The Florist @ Tahrir Square

By Ed Salama

Going from Upper Egypt to Cairo to start a new life was not easy, neither on her nor on her childhood sweetheart. When both decided to head North, they had only one thing to count on, hope. They had never expected what was in store.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469708607

Ed Salama

Ed is a screenplay writer. He writes mainly about ordinary persons facing extra ordinary situations. His books are based on real characters he did actually meet or know of. If you are interested in film or TV production, please contact the author at [e-mail]

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Contents

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For millennia, tyrants knew how to hold on to power,

Domesticate the masses,

Give them bread and circus,

Anyone who dares to protest pays the price;

Torture, prison or death.

One young florist didn’t like tyranny,

This is her tale

-1-

Wherever he went he was told that in Upper Egypt you don’t play Shakespeare. You don’t play Tennessee Williams and you don’t even play Harold Pinter or Samuel Becket for they will not be appreciated. They also told him you don’t play Sartre, Duerrenmatt, and Pirandello or generally speaking any other French, American or Swiss play wrights. Why? He used to ask his colleagues and the usual answers he got were some variations of Well, because we are in Upper Egypt!

The young director noticed that there was always a smile delivered with the reply. But he never smiled back and never understood why Upper Egypt was meant, by design, to be that different when it comes to theater. So, when he managed to convince the young actors to work with him on one of Shakespeare’s plays. He was elated at the positive response and abundance of enthusiasm he got. His eyes were on the actors as he kept thinking in silence in search of a plausible explanation to why educated and intelligent men and women believed that in Upper Egypt you can not do what they do in Alexandria or Cairo. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long to get every one to agree that he and his newly formed group will enter the National Theater Competition with nothing less than the master: Shakespeare. They shook hands after applauding. The details were not clear and they had dozens of questions to their director, who repeatedly begged for patience. Some couldn’t tell what it would be like to play Shakespeare in open air but it sounded very interesting. Need is the mother of invention and desperate need is the mother of speedy inventions and that was how he came up with the idea of an open air performance. For over two months of begging and appealing, they have failed in getting a college hall opened for them three evenings a week because there were some old files stored everywhere and the man in charge had done his best, balancing the need for theater rehearsals against his duty to protect a lot of old files, three 1943 typewriters and several broken toilet seats heaped together, untouched, for over twenty years. At the end and in good conscience, the duty to protect state property came out as the clear winner.

The young director never used his newly acquired academic title, a Ph.D in English literature. He was in his Second year of teaching when he casually mentioned to his class that he did a lot of Shakespeare during his post graduate studies in England. He strongly believed that Shakespeare’s works are essentially universal and therefore fit for every society and every time period if adopted properly. His warmth was convincing and they became full of hope that something impressive will come out of a Shakespeare piece.

It would impress people as far north as Alexandria! Adam Tadros, the youngest actor said reflecting the general feeling among his colleagues, especially Ragaa Taha, the youngest female in the theater group, as they moved around each holding a pen and a pad to jot down some remarks while listening to stage directions. The director’s words came out with a lot of enthusiasm, almost nervousness, and it sounded strange as the voices echoed most of the time against the temple walls.

In the eyes of the young, curious boy standing in a corner to watch them, the large pillars dwarfed their existence. He used his left hand as a shade to protect his eyes from the still powerful sun even at late afternoon.

"But with the word…

Time will bring on summer…

When berries shall have leaves as well as thorns,"

Ragaa recited slowly and mechanically, mostly to herself. She didn’t tell her family that at college she was involved in theater. She knew that would be seen as a frivolous pursuit taking one’s focus and attention away from serious studies because the basic assumption is that she is supposed to go to college to study serious matters, like education or social studies or any other subject with an exotic and preferably American name then get a degree that helps starting a career or landing a decent job, guaranteeing a steady income. That alone, a steady income will be the best defense against the predominant sense of frustration sweeping her generation. Stagnation on every level, lack of opportunities, nepotism and corruption were not just whispered words but spoken out loud day and night. Because she never figured out any specific remedy for all of life’s difficulties around her, she was drawn to theater and to her other colleagues who were involved in theater. She smiled in satisfaction at the secret thought of having convinced Adam to join the theater group. Adam was as handsome a man as they come in the south. The funniest person around and the only problem about him, she thought, was that he comes from a Christian family. She couldn’t dream up any other way of keeping him around but convincing him that his endless satire at life and every thing around him would fit naturally in theater. This way, they met often and discovered that it was a great way to forget about the real world, for a while at least.

