1
Before he got out of his car, his mobile phone had already begun to ring.
“No sir, like you know, they’re only phony trial sessions to relieve the people … there will be no rulings or anything,” he said.
“And the two officers with me and the police assistant will all be exonerated, sir,” he continued. “They can't possibly put us on trial for killing a bunch of kids with criminal records … a policeman is a policeman, after all.”
He closed the door with one hand, while holding the mobile phone in the other.
“No sir, don't worry! We are in control of this country, we just need some ti …”
His grip loosened and his eyes opened wide as he slowly approached his apartment building. On the walls of his balcony, located on the second floor, were the words: “The killer of the martyr lives here,” written in red, as though the letters were dripping with fresh blood.
He walked closer to the building in an attempt to make out what seemed like a miniature drawing next to the warning. He put the phone back to his ear when he heard the person on the other end of the line yelling.
“There's a catastrophe, Mr. Alaa! A catastrophe!”
2
The man rubbed his hands together and cursed the day he was chosen to be the driver for the head of the military police. He had to wake up at dawn every day to thoroughly clean the expensive, dark car. Even the tiniest mistake merited a punishment.
He breathed a sigh of relief, rubbed his hands again, and said, “The days pass quickly … A year and a half in service and I’ll go back to being a civilian!”
Then the major general called. He rushed to meet him at the entrance to the luxury building. He saluted the officer and offered to carry his bag. But the major general's arm remained firmly in place. His eyes were fixed on the major general's arm, then he looked up to see the major general staring grimly over his shoulders.
The man hesitantly turned around. He saw stickers featuring the now-famous picture of a female protester wearing a blue bra being kicked in her bare chest by an army officer, glued on both sides of the car. Also printed on the stickers was the word, “Liars.”
“I swear, sir, I have no clue how these pictures were glued on the car,” he cried out.
The major general threw the bag in his face and rushed to tear off the posters. As he removed one he noticed a sticker stamped next to the word “Liars”; it was a round pattern of Arabic calligraphy reading, “The State of the Revolutionaries.”
3
At this point, the first statement was released on the internet.
4
“Congratulations! It is now official: A maximum wage has been set, as well as a minimum wage of LE2,000, thanks to the martyrs’ sacrifices.”
The man read what was written on the piece of paper out loud to his colleagues at the authority.
“This announcement is posted everywhere: at the metro stations and on the walls. Everyone is reading it. Nobody believes it, but I do. This must be a new official decree, finally!”
A colleague of his took the paper from his hands. “I have seen it everywhere, too! Everybody has!”
“It is strange that they haven't announced it on TV in an official statement,” the man said.
“Wait here! What is written down there?” asked the colleague. They both squinted at the piece of paper.
On the bottom right-hand side was the same round calligraphic pattern as on the major general's car.
“Are you sure this is an official statement?” one of them asked. “I think it is,” another replied.
Their manager looked over the paper and then gave them a frustrated look. “The Supreme Council of the Armed Forces just denied on the radio that they had issued any decree.”
5
The officer hesitated a little, then asked to meet with the major general. Minutes later, the secretary ushered him inside. The major general looked busy. His eyes were still fixed on the file on his desk. He asked his guest, “What is it, colonel?”
The colonel cleared his throat and then placed the laptop he was carrying on the desk. “Sir, this happened this morning,” he said, showing the superior officer the screen.
The major general grabbed his glasses, put them on slowly and hunched closer to the screen.
An update on the official SCAF Facebook page read:
“Heavy sentences await the head of the former regime, ex-President Hosni Mubarak, and his aides. Execution and life sentences on charges of high treason for everyone who betrayed our homeland.”
“What is this! What the heck is written here!” the major general screamed in the colonel's face.
“Sir, the page has been hacked, and I am here to inform you,” the colonel replied.
The major general moved closer to the screen upon seeing his own photo. The updated page featured a photo of him waving to an audience with a statement underneath the image reading, “This state is nobody's … it belongs to the revolutionaries.”
And there it was, the same round pattern on the right-hand side, below the picture.
“You've got to get those kids!” the major general yelled.
6
While one quickly stuck a poster on the wall, the other sprayed graffiti paint while covering his nose and mouth. Hearing heavy footsteps drawing closer, they tore off the poster and ran off. They were being chased by the military police. The words “This is the State of the Revolutionaries” were scrawled on the walls of both sides of the street.
7
The front page headlines of an official newspaper read:
“Security intensifies at prisons where suspects in the killing of protesters are being held”
“Several activists suspected of membership in a clandestine organization that aims to burn down the country on the first anniversary of the revolution are arrested”
“Authorities raid several human rights centers accused of funding secret organizations that seek to create chaos”
“The saboteurs use mottoes alien to our culture”
8
The major general was awakened by a noise in the street. He got up and opened his window. A massive march was passing in front of his house. Millions were marching with their hands raised up high. The words “The State of the Revolutionaries” were written on their palms.
Suddenly he realized: It was 25 January 2012.
Translated from Al-Masry Al-Youm
