ZEPHYR HOSPITAL
Amani woke up early. She picked out a plain pair of jeans and a jacket that wouldn’t draw attention, but she was also careful not to look as if she were poor or in a precarious situation. Public officials had a distaste for serving people poor like themselves, even in a hospital like Zephyr, where things should have been different. Standing before the mirror, she rehearsed the manner she used with customers at work, settled on a tone that would sway the official, and practiced a small, friendly smile on her thin lips. Reassured by her appearance, she left the apartment.
A guard from the Concealment Force stopped her at the hospital doors and asked for her ID. He directed her to the Investigations and Instructions Desk, where she left her ID card and took a temporary one. She headed to the main sign with its list of names and arrows, and from there toward the surgery department, following signs that led her down a long corridor with exits to other departments branching off on both sides.
The floor was covered with what looked like rubber; it was dark and an indeterminate color, and the ceiling loomed high above her. The dull gray walls almost seemed to hold the shadows of people who had passed before her, and appeared even more imposing as they towered above her. She felt a coldness in the air, and shivers rippled through her body despite the sweat that was beginning to form along her hairline. Several doctors in white coats with distinctive badges walked past her whispering, but she didn’t see the doctor who had visited her at the office, and was reassured a little by this. She looked behind her; she was the only one in the corridor. The last sign pointed toward the surgery department, and she turned down the corridor, then continued until she reached the secretary’s office, where she stopped and summoned all the courage she possessed.
She stood before the official in silence; he was busy with a thick notebook open in front of him. Her eyes swept over the writing on the forms, searching for a word about Yehya, but she wasn’t used to reading upside down. He noticed her attempts and closed the book quickly, and raising his hand at her, he asked what she wanted by standing there. Her quick, forced smile seemed to have no effect.
“Good morning. I need a copy of an X-ray that was brought here about two months ago.”
“What’s your name?”
“Actually, it’s not under my name, it’s for Yehya Gad el-Rab Saeed.”
“What’s the relation?”
“He’s my cousin — my mother’s sister’s son.”
“Do you have authorization to pick it up?”
“I don’t, actually … I lost it.”
“We can’t just hand over an X-ray to anyone who walks in here. Not even if belongs to him, not without authorization.”
“But he really needs it, the doctor asked him for it, said he needed to get it, as quickly as possible, and it’s so hard for him to wait for another X-ray, there are so many people ahead of him, and he’ll have to wait maybe a whole month until he gets his turn … Please, will you help? I’ll do anything.”
He looked at her with disinterest, and then opened the notebook again and looked through the names. He asked her if she could remember the date Yehya was admitted, give or take a week or two. She could, but when he searched again he realized that the time period she’d told him included four days that hadn’t been entered in the book. His eyes narrowed, almost maliciously, and he stood up and reached over to a huge cabinet. With difficulty, he removed a medium-size file wedged between the massive folders and ran his finger down a list of names on the front.
“His name is here. He was injured in the Disgraceful Events. You should have said that from the start.”
“I just came for the X-ray, to be honest, that’s all … I don’t know anything about anything else … Do you think I could have it? Please?”
“Of course not. First of all, you need a special form, particularly in cases like this, signed by the doctor who treated him here, and then you have to bring me authorization from the director himself, stamped by him and by the hospital. And secondly, ya madam, I don’t have the X-ray. It’s in the filing department on the fifth floor, and just so you know, no one’s permitted up there.”
The color had left her face; the official knew how Yehya had been injured. Her attempt at naïveté had failed, but she maintained her composure, refusing to be defeated so quickly, and decided to see it through to the end. She asked him for the name of the doctor attending to Yehya’s case and where he could be found. He ripped a scrap of paper from the corner of a roll that happened to be nearby, scribbled something down, folded it, and held it out to her. He bade her goodbye with a mocking glare, and she hurried away. She didn’t open the piece of paper until she was far from the window and sure she was no longer in range of his sneering gaze, which felt like it pierced right through her. Dr. Safwat Kamel Abdel Azeem — Fourth Floor, Special Cases. She put the scrap of paper in the inside pocket of her purse and took out her cell phone, and saw several missed calls, all from the same number. She called the number back, and an unfamiliar voice picked up on the other end.
“Amani? It’s Ehab, Yehya and Nagy’s friend. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Perfect timing, though. Are you in the hospital?”
“I’m out front. Do you need any help?”
“I think so.”
“Right, I’ll meet you at the entrance. I’m wearing a light-blue shirt and sunglasses, and I’ll be holding a newspaper.”
Amani quickened her pace back along the corridor to the lobby. She felt a sense of relief to no longer be dealing with this alone. She watched the entrance from afar, pretending to be talking on the phone so that none of the staff would ask her what she was doing or offer to show her how she may have strayed. Ehab appeared a few minutes later. He walked over to the Investigations and Instructions Desk and showed them his ID card, but after standing in front of the official for what seemed like an age, he became obviously exasperated with the conversation. Amani began to worry, and her heart beat faster when she saw Ehab tussle with the man and the other officials behind the counter.
She watched several guards rush over, shouting at Ehab, and they didn’t lead him away so much as carry him by his hands and feet to the hospital door before throwing him out. A tinny announcement echoed through the lobby, broadcast over the intercom on repeat, asking for her, Amani Sayed Ibrahim, to come to the Investigations and Instructions Desk immediately. She was now back at square one, or maybe even square zero. The Concealment Force was trained to catch people trying to infiltrate the place, and if she responded to the announcement, they would throw her out, too. Wildly, she wished the official would change his mind and let her have the X-ray, whether out of sympathy or complicity, but she knew that was impossible. She needed to act decisively, fearlessly. She didn’t have time to weigh her options, and there was no way of knowing what was best. She abandoned the idea that Ehab would return and pushed hope of the official’s sudden kindness far from her mind. If she wanted the X-ray, she would have to get it on her own.
She looked around. No one was following her, and she walked toward the elevator as the announcement was repeated for the tenth time. She pushed the button and slowly stepped out onto the fifth floor when the doors opened. Her eyes wandered across the large, barren space, which looked like it had been emptied of everything it had once contained. No people, no chairs, not even signs like those she’d followed on the ground floor, past hospital wards, offices, and officials. Nothing at all. She studied the high ceiling as the elevator doors rolled into motion and closed behind her. There was a doorway connected to the lobby, and she cautiously slipped through it and walked through the narrow corridors until she noticed a closed door. This, she suddenly realized, was what she had come for. Next to the door was a pink plaque made of some strange, shiny metal, and engraved on it were the words DEPARTMENT OF CRITICAL BULLET FILES. She grabbed the cold metal door handle, but there wasn’t enough time; the elevator opened again and angry voices clamored over one another. She couldn’t understand a thing they were saying, but she recognized a face in the confusion, the one face she’d hoped never to see at a moment like this.