The Cairo Codex (11 page)

Mohammed’s jaw was set, eyes straight ahead. Both hands tightly gripped the wheel. “That must have been frightening, and you’re quite bloody. We need to get help for your head . . . I was in the mosque across from Old Cairo. Fortunately, the mosque has been newly restored, so it withstood the quake. Allah’s punishment was not as severe this time.”

Justine forced herself to talk, to keep herself distracted. Her head and leg throbbed with each beat of her heart. “Egyptians already seem devout to me. What more do you think Allah wants from you?”

“We masquerade devoutness to fool our gods. Our women wear the veil with tight jeans. We listen to Western music, see your violent movies, and yearn for an easy life of self-indulgence. We hardly object when America occupies a Muslim country. American politicians wear hunting jackets, and we fit neatly into their big pockets. What have we come to?” He asked the question vehemently, as though speaking to Allah.

“Yet there are scientific explanations for earthquakes, are there not? You’re a man of modern technologies and science,” she pressed. She was starting to feel clammy; she wondered if shock might be setting in.

“Allah has created the science of earthquakes, but He reserves the ‘when’ and the ‘where’ to send His message about how we live.” They drove along the aqueduct and turned onto Kasr el Aini, moving away from the Corniche, a one-way street going in the wrong direction. The giant hotels circling the Nile could be seen as they turned. They appeared untouched.
Perhaps things aren’t as bad as they seemed in Old Cairo.

Qasr al-Ainy Street told a different story. Random destruction was everywhere. Deeply cracked buildings seemed to lean on each other for support. Some houses had collapsed inward while others remained standing.
Is this God’s selectivity?
Two Red Crescent trucks raced by, on their way to dispatch aid. In the distance, the minaret on Ibn Tulun Mosque had toppled into the courtyard below.

Mohammed looked devastated by the destruction outside the car. “We have no building codes—at least none we abide by,” he explained. “The plaster is watered down, foundations are not secured, and beams are left out of critical support areas. The ’92 earthquake was only a 5.9 and yet we lost over five hundred lives and more than ten thousand buildings. Worst of all, we panicked. More than forty school children in Shoubra district were trampled. We’re a careless people.” He shook his head in dismay.

Ahead, Tahrir Square was closed. “We’ll turn here and park near the British Embassy.” Mohammed glanced over at her. “We’ll need to walk, but it’s only a few blocks to the Shepheard. Do you think you can make it?”

Justine assured him that she could.

On foot, they made their way along the Corniche, which was strewn with rubble from cement blocks, plaster, glass, and uprooted sidewalks. Contrary to Egyptian custom demanding that unrelated men and women should not touch in public, Mohammed held Justine’s arm and carried her bag.

To her great relief, the Shepheard stood tall and firm. It would take more than an earthquake to destroy the Shepheard a second time. Solicitous staff illuminated the dark corners of the lobby with candles.

“Dr. Jenner!” the manager exclaimed. “You’re hurt. A doctor will come soon. Very soon. One guest had a heart attack; another stuck in the elevator. The ambulances cannot get through. We will do what we can,” he promised.

“If you can manage, Justine, I will see to my home now,” Mohammed said, rapidly dialing a number on his cell phone. Anxiety flickered across his strong features. “I haven’t been able to reach anyone by phone, even in Alex, and I have a handicapped neighbor. He’ll need my help.”

“I’ll be fine.”
I’ve been consumed with my own experience . . . and distancing myself from the tragedy
, she thought numbly. “I don’t know what I would have done without you,” she said, taking both of his hands in her own and holding them briefly. Mohammed squeezed her hands in return, then turned toward the door as a young female staff member took Justine’s arm, reached for a master key and candle, and guided her up the dark stairwell.

S
CATTERED GLASS LAY ACROSS THE FLOOR
of the room like small pools of water after a spring rain, catching the deep pinks and gold of the late afternoon. With its jagged edges, the broken window gaped open like the giant mouth of a shark, filling the full height of the two-story room. Justine sat on her bed and gazed at it for several moments, mesmerized by this Salvador Dalí-like image.

Without taking her eyes off the scene of beauty wrought from disaster, she picked up the ringing cell phone beside her bed. The cuts on her leg and forehead were held together by a series of butterfly bandages, and the doctor had left a box of painkillers and antibiotics on the night table.

“Justine?”

“Mother?” she replied in a flat tone, still disoriented.

“Are you all right? I just heard about the earthquake.”

An image of Lucrezia in her white, flowing kaftan, sitting on her terrace in Fiesole, Italy, flashed into her mind. “I’m fine, Mother. Would you hold on a moment? Someone’s at the door.” She slipped her feet into flip-flops and hobbled down the steps to the living room. Reaching for the door, she motioned Nadia in. “Watch out for the broken glass,” she warned.

“You’re hurt!” exclaimed Nadia as she followed Justine back up to the bedroom. Justine quickly held her finger to her closed lips.

“What did she say? You’re hurt, aren’t you? Tell me what happened,” her mother demanded.

“Just a few scratches. A couple of stitches. A few butterfly bandages. I was lucky.” As calmly as she could, Justine explained what had happened in Old Cairo. The damage she’d witnessed. Nadia sat on the edge of the bed and listened. Justine drew her legs up to her chin and examined the long cut on her calf as she talked into the phone.

“How frightening. I’m so sorry.” Lucrezia’s warm voice trembled. It made Justine wish her mother were here, but she knew it was neither possible nor wise. “I’m coming over. I’ll get a plane tonight.”

“Please don’t try, Mom. No one can move around the city. The road from the airport is closed, and things are just too chaotic. I’ll call every day—we’ll stay in touch. I’ll let you know when it is safe to travel. And Mom . . .”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for calling. I really appreciate it. You remember the woman I told you about? Nadia? Well, she just arrived, and the hotel doctor has been here.”

