Perplexed: Where the Beginning and the End Meet!

© 2010 Angie Eissa. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/19/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4490-9712-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5144-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010903401

CONTENTS

Author’s Note

Dedication

Node One

A Dream Is Broken

Node Two

A Marriage Proposition

Node Three

A Double-Sided Trap

Node Four

Surounded By Angels

Node Five

Taking A Leap

Node Six

Everything Is Possible At Seveteen

Node Seven

A Twin Surprise

Node Eight

Confused To The Core

Node Nine

Under The Bed

Node Ten

Grandma Didi

Node Eleven

Forced To Kill

Node Twelve

The Gilded Cage

Node Thirteen

A Salon Marriage

Node Fourteen

Thanks To Advanced Surgery

Node Fifteen

Fly Away

Node Sixteen

What Virtue!

Node Seventeen

Victory

Node Eighteen

The West Is Best

Node Nineteen

Picking Up The Pieces

Node Twenty

Living A Foreign Dream

Node Twenty One

Living A Fanatsy

Node Twenty Two

Swining Back And Forth

Node Twenty Three

Finally Found The Saviour

Node Twenty Four

Death Of A Friend

Node Twenty Five

As International As It Gets

Node Twenty Six

The Patient

Node Twenty Seven

Tears In The Garden

Node Twenty Eight

The Door Opens

Node Twenty Nine

How It All Started?

Node Thirty

Beyond Tolerance

Node Thirty One

Operation Wild Camel

Node Thirty Two

Talking To The Dead

Node Thirty Three

A Never Wed Couple

Node Thirty Four

Floating In The Nile!

Node Thirty Five

Seeking Help

Node Thirty Six

Love Versus Marriage

Node Thirty Seven

Suicidal

Node Thirty Eight

You Can Run But You CanT Hide!"

Node Thirty Nine

Feeling Good-Think Again!

Node Fourty

The Sons Of The Sphinx

Node Fourty One

Innocent Sweet Child!

Node Fourty Two

We Are Never Alone Until We Are Alone!

Node Fourty Three

Dreams Are My Only Reality

Node Fourty Four

The End Is Rythem

About The Author

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Let me tell you one thing for sure, writing this book was like giving birth naturally to a long-waited for, beloved but tedious, big-headed child of mine. The story had stayed inside me for so long and grew within me to the point that getting it out of me was actually painful and not as enjoyable as I had thought it would be.

There were times where I had seen my characters in flesh and blood moving around in my study room. I have talked to them, heard their fears and perplexities. I have been captivated by their lives inside my head. I had no choice but to tell their story to the world; they have begged me to. I had to write this story. Now that I have decided to get this out of my system; I can, hopefully, be set free once again.

About the novel, I would like to make the point, in these days of ultra sensitive minds that this story is a fictional story and not based on real characters or real events.

DEDICATION

I want to dedicate my novel to the two human beings who have given me a reason for life, my daughter Nour and my son Ali. Nour has brought more light into my life than I thought possible from the day she was born. Ali is just Ali, the kindest and most loving man –to-be- that this universe will ever see; the little guy whose heartbeats have brought me back to life.

Nour and Ali; I thank you for tolerating all those days and nights that I have asked you to play quietly beside me as I wandered within my imagination into this story. I do live solely for the two of you.

I would also like to thank my editor Bryan Morland. I have known Bryan for over ten years and since then I dreamt of writing a novel that he permits to the world as Bryan’s words and thoughts have changed the course of my life and continue to strike a rhythm within my soul.

And last but not least, I would like to thank all those who have influenced my life, who have taught me something new, who have been there for me supporting me throughout my journey. To my family and in particular to the most loving woman and my role model in life, my Mother; Dr. Sahar Farrag who always believed in my capabilities and never ceased to believe. To my adorable Sister Heidi and her super adorable family, to my friends and work colleagues, thank you for being part of my life.

NODE ONE

A DREAM IS BROKEN

It all began in my irresistible, beloved city of Cairo or shall I say in the incredibly terrifying Land of Chaos. Few escape unscathed from her teaming streets, cruel beating rhythm. All must pay the price of living in her midst. Not even the heart stopping beauty of Dina would escape her examination. And Dina could bring any room to silence simply by her entrance. Raven chestnut hair, pearly white teeth and skin of pure gold she broke heart after heart and remained unaware. She had the poise, the grace, the presence of a Goddess but she was too perfect. Perfection is not tolerated in my Cairo! Cairo strictly followed a noisy percussion and tormented any diversion to its savage turmoil.