Helena! The director shouted bringing her back to earth.

You will move right to left as soon as you enter. Look Diana straight in the face as you read your lines,

Ragaa raised her voice to a higher pitch but her delivery was still cold and lacking.

Stop… You need to bring a lot of hope in this line. Hope that summer will come and will bring along changes…positive changes for both Helena and Diana. Shakespeare chose his words very meticulously. Summer! Time will bring on summer! Can you see the promise between these words?

The director looked at them impatiently. They looked back at him with expressionless faces.

I am afraid we all are getting tired, he ended up saying. We have been working for almost Four hours now. Let us stop here and have a snack. We will continue on tomorrow morning. Thank God for the week-end, he wrapped up his papers and walked to his coat resting on a huge basalt stone.

After the sun had disappeared, a noticeable decrease in temperature was felt and it started getting cold. The young black boy watching them in silent admiration has been already fanning at the fire under the large tree where all of them sat down exhausted but cheerful.

I didn’t know it gets cold at night here, the director who had over Four years of life in Europe said after sipping on his hot drink, Well. When we decided to present a work of William Shakespeare, I was aware of the difficulties in every step, especially the so-called cultural differences. He looked at them moving his eyes from one face to another, Yes, he went on, what I wanted to underline is that Helena is full of hope. He looked intensely at Ragaa and continued, Ragaa, you as Helena, you are a strong woman, courageous, intelligent and persistent. She smiled, feeling her face getting hot with the nice words. Her colleagues looked at her smiling as he went on, Helena will end up traveling to Paris, to the big city, and there she will marry Bertram and achieve her goals. Here is the real door to the big change: Travel to the big city is the carrier of hope. Travel, in itself, means change."

When they left, the fire was still dancing a feeble, last dance. A faint flute was playing somewhere around the river bend. It was the beginning of another dark night through which the river kept running in a remarkable silence. The vast sky above revealed the same constellations stuck in their place before there was an earth. The young director wished them a good night and looked at the sky, unable to shake down the feeling of being very little. He thought of the Book of Dead. Rw Nw Prt M Hrw. It must have originated somewhere around here 1555 years before the Christian era. He knew that calling it The Book of Dead was using the vulgar translation of some Greeks. The Book of Coming Forth By Day is the right title. He had read another translation that sounded more to his liking; The Book of Emerging Forth Into The Light. On his first visit to the bazaar a week ago, he watched in fascination as a 10 year old Nubian kid was writing Hieroglyphics in black ink on a large papyrus sheet. RISE UP TETI, YOUR SOUL IS IN ETERNITY. The young boy translated the text in broken Arabic. The British educated director envied him for the smoothness with which the little fingers kept moving up and down. There was something almost magical about the characters starting from nothingness but instantly having a real life right away in front of his eyes.

Yes, the hieroglyphic characters were emerging forth into the light, one by one, being born from the darkness of the unknown. He walked along the silent river back to his room. The distant flute was still moaning when he entered the two floor stucco house hidden amid the trees. He turned around and his eyes looked again at the mysterious sky.

-2-

Memories weigh on the heart and soul like one of the heavy basalt block stones used in building the temples. There is no way of shaking it loose. Memories become carved on the inner walls of your conscience, almost one half inch deep, exactly as a written text on a temple’s wall, so they end up remaining for eternity. Memories were designed to be that way, inescapable. No matter if you try burying yourself in theater, religion or academic pursuits. Memories still dwell deep inside you. Memories are destiny.

Sitting in the old, noisy train, her head turned back to the town she is leaving. She wanted to just think of the joy theater had brought her. She became close to Adam there and knew in her heart that he likes her. He is shy, fatalist, passive and full of bitter irony that was masked by his fun-loving pursuits. For him every thing had been already written and the ink had dried up a million years ago. She thought she is different. She is driven in a place where driven women are seen as crazy. She knew early on that she is capable, ambitious and strong headed. So when she decided to do as one Helena in a Shakespeare’s play had to