The Queue (6 page)

When Tarek arrived, he was as flustered as Sabah had been; he hurried toward them and then stopped in front of them, clearly nervous. He didn’t reach out for a handshake until Amani did.

“I’m Amani, a colleague of Yehya’s,” she said, offering her hand. “I brought him here when he was injured.”

Tarek gave her a quick smile, one that was not welcoming, and led them to his office. Nagy signaled that he would stay where he was. Tarek asked Sabah to bring them tea, and then firmly closed the door behind them.

“Yehya, hello. How are you feeling?”

“I’m good, Doctor, the wound is healing, but it still hurts. It feels like the bullet is moving around in there.”

“They haven’t done the operation yet? You must be here with authorization from the Gate, then, so we can schedule a suitable time?”

“Well, actually, I’ve finished part of the procedure—I submitted
an application to the Booth with all the necessary paperwork, and now I’m just waiting to be granted the permit.”

Although she was annoyed by how formal and unfeeling the conversation was, Amani joined in with a sweet, pleasant smile, and a tone she tried to make as friendly as possible.

“Dr. Tarek, do you think we could start preparing for the operation while we’re waiting for the permit? Everything’s in order, we just have to go through the motions now.”

“I’ll be completely honest with you,” Tarek said. “I’ve done everything I can, and Yehya knows that, but we simply cannot take any steps that have any connection to the operation without proper authorization.”

Amani’s smile became strained, and she leaned forward in her chair as if by moving closer to Tarek she could convince him.

“But from what the doctors at Zephyr Hospital said, and from what you yourself told Yehya right here, he’s in real danger. The longer he waits, the more likely the bullet might tear through his intestines, and you wouldn’t be able to stop the bleeding or do anything about it—isn’t that what you said?”

“The matter is out of my hands, I’m afraid—if I could have done the operation, I would never have postponed it in the first place. The new laws and decrees state that one must have authorization, and it’s impossible to act against the official instructions we receive from the Gate. You both know how it is.”

Amani’s smile evaporated. She raised her voice, reminding him he was a doctor, that his first priority was to help the sick, and he shot back that helping the sick was subject to the law, too; it wasn’t just every man for himself. Yehya intervened before things developed into an all-out shouting match, and gestured to Amani to calm down before turning to Tarek.

“It’s no problem at all, Dr. Tarek. Hopefully I’ll be back
here with the authorization in a few days. If I could just ask you for the X-ray you took—when the Gate opens, I’ll probably need it as proof of my situation.”

Just moments before, Tarek had been able to defend himself with a logical explanation that they couldn’t argue with, but now his voice caught in his throat. Here it was: they had finally arrived at what had kept him awake through countless nights, but still he hadn’t figured out what he was going to say. He stood there, backed up against the desk, stuck there with no way forward and no way out. A sudden thought flashed into his mind; he could say no X-rays were performed in the hospital that day, but then he realized that he had told Yehya everything he’d seen in the X-ray himself. True, the notes he had written down had now vanished, and the X-ray technician no longer had any evidence because the negatives had been seized. And true, no specialist would have had time to write up an independent report due to the chaos and crowds that had engulfed the hospital that night … but Tarek himself knew it had been performed, that it had been here in Yehya’s file, and that Yehya had a right to see it.

He couldn’t lie so brazenly, even if he wanted to. He couldn’t deny what had happened and stand by it. He may have been weak and a coward, but he wasn’t a liar. He’d failed at dealing with problems like this his whole life, though he saw his colleagues doing it all the time, inventing a lie here and another one there, weaving thoroughly fabricated excuses. They often offered to help him do the same, to get out of a predicament or shirk responsibilities, but he never could.

He decided to tell them the truth, and whatever happened, happened, but two knocks on the door interrupted his tumultuous thoughts. Sabah entered the room carrying tea, and
before she left he suddenly found himself telling her to bring Yehya’s X-ray from the head nurse. It was no innocent request; the head nurse had gone on a long vacation, and her absence provided a plausible opportunity to postpone the whole situation. It would give him a bit more time to think things over again, when he wasn’t under such pressure, and come up with a plan. Amani was making him nervous, and the two of them would likely be back. Tarek knew how important the X-ray was for Yehya, and he didn’t want to end the matter so much as he wanted to find a solution whereby no one would get hurt. What exactly should he divulge now, and what should he hide, without being forced to resort to a barefaced lie?