On that burning summer day, chaos and randomness ruled the dusty city. Then Cairo, as is her way, bared her teeth, reaching for Dina’s dreams. Tearing at the unwary, unsuspecting heart strings of a young lady; tearing with its barbaric genes of the gutter. Dina would pay for her beauty!

Deep underground beyond the reach of the red hot streets, in the middle of the Harram Road Tunnel linking Pyramids Street with Cairo City, a dream shattered. Dina the Goddess clawed frantically at the door handle of a red Honda Civic. What use was her beauty now?

Sherif, wait! she screamed above the bedlam of passing cars. Sherif, Please don’t do this to me! Please! she cried her face wet with tears. Don’t-Her voice was brutally cut off as the car savagely accelerated away hurling her against the tunnel wall and sending her spinning like a rag doll into the side of a passing car.

She finally fell as only the unconscious can, heavy and limp, sliding up against the curb of the tunnel wall. She screamed reaching the deepest of her frail lungs afraid for her life. She saw blackness falling down from the sky; the world had blackened as if a large draper had slowly rolled out of the sky. Dina could see herself somehow floating up the tunnel wall and seeing rows of portraits, portraits in wooden frames. Harsh faced men wearing Tarboush with the haughty, indifferent eyes of those used to the use and abuse of power. Two she recognized, Saad Zaghloul and Mostafa Kamel, both gurus of the Egyptian struggle in the colonial days of England. And she who hated politics so much!

As she floated above, below her she saw the crowd gathering round what only could be her body- was she dead! Was this death? The empty blackness began to claim her when one of the portraits hurtled towards her! Life was not yet ready to let go! It was the pain which dragged her back down to the land of concrete and bedlam.

Beauty personified! sighed the elegant young man in the crowd, staring downwards, squirting cigarette smoke out of one corner of his mouth, while squinting over the cigarette in the other side of his mouth. With a jerk of his head he flicked his Armani sunglasses out of his thick curly hair down onto his nose. He wore a hand-cut white shirt, blue jeans and black leather pointed shoes. Where have they been hiding you? he said shaking his head.

What have we got here then? said his friend, placing his hand on his shoulder, slowly getting his eyes to focus on the crumpled form of Dina. He was dressed all in black with open toed sandals and gold in his ears, on his fingers and around his neck.

Wahee! he exclaimed One of Cairo’s best! I could take that home to show my mother at any time! Oh yes I could! My girlfriend is special but that-is something altogether different! Can’t be a day over seventeen and I bet you man she has never been kissed!" he laughed ending up in a coughing fit.

Who-ye! Forget her friend, she’s out of reach! The girl could be dead or as good as dead! We’ll drink to her tonight. What a dream doll! The two squirmed their way through the crowd over to a glittering new BMW 4 by 4. Climbing into the rear seats, they sat there, blowing smoke out of the open rear windows.

On the other side of Dina’s motionless body

Look grandma she is breathing! said the little girl.

I thought I told you to stay in the car said the elderly women

Well you did leave the door open. She needs to go to hospital, she could be hurt!

We’ll take her to the Harram Hospital it’s the closest hospital to here. Hey you, get your hands out of that bag! That’s her bag!

The man who had been rummaging around in Dina backpack straightened up. He was huge in a tight fitting dark suit and blue tie.

You thief? called out someone

He’s a police spy! said a rough voice. The crowd tensed, faces suddenly sullen, eyes hooded.

What me? said the huge man spreading his hands wide Do I look like a thief? I am-a dentist! See these hands? he spread two hands the size of shovels.

Then you put the girl in my car like any gentleman would said the elderly women. The eyes of the suited man flicked around the crowd. Is it that silver jeep over there!

He bent and lifted Dina as if she was a feather. Striding through the parting crowd the man eased Dina into the back seat of the jeep as if she was a doll.

Thank you Sir! Said the elderly women I won’t ask you for your card as I already have a dentist

Grandma the cars are moving said the little girl accompanying the older lady.

What already? A miracle! A modern miracle! Can this be Cairo? the little girl continued Grandma she is so pretty, will I grow up to be as pretty as her?

But of course! To me, you already are the most beautiful girl in the world!

Dina safe at last, slid into a soft warm sleep. She dreamt of Sherif stroking her hair, kissing her hands and smiling at her. But when she reached out to touch him, he turned and walked away.

NODE TWO

A MARRIAGE PROPOSITION

Sherif Mantolli hammered his red Honda out of the tunnel and tore along the banks of the Nile towards Maadi. Zigg-zagging furiously through the traffic, he honked his horn and flashed his lights at any car on the road in front of him. Almost in a trance, he screeched into the driveway of his home and slammed to a stop. With difficulty he peeled his dark knuckled fingers from the steering wheel. Leaning back he stared at his house as if it was the Moon! What had he done?

