If an Egyptian Cannot Speak English

by Noor Naga

This is the shape of narrative climax, but what is it doing in my life?

like a murder-verb looking for its object,

(for a moment I knew, or thought I knew, which of us the danger belonged to),

doubled over in time to catch his speed over the shoulder, pick it up by the knees, and tip him over the balustrade.

It was when I put my phone in airplane mode, permanently, that I realized there was no one left for me in Cairo.

What could I possibly say? A boy is dead? A boy from a village you’ve never heard of is dead because of me?

The prospect of their forgiveness was as dreaded to me as the prospect of accusations from Shobrakheit.

my first thought was: Finally. A way out. It was as though I had been waiting for a moment when I couldn’t leave the building so I would have to leave the country.

Why are we even getting his voice in your memoir? [to NOOR] How does that even make sense? You in the boy’s head like that when the whole point is that you don’t fully get each other,

Everything is potentially tainted—especially when the footnotes come in. Obviously, I’m not trying to tell you about your own culture, but I googled a few of them and—

Shobrakit

Obviously, I’m not trying to tell you how to feel [to NOOR],

Don’t get me wrong—I love this memoir project, I think it’s so, so important. But

[There is an uncomfortable pause while TIM tries desperately to make eye contact with CANDICE.]