Memory on the seventh floor

On Thursday, at three o’clock in the afternoon, on the twenty-ninth of December, and at the end of the year 2022… from beloved Egypt, “Mother of the World”, where cold weather covers the air of that . good country, and from Cairo, the capital of beauty, art, history and civilization, and from the middle of the streets of the Zamalek neighborhood. The guy, this small silver-colored car that used to transport me, that took me to contemplate those small details in the streets, roads and the people around me.

I reached that old building with high floors covered with white, gray windows, and a black iron door in the middle of the building, which carried a large painting written in bold and green (Zahra al-Jazeera).

Silence prevailed.. and the feeling began to speak to me.. I began to mutter in a low voice expressions of surprise and amazement.. I realized at that time that immortal memories and minute details were hidden in the folds of that building that is difficult to describe, and from the seventh floor, specifically from the north of the Zahraa Al-Jazeera building, there was the apartment of the late artist Abdel Halim Hafez.

I began to walk with heavy and leisurely steps, singing the tunes of his song in my ears: “Look, where have we been? Exactly, a few times on the track of time, back… in the same place, lost. ” And she really described my feelings at the time. There was an elevator and a long white staircase in front of me, and to the left were mailboxes. The incoming and outgoing are lined with antique brown wood, which is approximately 45 years old. .

Excitement began to push me to go up to the seventh floor. Graciously, full of satisfaction and shame, she told me that she is the lady who works to guard the apartment from visitors, because the apartment holds belongings that no one is allowed to touch. or destroyed.

The entrance to the apartment closes with a huge, huge mirror engraved with classic antique motifs, and on the right is a wide hall, which in its heart carries a blue carpet, light brown sofas and small silver cushions. Many writers, poets, composers and musicians.

My eyes fell on that bench, I hesitated to sit on it because there were instructions not to touch any of those belongings until the nice lady allowed me to sit on that bench, so I spontaneously sat except for the lady (Umm Duaa) and shouted in amazement and said in the simple Egyptian dialect: “Exactly he sat.” In your place and in the exact same position as you, he sat in the corner of the sofa and leaned slightly in his seat as you sat. ” My body trembled at that time and I began to meditate, thinking of his joy and a broad smile.

On the right side of the hall, there was a long corridor that led to his private bedroom, where the green mattress, telephone and chair were located. As I contemplated these details, that black spot on the left side of the bed stopped. me, and after I asked it became clear to me that the reason for the presence of that spot The black color is due to the henna dye that he put on his hair when he was lying on his bed during his illness , and despite the passage of 45 years since his death, the traces of that stain are still present as it is.

Many of his possessions were in that room, such as a record player, his four perfumes on his chest of drawers, the dark brown wooden sticks he played with, the radio through which he listened to his songs after every concert, many drawers, chairs, books and antiques blue curtains. .

I came out of his bedroom suite, and walked, until I came to the vantage point of the porch, where he hums his songs softly and late into the long hours of the night.

I bid farewell to that place with looks filled with sadness and joy at the same time. I thanked the noble lady (Umm Duaa) who gave me that time to wander around the Nightingale apartment. I finally found the parking lot on the ground floor of the building, where Abdul Halim Hafez’s gray car was parked in front of me. And green armrests on the inside, brown drawers, and a big steering wheel! Dust covered it from everywhere, and the Nightingale’s car bore the name (My Cairo Angel 64400), noting that he drove the same car in his movie “Idol of the Masses”.

I took a lot of pictures
I looked at many angles
I got a lot of information
I lived with those details that carried memories of the seventies.

Mixed feelings accompanied me
She said goodbye to the place with deep sadness, because she did not want to leave the place
But! I went.. and the place did not leave my heart..

After a close meeting of the Nightingale.. After the meeting Abdul Halim

All published articles represent only the opinion of its authors.

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