Chapter 12

CAIRO

20th of Jumaada al-awal 1417

(October 3, 1996)

Khozem sneaked into Cairo with a mission to see Rashida. He ignored the many notes written by Farrukh. He arrived at the El Kabir as the temperature blistered.

“Not you again,” said the cook. “You are not permitted here. You cause nothing but problems...”

“My good man, I’m not here to see you. I have come to see your waitress.”

“No you don’t,” as he flipped boneless chicken. “You are not allowed here. Get back to the university whoever you are. This is a place of business.”

“I just need to see her.”

“Out of this place. I have enough problems.”

“I will not leave until I see her.”

“I’ll call the police,” as the heavy cook held a spatula in his hand.

“Planning on using that?” asked Khozem

“Not unless I have to,” threatened the cook.

The El Kabir was empty after the lunch rush. Khozem spotted the old men in their same clothes playing chess.

“Stop it!” yelled Rashida from behind him, dressed in those brown overalls.

Khozem could not speak.

“Calm down,” she said to the cook.

“I want him out of here, now!” yelled the cook.

“I’ll speak with him for a short time, and then I’ll return to shelving the deliveries.”

“I want him out now. There’s too much work to be done. You come in late every day. You have a bad attitude, and now you want some young boy taking more time out of work? Forget it. Get back in there and shelve the food.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I have plenty of time to shelve the food.”

“Either he goes or you go.”

“Your business would drop to a slow crawl. No one would come. You’d be out of business in a month.”

“I can get any tramp to take your place.”

“What did you call her?” asked Khozem.

“She’s a tramp, nothing but a tramp.”

“Take that back, or I’ll climb over that grill and plant your face in it.”

“Come and get me,” said the cook with his spatula.

Rashida begged them to stop.

“You’re fired,” yelled the cook finally. “Leave the apron on your way out.”

“Well that’s just fine,” said Rashida as she peeled the brown canvas from her body, uncovering a pair of jeans and a blue shirt. She threw the apron at the cook and grabbed Khozem’s hand.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“And don’t come back!” shouted the cook.

They were familiar with being in the street. The cars beeped, and the pedestrians stared. Khozem held on to her hand like a befuddled schoolboy. The sight of Rashida in a pair of jeans and tee-shirt blinded him. He could only gaze. He wanted to touch her skin, not only her hand, but along the arms, her lips, her waist. Khozem, however, seemed confused. Kissing was one thing, but now he touched her hand.

“You just had to come back, didn’t you?” said Rashida. “First, I’m kicked out of the university, and now I’m out of a job, and all I have is the hand of this immature, impetuous fool. What more do you want from me? Haven’t you interfered enough? This is my life your toying with. Yes, my life.”

“What about yesterday?”

“What about it? We kissed, and then I hit you. So what? We move on. It was nothing.”

“It was something to me.”

“Okay, maybe it wasn’t ‘nothing,’ but it wasn’t that important either. We move on.”

“I can’t move on. I went back to the campus yesterday, and I locked myself in my room, and dove into bed, even put my pillow over my head. I tried to do my training with Dr. Yamani, but that didn’t work...”

“You mean the famous psychologist Dr. Yamani?”

“He wanted to know too many things.”

“What did he get out of you?”

“That I was with a woman.”

“Great. That’s just great. Don’t tell me you fed him my name.”

“I think he knows already.”

“Oh Allah,” cried Rashida.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t you see?”

“I can see just fine. You need to get over this.”

“I know.”

“Do it then. Although we have crossed paths, our lives were never meant to be together.”

“How do you know? Who suddenly gave you this wisdom?”

“It’s easy to see. What does the next bavasaab want with someone like me? I have no job, I’ve been expelled, my thoughts are too radical, the only friend I have is my roommate, and even she does not like me. I’m flattered by all of this. I appreciate how you think of me, but Khozem, we live in two very different worlds...”

“So what? We all live in different worlds. We pass one another pretending that it’s too tough to be together, when the opposite is true. We have met because of Allah’s doing. Our kiss was something sanctioned by Allah. The urge to touch you comes from the heavens, and I’m not about to let it go. I’ve had nothing else on my mind. I try hard to forget you. I even went so far as to curse the day I met you, but none of it works. I just keep thinking of you, as though I’m on some vicious carousel, spinning, never stopping.”

“What would happen? Think about that. The least I would do is screw up your future. Your parents wouldn’t want me. Your marriage has already been set. What would your parents say?”

“To hell with my parents. This is my life, and not theirs.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Your life belongs to everyone. You will be our leader. You have a responsibility for everyone’s well being, definitely not your own. All these thoughts are selfish thoughts, too selfish. I would only cause you, your family, and the entire Middle East a great deal of trouble.”

“I never knew you thought this through.”

“All I see is my heart breaking and a huge scandal on our hands.”

“What if I forsook my position?”

“Now you’re really talking crazy.”

“Seriously.”

“You would do that?”

“I just might.”

“Please, Khozem. Don’t do this, especially with that famous psychologist on campus.”

“I don’t want to go back.”

“You must.”

“I can’t and I won’t. I want to spend my time with you.”