Eva Egyptian Novel

By Ahmed Zakarya Alamir

It is a work of fiction with a biographical element about an Egyptian woman, Eva. She was a scientist who faced a tragedy in her life for the sake of her dream. 

The author reflects a period of conflict in the modern history of Egypt. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ahmed Zakarya Alamir
• Release date: May 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781507136782

Book preview

A Notice that is only realized by the Intelligent

This novel is only a fragment of the author's imagination. Events may resemble many others. I only want to bring to life to some of which we had forgotten and mislead by the mist on our hearts.       

(1)

It is not easy to forget, or erase that scene from my memory in any way. I was standing in the dark in front of the cemetery in the middle of the agricultural lands. The darkness of the night took over and it became an ocean of darkness in front of me. Its wavessettled and there was nothing left except desolation.

The ambulance carrying the corpse stopped. The red and blue flashes of light in the middle of darkness glittered in the eyes of animals standing far away in that sea of darkness. There were overwhelming silence and complete serenity that could not be broken except by the beeps of insects and the cries of a woman in her sixties. Her head is all gray then as some visible hairs crowned from under her black veil. Her face was yellow and her eyes were swollen from crying.

I was still a child of five years who could not realize much of what was going around me except the halo of grief that encircled this scene and the sound of reciters who stood around that scene. They prevented me from seeing what I longed to see, the inside of the grave. I did not know what death is. I asked my father many times, but he had always answered in a way that indicated: he who is asked does not know better than he who is asking. In reality, his answers had never satisfied my ambition or soothed this confusion. I write this after decades from this incident. I remember nothing from that day except this.

The deceased was my grandfather. I did not really cry that day. I did not understand the meaning of his death. A couple of hours earlier, he was playing with me while sitting on his bed as he always did. Now he is in this car that is covered with white fabric! When I asked my mother, she said that this grave was my grandfather's new home. Why can't he stay at his old home with grandmother? I thought that they may have had a fight and, therefore, he had decided to leave her.   

Every time I think, these puzzles roam in my head. It ends with nothing. Maybe, it leads to some inquiries. Some may lead to answers, silence, or anger; but at the end, the matter remains a puzzle.

-Hello. No, he is not here. He left to his new home at the cemetery.  

The words came out of my mouth when my aunt called from afar asking about her father. No one told her about the news. I did when the others were preoccupied away from the phone. She used to call at that day, but the incident had distracted them. You will not believe me when I tell you that I considered this a sin. I did not understand the fault in what I did except after my mother had turned to me as I talked. She heard what I said and understood the matter. She hurried towards me and caught the phone speaker from my hand. They shared their tears as well as their words on the phone. The call ended vaguely. I looked forward to this phone call with passion. Maybe I could reach an answer to my questions through it. 

When everyone scalded me, my confusion increased. It was mother, father, and grandmother. At that time, I was not wrong and I did not realize what I really had done. I only wanted answers to my questions that generated from them. The situation dramatized me and set fear in my heart. In spite of being confused, I cried. I did not know if it was their scolding or the beginning to realize what I had done. Maybe their feelings of griefshifted to me.

In essence, crying is like laughing otherwise why would people laugh until they cry. In spite of that, the opposite is untrue, I never knew a man who cried until he laughed. I stop by the words of Nizar Qabani: Tears are mankind. I wonder what the philosophical meaning of crying might indicate. Man is not the only crying being. Why do tears drop only from this being? I have always heard that Man is a thinking or a speaking animal. The difference between philosophers in that matter lies upon their eagerness to put a definition of manhood. I never liked philosophy at high school. I considered it as nonsense and worthless phrases. For that, I could not find a stronger definition that expresses human reality than: Tears are mankind. 

In my childhood, and I think in every Egyptian's childhood, we heard the words: Men do not cry. In reality, it was shocking for me to see my father with many other men crying heavily as they sat in mourning. I knew then that all the sayings were nonsense. How could not men cry? If men could not cry, why would God have created crying? Why was crying specified for women without men? Saying: “Don’t cry like women” infuriates me as if men never cry. Maybe women cry more often, but men’s cries have a stronger impact than of women’s. Not all cries are the same, nor are all laughs. Not all men are the same, nor are women. This has become clear to me when I realized matters.               

Her walk was not libertine when he cast down his silly words. She looked at him and never replied. She held her books between her hands tightly. She walked quickly or perhaps ran until she reached home in tears. She complained to her mother bitterly, but her mother’s reaction had opposed her expectation when she laughed at what she had told her. Then she looked at her smiling. She put a hand on her head while the other wiped her pouring tearing. She said:

-You grew up Eva. You have become a woman like the rest of women. You will face this a lot. Don’t you worry! When your father comes, I will tell him. He will teach that boy a lesson he will never forget.

Safa entered the room as she used to and interrupted their privacy. She layed her school bag on the bed and walked gracefully to the closet to get her robe. She noticed the presence of her mother and sister when her mother asked her:

-Why are you late? You naughty girl!

-I was with my friend Samar. Why are you crying, Eva?

-It’s nothing, dearest. Go to the bathroom and change your clothes.

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I did not see my aunt Fatimah since I was young. She traveled to Russia a long time ago. She lives in Saint Petersburg and studies at one of its universities. I do not know her except her voice on the phone and her photos that are displayed around our apartment. I guess she grew up since the time of her photos, which she took five years before she traveled.

I did not know her name was Fatimah until recently. They have always called her Eva. I do not think that the reason was hating the first name. On the other hand, no one calls my aunt Safa, her younger sister, by another name. Aunt Safa takes pride in being named after her aunt. She always gets angry at father when he calls her “Saf Saf” for example even if as a joke.  

My mother says that Fatimah or Eva, as she likes to be called, is a good woman. She bears many hardships. In spite of her husband’s illness, which she tolerated, she has always pursued another value for her life. In reality, I do not know why she tolerated that man. He was always vulgar, ungainly, and moody. Is it love? Or duty? Or pity? Was he like this from the beginning? Or did he change after his sickness? Was he really sick?!! Many questions that have no answers occur. All I know is that my father hates him as well as everyone who ever met him. He does not leave any impression except hatred. How patient this woman is!    

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-I’m not going to school.

-How is that my dear?

-Father did not come to stop that wretched boy from harassing me.

-Your father is busy in his office. Should he leave his work for this boy?

-It’s not my affair. I want justice. 

-You look for excuses so you would not go to school.

-No, I love school. But what if he did it again?

-He will not do it again. I told his father yesterday and he swore to punish him.

-You belittle my mind.

-Girl! Stop this! Come on, don’t be late for school.

Her mother’s morning conversation was not convincing. After school, she decided to go to where her father works at Dusoq Security Directorate. He is very busy to the extent that he could not sleep at home for four days and she does not think he will until the president Abdul Naser arrives on his next week visit. It will be a huge ceremony and a national conference in Dosoqu