the need to always keep our mouths occupied. I had learned to treat Freud as dated and irrelevant during my studies, but I began to wonder. “That’s not all bad. My uncle-“
He cut me off. “You know me Ramy. You know my views. Do you think it’d matter to me, who he voted for? There’s more.”
He handed me a cigarette. I handed it back. I’d stopped smoking. Cigarettes in the Big Apple were prohibitively expensive, and the habit had faded. Youssef shrugged and went on. He told me about how Ismail had been spending his free time. Shady mosques with bad reputations. Visits to the countryside, and not the picturesque kind. Even visits to the Sinai, which often took a lot longer than they should and from which he returned withdrawn and edgy, disappearing for days on end.
“The things he says sometimes, Ramy, I’m not even sure he realizes what he’s saying. Stuff about the Coptic Church, and how they’re plotting the downfall of the country,” he trailed off, fingering the cross around his neck. The circles we ran in, religious discrimination was not normally an issue.
I was taken aback. Ismail was our friend, and had been for as long as we could remember. This sounded nothing like him. I asked Youssef whether he was sure, whether there could have been a communications mix-up.
He turned to me, fire in his eyes, and viciously stubbed out his cigarette. Which was somewhat theatrical, seeing as how he’d just lit it. “Does it sound vague to you?”
“Point taken.” His intense gaze made me uncomfortable, and I turned back to the still goop of the Nile.