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

“Listen, don’t alienate Ahmad Danana. Everything here is in his hands. If he turns against you he can ruin you.”

As soon as I saw Dr. Salah in the morning he said with a smile on his face, “Nagi, your problems don’t seem to end.”

“Why?”

“Danana told me you had a quarrel with him.”

“He’s a liar. All that happened was that he wanted to send a hypocritical telegram to the president and I objected.”

He looked closely at me and said, “Of course I admire your enthusiasm, but is this an issue worth fighting over?”

“Do you want me to sign a document pledging allegiance like the hypocrites in the National Party?”

“Of course not. But don’t waste your energy in these matters. You have a great opportunity for education—don’t waste it.”

“Learning is worthless if I don’t take a stand on what is happening in my country.”

“Learn and get your degree then serve your country as much as you like.”

“Our colleagues at Cairo University who refused to take part in patriotic marches used the same logic. These are solutions that we resort to in order to deceive ourselves, to replace patriotic duty with professional excellence. No, sir. Egypt now needs direct patriotic action more than teachers and accountants. If we don’t demand the people’s right to justice and freedom, no learning will do us any good.”

I was speaking enthusiastically and it seemed I got carried away, because Dr. Salah suddenly looked angry and shouted at me, “Listen, you are here to learn only. If you want to declare a revolution, go back to Egypt.”

I was taken aback by his anger so I kept silent. He took a deep breath then said apologetically, “Please understand me, Nagi. All I want is to help you. You are in one of the biggest and greatest universities in America and this is the opportunity of a lifetime. You were admitted to the department after a battle.”

“A battle?”

“They were reluctant to admit you because you are not a university instructor. I was among those who supported your admission enthusiastically.”

“Thank you.”

“Please don’t let me down.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Dr. Salah sighed in relief then said in a serious tone as he handed me a sheet of paper, “These are my suggestions for the courses you should take.”

“And how about research?”

“Do you like math?”

“I used to get a perfect score in math.”

“Great. How about doing your research on the way calcium is formed in bones? You’d be working with radioactive calcium. A great portion of your research will be based on statistics.”

“Under your supervision?”

“That’s not my specialty. There are only two who work in this area: George Roberts and John Graham.”

“Would you please tell me which one is more appropriate for me?”

“You won’t get along with Dr. Roberts.”

“Please don’t form a bad opinion of me. I can work with any professor.”

“The problem is not you. Dr. Roberts doesn’t like to work with Arabs.”

“Why?”

“He’s just like that. In any case, this should not concern us. Go to Dr. Graham.”

“When?”

He looked at the clock on the wall and said, “You can meet with him now.”

I got up to leave. He smiled and said, “You’ll find him somewhat eccentric, but he is a great professor.”

At the end of the corridor I knocked on Dr. Graham’s office door. His gruff voice said, “Come in.”

I was met by a large cloud of scented pipe tobacco smoke. I looked around to see if there was a window. He said, “Does the smoke bother you?”

“I am a smoker myself.”

“This is the first point of agreement between us.”

He let out a resounding laugh as he exhaled thick smoke. He was reclining on the chair, propping up his feet on the desk in front of him in the American way. I noticed that there was a constant cynical look in his eyes, as if he were watching something amusing. But as soon as he started talking his face became wholly serious. “How can I help you?”

“I hope you’ll supervise my MS thesis,” I said, smiling politely, trying to create a good impression.

“I have a question.”

“Please go ahead.”

“Why bother getting a master’s in histology if you don’t work in a university?”

“Please don’t be surprised at my answer. Actually, I am a poet.”

“A poet?”

“Yes. I’ve published two collections of poetry in Cairo. Poetry is the most important thing in my life, but I have to have a profession to put food on the table. They refused to appoint me at Cairo University because of my political activity. I sued the university, but I don’t think it will go anywhere. Even if I won my lawsuit the university administration could pressure me to quit my job, as has happened with some colleagues. I’d like to get a master’s from Illinois to work for a few years in an Arab Gulf country and save some money, then go back to Egypt and devote myself to literature.”

Graham looked at me then exhaled another cloud of smoke and said, “So, you are studying histology for the sake of literature?”

“Exactly.”

“Strange, but interesting. Listen, I don’t agree to supervise any student before knowing, to some extent, how he thinks. A student’s character for me is more important than what he knows. What are you doing Saturday evening?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“How about having dinner with me?”

“I’d be delighted.”

CHAPTER 10

For a whole hour, Ra’fat Thabit kept tossing and turning, trying to fall asleep to no avail. The room was dark and the silence profound, interrupted only by the breathing of his wife, Michelle, sleeping next to him. He pulled his body upward and rested his back on the headboard. The events of the day came back to him: it was no ordinary day, and one that he would never forget. Jeff came in the morning and took from him his only daughter. Just like that. Sarah had deserted him to live with her lover. The two lovers seemed extremely happy as they took the suitcases to the car. They were laughing and