31 May - 6 June 2001
Issue No.536
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Al-Ahram Weekly Online 31 May - 6 June 2001 Issue No.536 |
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Thirteen
Events I look forward to have a tendency to fall through at the last minute, while those I dread invariably follow a normal course, leading to a smooth denouement. This is why, no matter how much I tried to influence fate, I somehow found myself at the airport on a chilly April morning, seeing my daughter off for a month in Paris.
I had prayed very hard for a deus ex machina to intervene, and at least postpone this moment. Everybody in France goes on strike, why not her professors? The director of her thesis could come down with the mumps, or yellow fever. Such things have been known to happen. Of course, I had no such luck and as she sent last-minute e-mails to confirm appointments and reservations, the reality of the month of worry ahead sunk in.
As we kissed goodbye, I could see that she was impatient and happy to go and experienced a pang of guilt at my negative feelings. I deserve to be punished for my selfishness, I thought, trying to be genuinely pleased for her. She will be fine, I told myself firmly, she is more than capable of taking care of herself. I have nothing to worry about.
Looking up at her disappearing back, however, I saw her advancing steadily towards the check-in counter marked 13. Oh no, I moaned silently; not 13. My family considers this number a very bad omen and since my childhood I have collected instances of major catastrophes linked to it. How could I stop her? At that moment, I remembered an equally superstitious friend telling me that 13 was a portent of bad luck only if connected with five or eight.
The flight number was 503, containing both a five and an eight (obtained by adding the three digits -- one must take every precaution). I had to do something at once before it was too late. For a crazy instant I considered screaming wildly to attract attention, then charging at top speed past the policemen who stood guard inside the restricted area. Fortunately, I still had enough good sense left to realise that I would embarrass her terminally. The queue was long, it would be a while before she reached the dangerous counter. I closed my eyes and tried telepathy. Look at me, look at me please, I prayed. Finally she turned around. I waved my arms, pointing ahead at the number 13, then in two opposite directions at the same time. I meant to tell her that any check-in counter would do, except the one she had chosen, but she did not seem to get the message.
Instead of moving away, she raised her thumb towards her ear, with the little finger extended towards her mouth. It took me a while to recognise the sign, which, when in my normal state, I find rather vulgar, and which means "use the phone." Then I remembered that I had been clutching my cell phone all along. The day before, I had called the company to make sure that it was working -- the only connection I would have with her during the following month. In my panic I had forgotten that I could just call her. "Get away from counter 13 at once," I whispered furiously into the receiver. "What about the other passengers?" she asked, sounding rather amused. "Should I warn them that they are in mortal danger and will bring me bad luck if they take the same plane?" Now was not the time to remember that she was a capable adult entitled to her own beliefs and superstitions. "Do as you are told," I roared.
Dragging her suitcase behind her, she joined another long queue out of my sight. She came back after a while and raised eight fingers. Eight is not charged with bad omens and, added to five and three, makes 16. One and six are seven, a lucky number. I nodded in approval.
I went home to wait for her call on arrival. From then on, I called her three times a day, warning her about every kind of danger I imagined was lurking in the shadows. Don't ride the metro late at night, don't walk the streets alone, don't go to parks, check the water heater before you take a shower (and don't forget to leave the bathroom door open), don't eat oysters, it's not the right time of year... I plagued her with unnecessary advice and made a perfect fool of myself.
This is why I was slightly surprised when she announced her return two days ahead of time. With a mother like me, who would want to come back?
As I walked into the airport this time, I saw that her flight number was 508. I stared at the board in horror, wondering what I could do, but a minute later I saw the word "Arrived" flashing next to the time of arrival. Just then, she called from the plane. She was home safe.
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