In a repressive regime, freedom of speech is one of the first casualties. But what happens when we simply can’t help ourselves? This Kafkaesque short story, by Egyptian writer Ahmad Al-Khamisi, follows an Egyptian academic, Dr. Fakhry, who speaks out and ends up facing unexpected charges. Rather than traditional imprisonment, he is thrust into something far more complex, and far more insidious—the “new system,” where those deemed criminal continue their daily lives without physical confinement, bound only by the knowledge of their status. As Dr. Fakhry struggles to comprehend his ambiguous position, he grows increasingly paranoid, scrutinizing strangers for signs of similar captivity. Translated from the Arabic by Huwaida Issa, this haunting tale reveals how systems of oppression don’t need physical barriers; the mere suggestion of surveillance can transform citizens into their own jailers.
Dr. Fakhry Al-Fayyoumi regarded anyone who spoke to him with deep suspicion, his gaze as wary as someone inspecting a dubious commodity. On rare occasions, he would cautiously venture to ask, in a low, polite voice: Are you, sir, a new system?
To which the other, in confusion, would respond: A new system? What do you mean?
Dr. Fakhry lowered his eyes with a faint, bitter smile, as if silently saying: “Leave this meanness behind,” and then murmured: “The current system.”
In most cases, he received the same response, tinged with surprise: What do you mean? I don’t understand!
Dr. Fakhry grew silent, focusing inward and folding into his perplexity, before he changed subtly the subject of the conversation.
The story of suspicion began six months ago when Dr. Fakhry was unexpectedly subpoenaed by the General Directorate of Investigation. This followed a tense university meeting, where in a moment of fervour, zeal pulled him aside and made a few remarks that crossed well beyond the bounds of what was acceptable. He deeply regretted it afterward. His wife said to him: “You, Fakhry, you’re a renowned professor with your books and research. Why do you concern yourself with the talk of the young?” He responded: “You’re right.” On the appointed day of his subpoena, he arrived at the Interior Office building on time, where a polite and kind officer greeted him and escorted him to a small room. In an apologetic tone, the officer said: “Dr.…I’m very sorry…We’re obliged to arrest you!”
Dr. Fakhry’s expression changed instantly, as arrest was the last thing he expected. The most he had anticipated was a conversation with the university dean, where they would discuss general matters and subtly criticise his remarks with a tone of caution or blame—but not arrest!
He stretched out his legs and let his gaze wander around the room, feeling as though he were collapsing inside. He muttered to himself, “Is it possible that two careless words could ruin an entire life?” His thoughts drifted to his wife and two children, as though he were bidding them farewell, and to his office and research. A deep unease settled over him as he struggled to recall who had led him into that fateful, pessimistic meeting.
The young officer adjusted his demeanour with a faint smile, like someone quietly correcting a mistake.
“But be assured, Doctor, and don’t worry!”
Blood rushed through Dr. Fakhry’s limbs, as if a lifeline had been thrown to him. He pulled his stretched-out legs together and began to gather his hopes.
How?
Because you’re going to continue your life as you used to.
A smile lit up the officer’s face as if he were presenting a magical offer, confident from experience that it would be well received.
You go to the university every day at nine a.m.?
Yes, exactly.
You usually come back home at around two p.m.?
Yes, exactly.
Every Tuesday late afternoon, you meet up with your friends in “Sahar Al-Layyaly” Café?
Yes, that’s right, sir. All the information is correct.
The officer laughed happily.
None of this will change. You will continue your life as you used to.
Dr. Fakhry’s face froze in confusion, and his voice sounded as if it were coming from a deep well:
I continue my life? and…and what…?
The main thing is that we now have a new system
New? What system?
Haven’t you heard about letting prisoners go on probation, where they allow their prisoners to leave, visit their families for a day or two, and then return?
Yes, I’ve heard of them.
It’s the same principle. If it’s possible to trust prisoners enough to allow them to spend a day with their families, then what’s stopping us from extending that trust? Not just for one day, but for several days—or even allowing them to serve their entire sentence outside the prison.
Dr. Fakhry furrowed his eyebrows and shifted restlessly in his chair, asking in a dry mouth:
And how would my arrest fit into the procedural process; I mean?
It’s enough we’ve informed you, and the whole issue is a matter of trust.
Dr. Fakhry glanced from the corner of his right eye before fixing his gaze on the young officer’s face, who stood up, smiling kindly as he shook Dr. Fakhry’s hand:
“We now depend on conscience,” he said, gesturing toward the door: “It has been an honour having you here. Please, this way.”
