Chicago by Alaa Aswany (story books to read .TXT) 📕

and was immediately assailed by cold wind, laden with flakes of snow. She backed off and tightened the heavy woolen scarf around her face and put her hands, already protected with fur-lined gloves, in her coat pockets to preserve as much heat as she could. She moved fast, as if to prevent herself from hesitating. The street was dark and totally empty and snow covered everything. She dashed at top speed toward the train station, deliberately not looking around. She felt her heart pounding hard, and terrifying apprehension assailed her: What if someone attacked me now or abducted me under the threat of armed violence? She began to recite the last two chapters of the Qur’an as she increased her speed until she finally made it to the train station. She had to go ten stations, then change trains and go another ten stations to get to the address she had memorized by heart.

The train passengers at that hour were a mix of black, Latino, and Asian cleaning crews who cleaned offices before employees arrived, and vagrants who had spent the night drinking. Shaymaa sat in a faraway seat next to the window, deliberately not looking around. She was frightened of the drunks, who didn’t stop shouting and laughing while they filled the whole car with the smell of stale alcohol. Her mind was foggy, like the surface of a mirror covered with steam, as if what she saw were unreal, as if she were dreaming. She opened her handbag and took out the small Qur’an and began to read in a soft voice, “‘I take refuge in God from Satan who deserves to be stoned. In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful. Ya Sin. By the Wise Koran, thou art truly among the Envoys on a straight path; the sending down of the All-mighty, the All-wise, that thou mayest warn a people whose fathers were never warned, so they are heedless. The Word has never been realized against most of them, yet they do not believe. Surely We have put on their necks fetters up to the chin, so their heads are raised; and We have put before them a barrier and behind them a barrier; and We have covered them, so they do not see.’”

The effect of the Qur’anic verses on her was so strong she cried and her tears flowed, wetting the Qur’an. She turned her face away, got close to the window until she could feel the cold glass and began to whisper, “Please, God. There is no God but You, may You be exalted. I have been among the sinners, so please forgive me. I seek Your mercy, so please do not leave me to my own devices for the blink of an eye. Alive! Eternal!”

She changed trains and finished the second leg of her journey. When she left the station she had to walk a short distance to reach the center. It was daylight already. She hurried up until she saw the large sign still lit from last night: CHICAGO AID CENTER. She noticed on the opposite sidewalk a group of blacks and whites of various ages and some clergymen. They were demonstrating, carrying signs saying STOP THE MASSACRE and SHAME ON THE MURDERERS.

They began to wave the signs and shout more enthusiastically, as if performing a religious ritual. Shaymaa got more worried and hastened her steps toward the door of the center, but her appearance and the veil and Islamic garb apparently heightened the enthusiasm of the demonstrators. They got more noisy, then began shouting from the opposite sidewalk, “Ruthless murderer!”

“Are you Muslim?”

“Does your God allow the killing of children?”

Shaymaa avoided looking toward them, but she was trembling with fright and raced to cover the few steps remaining before the entrance. They began to throw tomatoes and raw eggs at her. An egg passed right next to her head then exploded on the wall. Several policemen standing in front of the center hurried toward the crowd to contain the situation. Shaymaa crossed the entryway quickly and was met by a black receptionist with an encouraging smile. “Don’t pay any attention to those crazies.”

Shaymaa looked at her and asked, panting, “What do they want?”

“They are antiabortion groups. They know we operate in the early morning, so they come to make trouble.”

“Why don’t the police arrest them?”

“The law permits abortion, but it also permits peaceful demonstration. Don’t worry about it. They are a bunch of fascist fanatics, no more and no less. I think you have an appointment with Dr. Karen?”

“Yes.”

“Come with me.”

Dr. Karen was a slim young woman in her late twenties. She had long chestnut-colored hair coming down on her elegant white coat. She received Shaymaa very warmly; she shook her hand, embraced and kissed her, then smiled at her and whispered, like a mother coddling her little daughter, “How are you? Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.”

This sudden display of kindness was too much for Shaymaa, who started crying as Dr. Karen kept calming her down. She asked her to wash her face. Shaymaa went to the bathroom and came back, and sat before the doctor, who gave her some papers, saying, “This is some necessary paperwork. This is some information about you that we need you to fill out; this is a statement that you agree to the operation that we need you to sign. This is a cost list. Do you have a credit card?”

Shaymaa shook her head. The doctor asked in a matter-of-fact voice, “Can you pay cash?”

The paperwork took about half an hour. She spent the following half hour undergoing medical tests: a urine test, a blood pressure test, and a sonogram. In the end, Shaymaa took off her clothes with the help of the nurses, and put the blue hospital gown on her naked body.

When Dr. Karen held her hand, she noticed that she was shaking. “Don’t be afraid. It’s not a dangerous operation.”

“I’m not afraid of death.”

“What’re you afraid of then?”

Shaymaa fell silent