“I’m so relieved that you have help . . . but are you sure? You’re only a few hours from Florence.”

“I’m sure, Mom. I appreciate your offer. By the way, what does the news say—how strong was the earthquake? No electricity here as yet.”

“The report on BBC says 6.4. Not big by universal standards, but somewhat larger than the ’92 quake. And I know buildings in Cairo can fall down by themselves. Is the Shepheard intact?”

“The Shepheard’s in fairly good condition. A few broken windows. Have you heard from Dad?”

“He’s still in Peru, but I’m sure he will be calling one of us whenever he can get through. I’ll talk with you tomorrow.”

“You’re not as courageous as you sound,” Nadia said gently when Justine had ended the call, her eyes welling up.

Tears began to form in Justine’s eyes—at first, little droplets of moisture. “No . . . no . . .” Then emotion bubbled up from deep inside and turned to convulsive sobs.

Nadia moved to her side and took her in her arms, patting her softly on the back. “Cry it out, honey. Take your time.”

They sat together for several minutes until Justine slowly pulled back, drying her eyes on the sheet. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to . . . I rarely cry . . .”

“It’s good for you. We all need a good cry from time to time, and you’ve been through a lot.” Nadia settled in on the end of the bed, folding her chubby legs together. “How did you escape and get back to the hotel?”

“The docent moved the boards blocking the way and pulled me up the stairs. I have to admit, I was terrified . . . then Mohammed found me stumbling along the street when he came out of the new mosque—it remained standing—and he had a car. We were able to work our way back to the hotel. I was never so glad to see anyone in my life! He says the earthquake is the wrath of Allah.”

“Probably right,” Nadia said with a weak grin. “Mohammed is a good man. He can always be trusted to do the right thing. Hopefully another incident won’t test that rule, but I’m extremely grateful to him for helping you. We could have lost you . . .” Nadia had a way of fidgeting when she was nervous or upset: her eyes moved back and forth between the bed, the window, and Justine; her hands smoothed her skirt and the flowered blue comforter.

“Is your family all right?” Justine asked. “Have you heard from the schools?”

“My family’s fine. I only have a few scattered nieces left. My husband died a few years ago. I’ve received calls from three of the schools. I’m concerned about the one in Birqash. No word of any kind, and I can’t reach anyone.”

“What will you do? Should we go out there?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll go tomorrow. I was planning to go anyway.”

“I’m going with you.”

Nadia examined Justine’s leg, forehead, and hands and shook her head. “I don’t think so. You need to take care of yourself.”

“Please, Nadia. I’d like to go,” Justine insisted.

“Let’s see how you feel in the morning. Okay?”

As Justine nodded, both women were startled by a fierce pounding on the door, which was accompanied by—or precipitated by—a horrible roar as the jagged remains of the room’s two-story window gave way and came crashing into the living room.

“Open up! Open up!” Amir’s panicked voice was not distinguishable until the sound of falling glass subsided.

Nadia slipped on her shoes and made her way to the door. “That sound was the window giving way!” Nadia yelled. “We’re okay!” She opened the door and stared at a disheveled Amir. His shoes were muddy, his jacket and shirt torn, as if he had just crawled out of a war zone. “Come upstairs,” she said, and they picked their way across the glass and up the stairs.

“The sound was horrible,” Amir said uneasily. “I thought you were both in danger . . . Oh, my god, you are hurt!” he exclaimed, catching sight of Justine. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks a lot,” she said, managing a weak grin.

Ignoring her slight indignation, he inspected her wounds, disregarding the cultural boundaries that would have normally prevented his examination of her leg, arms, and face.

“Only a few cuts. I was lucky. What’s the report on your family, your grandfather?” she asked, moved by Amir’s unguarded concern, his tender gaze. Turning her head, she wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks.

“I went directly to my grandfather’s house. You’ll remember how dilapidated his home was already.”

Justine nodded.

“He was sitting on the floor in the middle of his house. Two walls had fallen against one another. He looked like a patient Bedouin contemplating his fate. It’s a miracle he was unharmed, yet he resisted when I told him he would have to go home with me. I said I’d carry him if I had to. Heliopolis has suffered little harm, although sections of both Coptic and Islamic Cairo are severely damaged.”

“Sounds like your grandfather. It’s a good thing you insisted,” Nadia said. “And now you need rest, young lady. You won’t be able to get services for a while, so I brought some fruit and water to tide you over. I’m told that the electricity should be back on sometime tonight. If you still want to go tomorrow, I’ll call you first thing in the morning.” Nadia nodded at Amir that it was time to go.

“
Iwa
,” Amir said absently. “I’m on my way to Islamic Cairo to look for survivors . . .”

“I’m going with you,” Nadia said, bending over to tie her shoes and find her purse.

“Thank you both for checking on me. I appreciate it so much,” Justine said, yawning. “Amir, please tell your grandfather that I said to stop being so stubborn. And, Nadia, I do want to go with you in the morning. I’ll expect your call.”

The electricity came back on suddenly at 4:30 a.m., waking Justine in a cold sweat, dreams rushing by like a frightening kaleidoscope. She gasped. In her terrifying nightmare, all the air had been sucked out of the crypt, and yet beneath it there’d been something else—the gentle undulation of the Nile, a bustling spice market, and some sense of unnamed worry, that same tension that had been tugging on her ever since she landed in Egypt. A cool breeze came in through the gaping window. The events of the previous day tumbled through her mind in random order, as though waiting to be rearranged. It didn’t make sense yet. She fell back into a fitful sleep.