Read Online That Smell and Notes From Prison by Sonallah Ibrahim - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sonallah Ibrahim
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street. I rode the metro to the last stop and
walked along the Corniche. Then I crossed the bridge and went into the first
café I found. I chose a table at the back next to the Nile and sat down. A
waiter came and I ordered a coffee, then stared at the water. With my eyes, I
followed a boat being rowed by a bare-chested young man. One of his oars fell
into the water and floated away. He yanked the rudder of the boat and tried to
catch the lost oar. He was rowing with just one oar, transferring it from one
side of the boat to the other. But the current was against him and as soon as he
got close to the oar it floated away. He rowed in a frenzy. Despair showed on
his face. Then he threw away his oar and cupped his hands to his mouth and
shouted to another rower in a nearby boat, asking for help. But the other rower
didn’t respond. Maybe he didn’t hear. The coffee still hadn’t come. I called to
the waiter but he wasn’t paying attention. I got up and left. I walked to the
bridge and caught a bus, getting off at the head of Suleiman Street. I sat down
in the first café I saw and drank a coffee, then lit a cigarette. I got up and
walked to Tawfiq Street, then down Tawfiqiyya, stopping at Cairo Cinema. It was
showing a comedy. I walked toward Fuad Street and crossed it and went down
Sharif. I kept walking past Adly and Tharwat in the direction of Suleiman, which
I followed all the way to Midan Tahrir. Wastewater covered the ground. The pumps
set up everywhere carried water from inside the shops out into the street. The
smell was unbearable. I met a man I knew who said he had woken up an hour ago
and was rushing to an appointment. I walked fast next to him, saying, I’ll go
with you to your appointment. But he said that here was where we had to part,
and he left me. I crossed the street and headed back in the direction of the
Midan. I branched off onto Qasr al-Nil until I reached the cinema. I looked at
the posters that said, This is a crazy world. I went to the box office window
but the show was sold out. There was a reservations window but the two evening
shows were also full. People had booked tickets for tomorrow and the day after.
I left the cinema and walked back again to the Midan, then along Suleiman,
walking on the opposite side of the street as before. When I arrived at Cinema
Metro, I found it was also showing a comedy. I walked past and stopped at Al
Americaine café, not knowing where to go. Cinema Rivoli was on my left, with a
huge crowd in front. I remembered the cinemas on Imad al-Din and crossed the
street and walked down Fuad to Imad al-Din, where I turned and walked on the
left side of the street. There were huge crowds in front of all the cinemas,
though they didn’t open for another hour and a half. I walked to the end of the
street, then went down Ramses toward Bab al-Hadid. It felt like someone was
following me. I checked my watch against the station’s clock, then headed for a
café on the square at the beginning of Gumhuriyya Street, where I sat down in
the open air. All at once the sun vanished and everything became gray. I
remembered how this neighborhood looked twenty years before, with train smoke
rising from Bab al-Hadid and gray colors everywhere. I decided to go look for
that old house. Maybe my mother was still there. I got up quickly, before the
sun returned. I wanted to approach the house through the fog. I crossed Clot Bey
Street, turning off Faggala into the little side streets that connect it with
the square. I sensed I was getting close to the house. I was only a few streets
away. But I decided to approach it from the direction of Faggala Street, just as
my father and I used to do.
We would go by tram, taking it from the Midan just before it
turned into Zaher Street. I loved that peaceful street, lined with trees whose
branches interlaced overhead in the center of the street, veiling it from the
light. And I loved the sound of the trolley pole clearing its path through the
branches
walked along the Corniche. Then I crossed the bridge and went into the first
café I found. I chose a table at the back next to the Nile and sat down. A
waiter came and I ordered a coffee, then stared at the water. With my eyes, I
followed a boat being rowed by a bare-chested young man. One of his oars fell
into the water and floated away. He yanked the rudder of the boat and tried to
catch the lost oar. He was rowing with just one oar, transferring it from one
side of the boat to the other. But the current was against him and as soon as he
got close to the oar it floated away. He rowed in a frenzy. Despair showed on
his face. Then he threw away his oar and cupped his hands to his mouth and
shouted to another rower in a nearby boat, asking for help. But the other rower
didn’t respond. Maybe he didn’t hear. The coffee still hadn’t come. I called to
the waiter but he wasn’t paying attention. I got up and left. I walked to the
bridge and caught a bus, getting off at the head of Suleiman Street. I sat down
in the first café I saw and drank a coffee, then lit a cigarette. I got up and
walked to Tawfiq Street, then down Tawfiqiyya, stopping at Cairo Cinema. It was
showing a comedy. I walked toward Fuad Street and crossed it and went down
Sharif. I kept walking past Adly and Tharwat in the direction of Suleiman, which
I followed all the way to Midan Tahrir. Wastewater covered the ground. The pumps
set up everywhere carried water from inside the shops out into the street. The
smell was unbearable. I met a man I knew who said he had woken up an hour ago
and was rushing to an appointment. I walked fast next to him, saying, I’ll go
with you to your appointment. But he said that here was where we had to part,
and he left me. I crossed the street and headed back in the direction of the
Midan. I branched off onto Qasr al-Nil until I reached the cinema. I looked at
the posters that said, This is a crazy world. I went to the box office window
but the show was sold out. There was a reservations window but the two evening
shows were also full. People had booked tickets for tomorrow and the day after.
I left the cinema and walked back again to the Midan, then along Suleiman,
walking on the opposite side of the street as before. When I arrived at Cinema
Metro, I found it was also showing a comedy. I walked past and stopped at Al
Americaine café, not knowing where to go. Cinema Rivoli was on my left, with a
huge crowd in front. I remembered the cinemas on Imad al-Din and crossed the
street and walked down Fuad to Imad al-Din, where I turned and walked on the
left side of the street. There were huge crowds in front of all the cinemas,
though they didn’t open for another hour and a half. I walked to the end of the
street, then went down Ramses toward Bab al-Hadid. It felt like someone was
following me. I checked my watch against the station’s clock, then headed for a
café on the square at the beginning of Gumhuriyya Street, where I sat down in
the open air. All at once the sun vanished and everything became gray. I
remembered how this neighborhood looked twenty years before, with train smoke
rising from Bab al-Hadid and gray colors everywhere. I decided to go look for
that old house. Maybe my mother was still there. I got up quickly, before the
sun returned. I wanted to approach the house through the fog. I crossed Clot Bey
Street, turning off Faggala into the little side streets that connect it with
the square. I sensed I was getting close to the house. I was only a few streets
away. But I decided to approach it from the direction of Faggala Street, just as
my father and I used to do.
We would go by tram, taking it from the Midan just before it
turned into Zaher Street. I loved that peaceful street, lined with trees whose
branches interlaced overhead in the center of the street, veiling it from the
light. And I loved the sound of the trolley pole clearing its path through the
branches
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