Everything went relatively smoothly. Sabah returned and, with a glance at Tarek, said the head nurse wasn’t in, she was out on some errands. Amani grew tense at the hackneyed excuse and pursed her lips, while Yehya maintained his composure, his calm expression tinged with a hint of frustration. Tarek (who for his part had strived to put on a believable performance) appeared just as surprised as they did. He let out an apologetic sigh and mustered an expression he hoped conveyed disappointment. He didn’t know whether he’d managed to convince them, but after a moment he truly did feel sorry for Yehya.

Perhaps it was the air of despondency that descended upon them, or the tension that threatened to ignite an argument between him and Amani all over again. Whichever it was didn’t matter; the quandary in which they’d found themselves forced him to keep thinking until he found the perfect way out. He remembered that when patients were transferred to other hospitals for further treatment, copies of their X-rays and medical tests were automatically sent with them. If Yehya’s had been
sent to one of the government-run or military hospitals, getting it from there would certainly be difficult, but it was worth a shot. He cracked his knuckles and declared that there was no need to wait for the head nurse, it was better for them to act now. Worst-case scenario, they could try to find a copy of the X-ray in the Department of Personal Medical Files at Zephyr Hospital, which he’d heard was in the basement.

Yehya shook off the sense of apathy that had settled over him, and interest flickered across his face. He stared at Tarek for a moment. “The basement?” he asked. He’d heard it mentioned before. Yehya leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Memories of his first trip to the Gate with Nagy played in his mind, the task they hadn’t managed to accomplish because at the time neither of them had known how things were done. He’d been told that in order to submit an application for a permit, he first needed to go to the Booth, a small structure on the side of the Northern Building. There he needed to hand in his paperwork and state the purpose of his request. The official there would check that his papers were in order, file the application, and give him a stamped receipt as confirmation. Only individuals who had gone to the Booth to register and inform the Gate of their purpose were entitled to wait in the queue. The Booth itself was able to process certain preliminary paperwork, like applications for Certificate of True Citizenship, but decisions on permit applications could come only from the Gate and only when it opened.

Yehya had left Nagy and made his way there, following the instructions he’d been given until he arrived at the building, which was immensely tall and seemed uninhabited. At the base of the Northern Building was a small boxlike hut, with barely enough room for the official inside, who was sitting at
the counter behind a small, high window with iron bars. In front there was a small, solitary sign with the words
The Booth
written in a sharp hand, and in the far right corner was the local calligrapher’s peculiar signature:
Abbas
.

To reach the window, Yehya had needed to stand on his tiptoes, which was difficult, and he felt a tearing sensation in his side, as the wound was still tender. He passed his papers through the iron bars and asked the official if he would need to keep them until the Gate opened. The official’s face soured before Yehya had even finished his sentence. He snatched the papers violently and perused them with intrigue, then carefully examined Yehya’s face without responding. Yehya repeated the question. An old man who stood there filling out a long convoluted form seemed to take pity on him, and with a cautious glance around them, he whispered in Yehya’s ear that the Booth was actually connected to the Gate, by a long tunnel that led all the way to the basement. Regardless of when the Gate opened, his papers would be in the bowels of the building soon, added to his file and subject to careful examination.

Back in Tarek’s office, Yehya stood up to leave. Amani rushed to help him, while Tarek stood there watching them curiously, as if reconsidering his medical evaluation of the case. Their cups of tea sat untouched, but they thanked him for his time and Amani asked him to let them know as soon as the head nurse returned, adding that she would call him if anything changed.