A glance in the driving mirror revealed the haggard, lined face of a middle-aged man. The dark angry eyes told him he was angry but suddenly he wasn’t quite sure at what? What was there to be angry about in his mansion, one of the most elite homes in Maadi? The pool, the flowered garden, the antique gold leafed furniture and thick hand-woven carpets defied his anger. Did he need a tunnel when he had so many rooms at his disposal? Here was where he belonged!

The events of the real world seemed now so far away. He groped for cigarettes with trembling fingers only to find he had none! But there would be some inside. In the cool of those high ornate ceilings he could, as he always had, banish troubling thoughts from his mind.

That Dina girl should know her place! Where was her respect for his family, his image and what they had achieved for Egypt? She should have made sure there would be no problems for him. What else is she for? Must he take care of everything? There was no real respect beneath those good looks of hers! How could he take her seriously? How?

Easing out of the Honda, he quietly closed the car door, patting the hot metal as if it was an old friend and sauntered into the house. The sound of his heavy echoing footsteps on the polished wooden floor boards, were to him, the naked confirmation of his rights. What he needed was a nice hard drink, a hash-loaded cigarette and his favorite rocking chair in the den! Let the world come in place!

I should tell you, should I not, that the family of Al Mantolli was rotten to the core. He was the only son of Essam Pasha Al Mantolli, one of the richest Pashas Egypt has ever known. His father was as lecherous as Julius Caesar and just as vicious a politician. He specialized in actresses and film stars who, if unwilling to accommodate him had to flee the country. They could forget both Egypt and their careers.

Half the Nile Delta had once belonged to the Mantolli family. Until that is, General Gama Abdel Nasser, champion of the Egyptian people, confiscated the Mantolli estates. The good General then gave the Mantolli lands as a gift, to those who had toiled over the generations on behalf of the Mantolli family! In the name of equality! What a day that was in the Delta! But he did allow the Mantolli’s to keep their family home in Maadi. It can be no surprise that Essam Mantolli promptly had a stroke and subsequently died. It was now up to his only son Sherif to carry the honor of the family name.

And to his credit, I can report, Sherif did his best to be what his father had been! He became as reliable as a rattlesnake, indolent, idle and absolutely good for nothing. It was the genes you see! The energetic half of them was totally missing. He did not go to school or university as you or I. From an early age he floated in a world of self conceived importance and stirred himself only when he had to buy somebody or some infuriatingly necessary certificate. He was you see, in his mind, always meant to be the Pasha of the Delta!

Sherif was thanks to providence, the only son of the Mantolli family and barer of the famous Mantolli nose. He suffered a lavish childhood on the remains of the family fortune attending, occasionally, Victoria College. Thereafter he meandered through an international university in Cairo where he studied Business Administration. Business he learned was hard work, for others and not for him. He resorted to the world of tobacco, alcohol, drugs and easy big breasted women. The bigger breasted the better!

Sherif suddenly stopped and stepped onto a carpet. Something was wrong! He listened, head on one side, sniffing like a wild animal. Nothing, not a sound or unfamiliar smell but he was not alone, he knew it. Then he remembered, the Land Rover in the garage, he had seen it on the way in.

Tiptoeing silently back to the massive carve main door he peered round the corner. Yes the car was there and looking upwards he saw the windows of the bedrooms were wide open. Damn! he hissed. His esteemed and highly honored wife Safia has returned back home from-where was that place, Italy. He had totally lost track of her traveling agenda; when she left, where to and when will she return. Did he really care! And if he did so what? Safia was a chain-smoking, hard drinking dynamo! A tiny bulldozer who did not know the meaning of the word no!

In the last six months, she’d flown to France, UK, Belgium, Japan, South Africa, Algeria and twice to Italy. Her, and her permanent accessories which included their two year old daughter, the foreign imported Nigerian nanny and a veritable mountain of luggage. Nanny and daughter traveled economy while Safia resided in the first class, where she belonged.

In order to put off going upstairs Sherif wandered quietly into the library, where he often hid, and sat down in his favorite chair. His thoughts drifted back to when he had first met Safia. It was three years ago in Dubai. What was he doing there? One of his vague, reoccurring attempts a business was it? Ah yes it was at that swanky five star hotel, the Hyatt he thought. Some sort of posh reception it was. She would insist on talking to him and followed him round the room.

He knew of her that is true. Who didn’t? Daughter of an ambassador, successful business women in publishing and advertising, her face popped up regularly in all the glossy magazines. Not that he ever read them or anything else. Videos were the name of his game when it came to entertainment, the kinkier ones especially! She was not his type and basically scared the socks out of his shoes!

