II.
With its steel and glass towers, Cairo was by far one of the most
modern cities in the Middle East.
But within its confines, the fires of Islam
threaten to consume every last vestige of Western influence.
With the coming of sunset, most Cairenes rushed
about to go home or to a mosque, called to prayer by the muzzein
whose haunting calls, eerily amplified by reverb-filled speakers,
echoed throughout the city.
Most Cairenes, but not all of them...
In the ultramodern kitchen of a high-rise luxury condominium
overlooking the Nile River, 70-year-old Scotch whiskey was being
poured into a shot glass. It was quickly thrown back by Tahir Amina,
a middle-aged tall, stocky man with dark features and wiry black hair
that was slowly receding. He wore a white linen dress shirt and
slacks, indicative of the finest tailoring Switzerland had to
offer.
Sitting at the kitchen table across from him was
his best friend, Rahman Abdul-Kasim, who was shorter, lighter
complexioned and had thick straight black hair and a mustache. Unlike
his ambassador friend, Rahman's attire was more comfortable
consisting of a loose, striped tunic and baggy white pants.
As Tahir began to pour another shot, Rahman
expressed his concern. "You had better watch
yourself Tahir. I doubt even your international connections could
save you if you are caught stinking drunk.* "
Tahir left the shot glass on the table, his
expression becoming more reflective.
"I suppose you are right Rahman. I cannot bear the
thought of Mayet being orphaned."
"By the way, where is Fatimah? I thought she was
taking care of Mayet while you were away."
At the mention of his sister-in-law's
name, Tahir bristled with rage.
"Damnable witch!"
"Why do you say that? She seemed nice
enough."
"Because she converted Mayet, that's
why."
A large archway led from the kitchen into the living room, which
was bright, airy and dotted with rich oak pieces, accentuated by warm
colors. The dark blue-green rug gave the room a deeper feeling, much
like the murky waters of the nearby life-giving river.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor with her back
against the plush sofa, a thin girl wearing a long white nightshirt
was transfixed by the televised images of the recent tragedy.
"...Chetkovsky was shot and killed within moments by
a fellow officer, Corp. Vladimir Ustanov. Russian officials are
baffled by the attack which was apparently without
motives."
Mayet suddenly realized what the time was
and stiffened with surprise. She ran down the hall toward her
bedroom, long dark curls trailing behind her.
Tahir and Rahman watched her from the kitchen.
Tahir's expression was tired.
"You see, Rahman. What am I to do."
The light blue walls inside her room were covered with an
assortment of star charts and intricate tapestries. Prominent was a
framed autographed photo of Sultan Salkman Al-Saud, a rather dashing
man who was the first Saudi Arabian in space. It was Mayet's dream to
one day fly to the heavens, but until that day came, she found
comfort in the visions of those touched by the mysticism of Islam, to
her the spiritual equivalent of reaching the stars.
After performing her ablutions in the small
adjoining bathroom, Mayet returned to her room, kneeling down upon a
simple straw mat set before a small altar containg a dish of water
and three white candles. The wall was facing west toward Mecca.
Bowing down low she recited in a hushed tone,
"Glory be to my Lord most august."
She then touched her forehead to the ground and
said, "Glory be to my Lord most high."
Outside her bedroom window, the first lights of
the night began to twinkle in the violet-tinged evening sky over the
western desert.
* Translated from Egyptian.
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