The day the leader was killed

Muhtashimi Zayed

I dream of my father, my mother, and my sister Mahasin. I even once beheld them in a parachute floating above my head. Has perchance the time to depart drawn close? Is it time that the old man spared the country the cost of his pension? I’m in good health in spite of Sulayman Mubarak’s evil eye! Health is ailment enough. So said the Messenger of God. O Lord! Thy worshipper is waiting. At any moment he expects to hear the knell of parting day, and he shall welcome the caller with all due respect. O Lord, may everything end well! Protect me from pain and infirmity. I thank Thee for a long and happy life. Suffice it that I have not harmed a single soul in the world of ours replete with harm. I have spent my old days strolling amid Thy words, Thy prophets, and Thy saints. Earlier I braved the vicissitudes of Thy world. Worship is now my form of exercise, songs my entertainment, and lawful food my enjoyment. The feast comes along adorned with autumnal dewdrops. White clouds gather over the somber River Nile and the towering evergreen trees. These kinds of days are few and far between in the life of this shattered family. Fawwaz relaxes in his gallabiya, Hanaa combs her white hair whilst Elwan is busy shaving, getting ready to go out.

“Children, we’re finally gathered together as one happy family!” I cried joyfully, looking at them one by one.

“A drop of rest in a sea of fatigue,” said Fawwaz in his loud voice.

“Had things been different, we would’ve gone off to the Qanater Gardens.”

“An idea quite out of keeping with the times. Actually, it’s a crazy idea.”

“We eat and sleep. That’s what’s left of the feast.”

“And you, Elwan?”

“I’ll walk over to the Café.”

“Gossip as usual!” said Fawwaz with a smile.

“Once again, the feast coincides with another festive occasion — Victory Day,” I added.

“Victory and prison,” added Elwan ironically.

“Nothing ever remains the same. There’s always something new under the sun,” I said good-humoredly.

“Really! Long live patience and let’s just keep waiting!”

“A new oil dig or the discovery of an unknown river in the desert,” mused Fawwaz.

“Or the outbreak of a revolution,” said Elwan.

“Does revolution mean more than just added destruction?” surmised Fawwaz.

“To make matters even worse than they are!” cried Elwan sarcastically.

They know nothing of revolutions. They haven’t even heard of them. The hired storyteller has told them a false, untrue story. The poor teacher begins his lesson with the treacherous question: What were the causes of the failure of the 1919 revolution?

Goddamn bastards! Have you no drop of decency left? Prison guards… worshipers of Nero… There goes Elwan waving to us as he goes by. Off he goes, burdened by his own disappointment and that of his generation.

“Let’s watch the celebrations,” said Hanaa, switching on the television set.

The general atmosphere is one of immense joy. The President walks by, surrounded by a luminous halo like that of the Night of Fate, clad in his commander’s uniform and the king’s scepter in his hand. Hordes of dignitaries follow.

“He’s ever so pleased with himself,” said Hanaa innocently.

“Today’s his day,” I said.

“He’s happy and deserves to he so,” said Fawwaz. “He’s lost so much since September fifth,” he added sorrowfully.

A ground and air parade all at once: a rare sight, not likely to happen again.

“We would see the army only on Mahmal Day,” I said in a voice echoing from the past.

“Look, Father, that’s a whole other world.”

“His face is all pink as though he’s smeared it with rouge,” said Hanaa with a laugh.

The army units go by and so does time. I start to feel lethargic and sleepy. Then suddenly I wake up at a strange point in time. History and time corner me, saying: That is how the events you skimmed through in history books took place. And now it’s happening right here in the living room. The television screen becomes blurred and an unusual commotion follows: voices are heard and then a blackout.

“Fawwaz, is there anything wrong with the television set?”

“Nothing wrong with the set. I don’t know what happened.”

“Something odd. I don’t feel comfortable,” said Hanaa in a worried tone.

“Me too,” added Fawwaz.

“Is…?“ I asked.

“God only knows, Father. Pretty soon we’ll know everything.”

“God protect us!” I said from the bottom of my heart.