There was no need to surrender to mistrust, he realized, nor was there need to be so stubborn. He trusted Nagy, and Nagy in turn trusted Ehab. Time was moving swiftly, and with it things changed quickly. They could no longer predict what tomorrow would bring, or what future events might throw the world into confusion again. Nagy ordered a cup of coffee and took it with him as he went to look for Ehab, while Yehya left the queue to use the toilet. He walked away slowly and painfully, pressing his palm against his thigh to support his weight. Sweat streamed down his face. It poured down between his stitched brows and spread over his nose and mouth, intensifying the scorching blaze that emanated from his skin, as if his head had become a small sun.
He had to stop every two or three steps to catch his breath and wipe his face, while other people kept moving all around him. Some of those who knew him offered to assist him, while others ignored him, accustomed as they now were to his aversion to chit-chat and unnecessary gossip, and the pauses they left in conversation. The woman with the short hair waved to him and he nodded at her, unable to lift his arm and wave back because of the pain. She ran to catch up and stopped in front of him, out of breath. She inquired after his health and offered him a clean cotton handkerchief, telling him to keep it. Then she asked about his thoughts on the forgotten bag, the catalyst to the conflict that had erupted between her and the man in the galabeya a while back. She wasn’t sure where Yehya stood on the matter, she said, but she presumed he was on her side. From afar she’d noticed he’d developed a relationship with Ehab, the young journalist, the same one who’d intervened to rescue her from the situation she’d stumbled into, and then he’d become involved himself when he’d suggested how they could resolve the matter.
Yehya drew himself up taller at her question and stared at her. He’d completely forgotten about the entire affair. Recent developments and fresh troubles had accumulated around him and he could barely remember what had happened, apart from a few words and hazy images. But this woman seemed to have more than enough time for such things; she was clearly the type who went around sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong, stirring up trouble or chasing after it, until she got what she wanted. He promised her he would discuss it with Ehab, and pointed to his place in the queue to show her where he could usually be found, his expression revealing nothing. His face remained composed as he walked away, but once he had crossed to the other side of the road and was finally alone, he let the pain thunder through him again as he emptied his bladder.
There were dark droplets of blood discoloring his underwear and the pain now gnawed at him harder than before. He’d hoped things wouldn’t work out this way, turning from bad to worse. Tarek had explained so many possible outcomes during their first meeting: the most hopeful was that the bullet might surrender and settle somewhere safe, surrounded by the protective tissue that the body naturally forms around any foreign object that disturbs its natural integrity. Then all these elements would be become one: the bullet, tissue, and various unknown secretions forming a tranquil, untroublesome mass that would stay with him for the rest of his life. But it seemed the bullet had chosen another path, launching an incursion into his intestines, puncturing them and perhaps soon poisoning his blood.
He tried to dispel these unsettling thoughts and replaced them with more uplifting ones: Amani storming the hospital basement, striking down whoever opposed her and returning with the X-ray; Nagy tying Tarek up, then forcing him to perform the operation; an ornate wedding dais at the beginning of the queue, in front of the Gate, and a huge picture of him and Amani placed on the corner instead of the NO ENTRY sign; and finally, the two of them wrapped in a long embrace, lovingly entangled in each other, instead of this uncomfortable silence that had settled between them since his injury. He straightened himself up as much as the pain would allow and decided he would go to Ehab himself.
FOUR
Document No. 4
Patient History
The patient, Yehya Gad el-Rab Saeed, had an ordinary childhood and adolescence; he did not contract any illnesses of note, has not previously undergone surgery, and has no family history of disease. He has suffered episodes of anxiety and irritability, which, during his final years of university, led him to commit certain acts that may be described as rebellious. His supervisors recommended follow-up in this regard. These episodes returned several months after he had graduated and secured appropriate employment; the reason for their recurrence has not been determined, although it is likely they are responsible for certain aspects of his behavior, particularly recent behavior, as he was seen in the square on more than one occasion, when he had no reason to be there. All information relating to this matter has been recorded in his Personnel File.
Records were subsequently requested from his university and workplace, and examination of the observations recorded therein has established that the symptoms observed in the patient offer an incomplete picture, and thus prevent an accurate diagnosis. In addition to anxiety and irritability, other symptoms include an irrational belief that he can alter reality; a clear tendency to act in a socially unacceptable and unhealthy manner; and a sharp, unfriendly manner when interacting with others.
~ ~ ~
The first time Tarek read the document, he had to look up the symptoms to fully understand them, as they were well outside his area of expertise. He read it two or three times, and then it dawned on him that all the episodes mentioned in Document No. 4—episodes that, it was said, Yehya had succumbed to on more than one occasion — coincided with particular events. Some had occurred before the Gate appeared, and others shortly afterward. Tarek knew what had happened to Yehya during the first Disgraceful Events, and knew that Yehya had suffered episodes of pain so severe that they left him immobile, but Tarek hadn’t noticed anything like these emotional episodes or other strange symptoms.
Tarek was interested only in matters relevant to his work as a surgeon: whether Yehya had previously undergone surgery, or had a disease that would prevent further operations. He found himself calling for Sabah and asking her if she had noticed any unusual behavior or symptoms in Yehya when he’d been at the hospital, or whether he’d behaved in any way that might have unsettled or bothered her, but she was quick to dismiss the suggestion and seemed surprised by the question.
He returned to the last paragraph, searching for a detail that might lead him to a possible diagnosis, but found nothing. He contemplated the three additional symptoms, trying them on for size himself. It wasn’t hard: Tarek had certainly done a few things that his colleagues had deemed unacceptable, or at least unwise. Once, he had made an honest mistake while assisting on a difficult surgical operation, and they had called him crazy when he actually admitted it to his boss. As for a “belief that he can alter reality,” it was true that when he was younger he’d been certain he could convince other doctors not to skip their shifts and keep to the schedule like he did … or, at least, as he had done until recent months. He realized that he was on the same path as Yehya, and that one of these days he might merit a document just like this one. He turned the page over, burying it among the other papers, and pushed the file to a far corner of his desk.