabeya
imparted
some of his own theological opinions on the fatwa, too. He said it was the right of a father—and those of a father’s rank and position—to watch over his children, using all available means. This could not be considered an infringement of their privacy, he added, and ended his speech by saying that honest citizens had nothing to hide from their guardians.
Ines appeared at the end of the lesson wearing a loose white veil that fell halfway down her stomach, concealing her breasts. After people had dispersed from the front of the queue and crowded around the man, she tried to pass on the lesson’s advice to the woman with the short hair, who stood watching from a distance. She hoped to dissuade her from continuing the campaign, but wasn’t met with any success. The woman with the short hair redoubled her efforts, and the next day she printed oppositional leaflets responding to the allegations made by the man in the
galabeya
, and declared that she would continue the campaign. Ehab had helped her draft the text, and alongside her statement they’d included another passage from the Greater Book, which urged people to respect and defend personal privacy. He wrote a hard-hitting and well-researched article about the campaign—its grounds and implications, and how many people joined each week—but the newspaper didn’t print it. Instead, they gave him a stern warning about “fabricating the news.” The editor in chief lectured him on how necessary it was to strive for accuracy and honesty in everything he wrote. Then he warned Ehab against giving in to ambition and trying to achieve professional or financial gains at the expense of journalistic ethics and principles.
The man in the
galabeya
intensified his lessons in response to the leaflets, making each lesson longer than the last. Shortly afterward, he was overheard speaking on his cell phone, while
picking at the toes of his right foot, repeating that he’d done all he could. He told the person on the other end that he wanted to buy a horse and ride up and down the queue, from north to south, so he could give several lessons a day. He could disseminate the fatwa, temper the influence of the woman with the short hair, and achieve a greater heavenly reward. He was also heard confirming that the ban on cars entering the street would stay in place for months, perhaps even years, and lamenting that his feet didn’t allow him to walk very far.
The Gate’s Response
Tarek spent many fitful nights experimenting with all sorts of sedatives and sleeping pills until his colleagues commented on the dangerous quantities he was requesting from the pharmacy. He ignored them, his mind still preoccupied with Yehya’s fate, so consumed by his predicament that at one point he swallowed half a strip of pills in one go. But still, he couldn’t sleep. Sabah, who was temporarily managing the nurses, noticed his distress and took it upon herself to keep him away from patients, especially on the days when he arrived at the hospital with dark circles under his eyes. She watched him surreptitiously, and then went to him and reminded him of that strange official visit he’d received the morning after the Disgraceful Events. She revealed that she knew a lot about his patient, the one named Yehya Gad el-Rab Saeed—quite a lot, in fact. But despite all that she knew, she’d chosen to keep her mouth shut and his secret safe. Now she held something over him. She knew that if he noticed any misbehavior from her after that, he wouldn’t dare mention it. It was in their mutual interest to work together, for one to erase the other’s tracks.
Sabah immediately took advantage of Tarek’s leniency toward her. She left work early that day, while Tarek headed to the plush sofa in the corner of his office, stretched out, and closed his eyes. He plunged into a desperate struggle for sleep, pressing against the back of the sofa, then turning over and facing it, bending his knees and curling into a fetal position, then flipping onto his back, stretching his legs over the arm-rest,
and staring up at the ceiling. When met with failure, as he was every time he tried to sleep now, he got up. He went over to his desk, picked up the key to the bottom drawer, and pulled out the file. Its papers were worn and tattered from how often he’d handled them.
The fifth document contained nothing more than a large box as long and wide as the page itself, yellow like all the other pages. It didn’t contain a single word and remained empty and pristine. So many times he’d hoped to open the file and find a sentence or two printed there, the way all the other papers he read over and over were inexplicably updated. But he knew that this one would remain blank, would wait for Yehya to receive either a permit to remove the bullet or an official rejection. A permit for the operation was practically hopeless at this point. And if he received a rejection, the file would be closed and sealed with red tape forever.
The box merged with the Gate in his mind, the resemblance overpowering. Vast and vague, able to contain so much. Everything in his world was determined by the Gate, bound to its decisions. His future depended on it, as did Yehya’s life, his friends’ lives, the lives of countless others. Whether he slept or lay awake, was unperturbed or miserable, everything depended on the Gate—even his work, which had been affected by the closure of the radiology department. And now Sabah was blackmailing him, forcing him into line with her. There was no question that life was more restrictive now, though they’d promised the exact opposite when the Gate first appeared and everyone had rejoiced. They’d said the Gate was going to make everything easier, that it would bring peace, joy, and security to each and every citizen. He was a citizen, a dutiful one, too, but now it was clear that these promises had been
empty. The space on the page grew wider before his eyes, encompassing him, as if to swallow him whole and imprison him within it. His head dropped and his eyelids began to close, and then he impulsively turned the paper over, buried his head in his arms, and fell asleep.
Amani woke up early. She picked out a plain pair of jeans and a jacket that wouldn’t draw attention, but she was also careful not to look as if she were poor or in a precarious situation. Public officials had a distaste for serving people poor like themselves, even in a hospital like Zephyr, where things should have been different. Standing before the mirror, she rehearsed the manner she used with customers at work, settled on a tone that would sway the official, and practiced a small, friendly smile on her thin lips. Reassured by her appearance, she left the apartment.
