59 4 He was obviously under extreme stress as he was talking to Ismail. “What do you mean, you don’t know where she is? What prison? What are they doing to her? You can’t abandon your sister like this. Do something. I’m going to do something.” Ismail glanced at him, feeling rather agitated and helpless. He said nothing. Ashraf left the office early. This was unreal. She couldn’t just disappear like that without a single word. He went home and put on his best suit. He was boiling with fury. He left his home determined to see a senior army general whose name he had heard from a friend of his aunt’s family. The army man was an assistant to the minister of the interior. Ashraf asked to see him, introducing himself to the secretary as working in the British Embassy in Cairo and saying he was bringing a message from the embassy. Ashraf produced his British passport as evidence. He was allowed to enter the office of the minister’s assistant. Facing the man, Ashraf demanded firmly, “Where is Lubna Thaabit?” The man looked amazed. “Who’s she? And who are you, anyway?” “She is a journalist, and I am a human being. How can a person be detained for merely thinking, for merely having a different opinion?” The general stared at him for some time, then said quietly, “You lied. You’re not from the embassy. You just happen to have a British passport. You’ve cheated your way in here. Please leave with no further trouble.” “I just want to understand,” Ashraf said firmly. 60 T h e P i s t a c h i o S e l l e r “You are just a fraudulent Egyptian citizen. I have no time for impostors . Leave before I bring charges against you.” “Why? Why has she been arrested?” “We object to foreign intervention in our internal affairs.” “You were addressing me as an Egyptian.” “I don’t know who this girl is. If someone is arrested it’s because they’re creating a disturbance at a time when we need people to stand together to achieve peace.” “And what has Lubna got to do with that?” “I don’t know. She may be advocating antipeace policies. Or maybe she was preaching some deviant ideas. Anyway, we are at a very critical point now. The safety and security of our country are the most important things. All detainees will be released soon.” “I don’t know where she is.” The man stood up, saying, “I don’t have time for this. She is certainly with the other detainees. Visits will be allowed soon. Leave this office now, please.” It was a useless meeting, Ashraf thought. When he left the building he was furious. He felt confused in a way he never had before. It was as if he was experiencing his Egyptianness for the first time. He sat in front of the TV. His eyes were glued to the car race on the TV screen, but he wasn’t really watching. In his mind he could see terrifying and horrible images of Lubna in the women’s prison of Torrah: the toilets, the food, the horrible smells, the boiling heat, and the humiliation. All that humiliation, and here he was, totally helpless—incapable of helping her. He held the pistachio plate, glanced at it, and then dumped the pistachios on the table. He stared at the pistachios scattered all over, with each piece choosing a spot for itself. He felt a terrifying loneliness that reminded him of the loneliness of his childhood and adolescence. It brought back his loneliness in the British boarding schools and his feeling of estrangement. With the passage of time, his loneliness became something he was used to rather than something he hated. And since it was familiar, loneliness became likable. He felt that was the case with every human situation. It had to pass through the three stages: hate, familiarity, and then love. [44.203.219.117] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 01:52 GMT) T h e J o u r n e y 61 Take me, for instance: I used to hate archaeology. I then got used to it and later just loved it. But I was so different from Ashraf. Poor him: he had an amazing ability to dislike everything. When the telephone rang he replied in a confident voice, “Yes.” “Ashraf, my darling...