But she persisted and eventually he gave up and listened. He did not have to say much. In a strange sort of way she swept him along at least, in the beginning. It was almost refreshing, like some unexpected breeze. To his surprise she clearly knew a great deal about him but this too eventually became boring, so he made his excuses and left. Safia was the only person he’d ever met who could empty the room of oxygen with one sentence. Over-powering was not the word!

Lighting up a hash free cigarette that he managed to find in one of the drawers in his desk, he smiled. The next morning was the morning of his life. He was summonsed at eight in the morning. Safia never asked, she commanded. Sherif arrived bleary eyed with a slight headache and he had forgotten his cigarettes. But a business deal was a business deal and he had been promised a business deal. He rapidly discovered that he was the deal and it was very much the business of marriage.

Out in the terrace of her five-star duplex, she was eating porridge, in a white business suit, at 8am and talking marriage. Unreal! He had even less to say than on the first encounter. What she didn’t know about him, he didn’t know himself! But she would set him up and he could start again. No drugs! She would restore his shattered image back in Egypt, refurbish the house in Maadi, cover household costs and he could have whatever he earned and some expenses.

He remembered how she smoked three cigarettes to every one of his and drank coffee as if there was no tomorrow. He recalled how her cigarettes made his headache worse and the coffee was so strong he went dizzy. But he agreed. What else could he do? Sherif discovered that day, that the Mantolli family were not only nasty and large nosed, they were, when push came to shove, weak!

They got married when the arrangements for a five hundred guest wedding covering the elite of Cairo had been completed by Safia. He could sort out his suit and sign the marriage contract. The suit never did fit well and he never bothered to read the contract. But for one week after the wedding, life was surprisingly normal, perhaps for the first time in Sherif’s life. Then the everyday genes reasserted themselves and it was business as usual for Safia.

Safia had set him up in several estate ventures, including an agency but had each time installed a manager who reported to her. She was after all paying the bills. Sherif found himself with nothing to do and increasingly little to contribute to any of Safia’s conversations. He was back in the familiar vacuum called life and he soon reverted to his old ways. Each time Safia left town it was rock and roll time. A man has to stay sane!

Sherif stubbed out his cigarette, took a deep breath and left the library. His feet, he found, took him easily past the stairs going up to the bedrooms and on out to the rear patio. There, to his total surprise, he saw the one pleasure in his life, Nada his daughter. How they managed to produce such a treasure was almost beyond him. She was walking away from him in that rolling gate of hers with her pink dummy in her mouth followed by her ever present nanny who seemed for a minute like her persistent gigantic shadow.

It is not known if his heart really did skip a beat but he believed it to be so. Nada, who is the spitting image of her mother, in every way, was the nearest Sherif ever came to truly loving another soul. And this, in spite of the fact that when he looked into those clear green eyes of hers, he could not help but see only her mother! Perhaps in his own way he did love her.

Sensing him, Nada turned and scampered towards him crying Papa, papa home! Clambering up the three stairs she tripped and fell heavily with a wail of pain. Sherif swept her up in his arms, kissing her tears. Naughty floor! he said bending down with her to smack the floor. Floor gets smack for being naughty to Nada! See papa kiss pain away! he said as he nuzzled Nada’s hands and knees. The watery green eyes in the moon like face broke into a beaming smile and she rubbed her face into Sherif’s chest clinging to his shoulders. Her happy cry of innocence, the silky smooth skin, the smell of Johnson’s baby oil and chocolate chip cookies swept over him and suddenly Dina was there in his thoughts. He winced, smiled and cleared his mind. He had his Nada!

Where is the madam? Sherif said to the nanny. The nanny was a shrew of a person who was an instinctive gossip. Sherif basically detested her but his wife considered her a necessity.

She is in sauna, Sir She answers him in that odd way of hers which told Sherif that there is more to come.

When exactly did your plane arrive? Sherif snapped, hoping to put her off saying anything further.

We reach Cairo Airport at eight, in the morning. We had some problems at airport. We lose suitcase. Madam made claim to airline company and we leave airport at half past ten. The nanny stopped, looking sideways at Sherif Madame not very well! The nanny’s eyes jumped around the patio as she edged closer to Sherif.

Madame saw something in bedroom. Madame terribly upset today she said almost in a whisper. I think she see a lady’s head band or so. She ask if was mine but not mine Pasha! I not know what to say. I could say was mine but I not sure that you like that Sir? The nanny smiled and bobbed!

Sherif smiled