Upper Egyptian, I’ve had treatment for it and can now use cutlery!”
Abd el-Aziz regaled him with stories of his visits to Cairo when he had been well off. Comanus started inviting him for dinner from time to time, and Abd el-Aziz would return the invitation whenever he could. One time, he invited Comanus for kebab in the popular Hussein district. He also started bringing in food cooked by Umm Said, which they would share in the storeroom. She would send mulukhiya with rabbit, or roast duck stuffed with onion and served with creamy baked savory rice.
Today, as Comanus entered the storeroom, Abd el-Aziz sprang to his feet as usual. Comanus greeted him, took off his jacket and pulled on black satin protectors over his shirtsleeves. There was some heavy lifting to be done. Abd el-Aziz went up to the bar and brought back a crate of empty beer bottles. Then he took a crate of whiskey to the restaurant. When he returned to the storeroom, he stood examining the list of instructions Comanus had written up for him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Comanus asked him to make two cups of tea, and when Abd el-Aziz brought the tea, Comanus told him to sit down and offered him a cigarette. Abd el-Aziz sipped the tea and took a drag of his cigarette. Comanus returned to the subject: “You don’t look yourself. Please tell me what the matter is.”
Abd el-Aziz leaned back in his chair and replied in a faint voice, as if talking to himself, “I’m a bit overtired, boss.”
Comanus looked somewhat worried. “What has brought this on?”
“Finding the money to keep my children in school is proving a bit of a yoke around my neck . . .”
“I told you so at the beginning, but you didn’t listen to me!”
“God knows, I have done everything within my power.”
“You rent a large apartment that costs a quarter of your salary. You could have chosen a smaller, affordable one. Just do what you can afford, and things go easier.”
“Boss, our house in Daraw was four hundred meters over two floors, not to mention the date orchard and guesthouse. After living like that, how could I coop up my children in one room?”
“We all have to live through our share of ups and downs.”
“I couldn’t do that to children who bear the name Gaafar.”
Comanus fell quiet and appeared to be thinking. He felt for Abd el-Aziz. He looked at him, and in his straightforward and well-meaning way, he made a suggestion, “Listen. I can give you an advance on your salary, and you can take as long as you need to pay it back.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I need your help for something else.”
“If it’s anything I can do, just tell me.”
“I want some extra hours. After the storeroom closes, I could go work in the bar or the restaurant. Every extra piastre would help.”
Comanus scratched his beard and said, “It’s not so easy. You would need the authorization of Mr. Wright.”
“Then I can go and see him.”
“Mr. Wright is not particularly fond of Egyptians, and even if he were to give you the authorization, there’s still another problem. In the restaurant or the bar, you’d be working under Alku’s supervision, and he is very tricky.”
“Well, that would simply be a work relationship.”
“You don’t know Alku! He likes to humiliate anyone under him.”
Abd el-Aziz remained silent for a moment, then raised his head and asked Comanus, “Please, boss. Give it a try.”
SALEHA
The following day, I stayed in bed. My mother brought me endless cups of hot mint tea with lemon as well as laxative pills that I could hardly get down. She made me a piece of poached chicken and a green salad for my lunch and urged me to eat something. By the end of the day, she had stopped asking me how I felt but still came into my bedroom from time to time for a quick chat. I felt that she knew I was feigning sickness and was putting me to the test.
In the evening, Kamel came in and kissed my head. He smiled and told me, “I’ve paid your school fees today. Here’s the receipt. You can go to school again tomorrow.”
He put the receipt on the bedside table and got up to leave, but I grabbed hold of his hand and said, “Kamel. Just a moment.”
“All right.”
“What is going on with our father?”
“Everything’s fine with him, praise be to God.”
“Why didn’t he pay the fees?”
“I told you already. He must just have forgotten.”
“Kamel. Please tell me the truth.”
I burst out crying. The tension was more than I could bear. Kamel placed his hand on my head to calm me. I kept on asking him, and he nodded and said quietly, “The fact is that our father is going through a financial crisis.”
“Isn’t our father a rich man?”
“Of course he is, but this year’s crops didn’t sell well.”
I kept looking at him in silence. He said gently, “Don’t worry about such things. They happen to everyone.”
“Oh, but it must be so hard on our father.”
“The crisis will pass, please God.”
“Isn’t there something I can do to help?”
“If you want to help him, then look to your studies. What will help our father the most is to see us doing well.”
I looked at him and tried to smile. He leaned over, planted another kiss on my forehead and left the room.
The following day, when I went to school, nothing was the same. Everything had changed. My feelings toward myself, toward my girlfriends, the way I dealt with the teachers. I felt as if I was hiding the truth from everyone, as if I had a secret life apart from the open life with my schoolmates. I felt inferior to all of them, even those I disliked or considered ugly or at the bottom of the class. They were all better than me because they had not had to stay home until their father paid their fees. I started sleeping fitfully and became completely absentminded and could no longer follow what the teachers were telling us. After two weeks of aimlessness, I started to really worry about my behavior. If I carried on like that, I would end up having to repeat the year, and I kept remembering what Kamel had said to me, “The thing that will help our father the most is to see us doing well.”
I decided to throw myself into my studies. Prayer helped me to get over my melancholy. The moment I did my ablutions, I would feel a sense of calm, and I regained my focus. I set myself a serious and methodical study schedule. Math was like falling off a log for me. For as long as I could remember, I had always loved numbers. They were real and definite, whereas a word could be ambiguous.