They found Nagy stretched out in a chair with his eyes closed, and Amani gently shook his shoulder. His eyes snapped open, and then he closed them again and sluggishly stood up. A few minutes later they arrived at a deserted microbus stop. Nagy broke the silence, suggesting that Yehya stay at his
place for the night and rest up after such an exhausting day. Yehya quickly agreed, indulging in the hope of a quiet night to consider the possibilities in front of him. But Amani barely heard them; her mind was fixed on one thing. Suddenly she announced that she would go to Zephyr Hospital and submit a request for the X-ray. Yehya objected instantly, opposed to the idea of her going to that place by herself; just the thought of it made him anxious. His own experience there was not at all encouraging, and Amani knew what had happened to him there, but Nagy supported her. He told Yehya to stop and think about it, to put his feelings aside and listen to reason. Amani was far less likely to raise suspicion, for a reason that was obvious to all of them: Yehya was clearly injured, and that was impossible to hide.

Yehya went straight back to the queue the next morning, only to find someone in his place. The newcomer had arrived and insisted that Ines let him stand behind her given his circumstances, as he was in a rush to finish what he came for and return to his hometown. He had asked her with deep reverence and conviction, as he gazed up at the sky: if he were not fated for that spot, why would God have compelled him to walk from the end of the queue all the way to her? Ines hadn’t been particularly bothered by Yehya’s presence behind her over the past several days, yet neither was she especially grateful for it. She wasn’t overly interested in him. He kept to himself, not joining anyone—other than his friend—in anything, neither friendly conversation nor fights. He’d spoken to her only once and hadn’t even bothered to tell her that he was leaving or when he would be back. She hesitated momentarily to wrestle
with her conscience—she didn’t think it was right to hand over a place in the queue so easily—but after another moment, she gestured at the place and shrugged disinterestedly. With her consent, Shalaby took Yehya’s place, making sure to stamp his footprint in the ground, and then stood there, delighted with his own resourcefulness. He cast a proud glance at the horizon, which was brimming with people behind him. The queue grew longer and longer every day, and the space it took up grew ever wider. He noticed that while only a few people left and didn’t return, new waves arrived every day, stretching the queue ever farther. He had even heard rumors, later revealed to be untrue, that it had crossed into the neighboring governorate.

Yehya didn’t blame Ines; after all, it had been Shalaby’s idea, and she had only reluctantly given in. He didn’t think there was any point in speaking to Shalaby, either, since he stood there with such bravado, obstructing the place like a concrete pillar. Luck had never been on Yehya’s side, even from the start, and he turned away, head hanging low. He slowly squeezed himself into an Upper Line microbus, a kind he hadn’t taken before. Nagy had told him that the Upper Line was just one of several lines created recently, because one day, without any discussion, everyone had begun to drive on the sidewalks, abandoning the roads to the people in the queue. Three hours later he arrived at the back of the queue and took up a new place at the very end. Once there, he cast a long look at the Gate. From afar, it looked like a solid wall, and he wondered in despair whether it would ever open.

Amani answered the phone; the network was back up. Her voice caught in her throat, shaky and choked, and at first Nagy thought she was ill. He realized that she was on the way to the former District 3 to give her condolences to Um Mabrouk, whose elder daughter had died. Her heart had given out one day, after she had waited years to replace its malformed valves. He realized that it wasn’t a good time and quickly ended the conversation, asking her to call him back when the funeral was over.

Amani sobbed harder as she approached Um Mabrouk’s apartment, imagining Yehya dying. She pictured his funeral procession, and mourners departing from the queue to join it, and then burying him in a mass grave for victims of the Disgraceful Events, all without the bullet ever being removed.

She arrived in the courtyard with red, swollen eyes, her face drained and pale. Um Mabrouk was sitting by the front door, barefoot and wearing a black headscarf tied behind her head. Her neighbors sat around her, crying and comforting her, making coffee and tea, and sharing memories about the girl. Um Mabrouk stood up when she saw Amani coming, leaned on the women for support, and then rushed toward her. They hugged for a long time while Um Mabrouk sobbed, begging those around her to agree about how hard she had it, and then
she began to console Amani, who was crying even harder, suddenly overwhelmed by the terrifying scenes in her imagination and the feeling of being completely alone. Um Mabrouk thanked her for having taken the trouble to come, grateful because she thought Amani might have been too exhausted, given the situation.