Dr. Fakhry left the Interior Office building and walked quietly, without looking back. He wished the earth would swallow him whole, like the desert swallows a drop of water, so he could disappear far away from the building.
He needed to walk alone for a long time to clear his confused mind. So, he headed toward Al-Tahrir Square, and along the way, the two words he had spoken during the meeting kept glowing before him. Can’t he speak up for the welfare of others? Speak up, but don’t push your children to starve, as no principle is more important than humanity itself. And the truth? Your opportunity to spread truth through knowledge and enlightenment is much greater when you value the grace of freedom. After all, what benefit is there if you find yourself truly imprisoned in a cell? Despite that, I am imprisoned now? Yes, but you are free as well. His legs led him to Ramsis Square, he stopped at the Square, watching the traffic jam and the crowd of people, wondering if he should feel happy about his new situation or he should feel sad?
The following day, Dr. Fakhry watched his wife and two children as they were having their breakfast, but he couldn’t deduce from their looks or movements any indication of his arrest. They were stuffing their mouths with boiled eggs and cheese, completely absorbed in their meal and oblivious to anything else. At work, no one acknowledged the matter, not even with a glance or a passing question. In the beginning, that carelessness surprised him. Then he remembered that his arrest was part of the new system, which made it difficult to distinguish his situation from others. He started attending his lectures more frequently, telling himself on his way to work, “I must live as if nothing has happened, while acknowledging that something has indeed occurred.” But his perplexity intensified on the streets, while riding buses, or in grocery stores, as he scrutinised people’s faces, finding no indication of whether they were “prisoners of the new system” or not. So, he stopped staring at people’s demeanours and began to listen to what they were saying. He noticed that most of them expressed the same sentiments, often contradicting themselves—agreeing with a situation while opposing it, supporting the positions of their foes more fervently while welcoming their friends’ suggestions with less enthusiasm. Unable to make sense of it all, his mind jumped from one thought to another, trying to determine their situation—whether they were prisoners of the new system or truly free. Eventually, he grew tired of trying to distinguish one group from another and settled into a cautious approach in his conversations, adopting a demeanour that treated all issues as equal. His chatter with friends at the café diminished, and he began spending most of the time in silence, merely puffing on his narghile and watching the passersby. But perplexity lurked within him like a hidden shark, surfacing suddenly to give him a pointed, dubious look at whoever he was speaking to. Then Dr. Fakhry took a risk and asked in a low voice:
“Are you part of the new system?”
Then the other person replied perplexedly:
A new system? What do you mean?
Then, Dr. Fakhry lowered his eyes, wearing a bitter smile:
The current system?
But he didn’t receive a satisfying reply.
But that situation didn’t last long. After about six months, Dr. Fakhry received another subpoena—a new one. He went to the Interior Office Building again and walked down the gloomy, long hallway to the deserted room with its bare walls. There, the young officer stood up, welcoming him warmly, and shook his hand, saying:
Please have a seat, Doctor. I won’t take long. I just wanted to share with you some good news.
Good, God willing?
It has been decided to set you free!
Set whom free?
Set you free.
Me?
Yes, yesterday, a decision was issued to set you and five others free.
Fakhry sat confused!
So…I’m free?
Yes. I want you please to understand that what happened was a procedure for the welfare of others. Now, continue your life as it was before! You go to the university every day at nine am, right?
Yes, exactly.
You come back home at two pm, correct?
Yes, exactly.
You meet up with your old friends at “Sahar Al-Layyaly” Café every Tuesday late afternoon?
That’s true, sir.
The officer laughed:
I repeat my congratulations.
He politely pointed to the door:
Be aware that we now depend on your conscience!
Translated from the Arabic by Huwaida Issa
Ahmad Al-Khamisi (b. 1948, Cairo) is a writer, a translator, and a journalist. He has a PhD in Russian Literature from Moscow University. In 2011, he received the cultural Sawiris Award for his short story collection, Canary. In 2017, he was awarded the same cultural award a second time for his short story collection, You and I.
Huwaida Issa (b. 1972) is an emerging translator and writer. Originally from Syria, she is an immigrant in the UK. She has a PhD in translation. She has worked as a research assistant for senior lecturer James House, specializing on the Maghreb. Issa has also worked as an interpreter for 14 years. Now she is enjoying her second phase of her youth—looking after her grandchildren, writing a memoir as a refugee, and translating.
*****
Read more from the Asymptote blog: