The Man in the White Sharkskin Suit by Lucette Lagnado

didn’t help to appeal to Leon. Alexandra knew from the start that the marriage was an unhappy one, and she blamed my father for Edith’s misery and herself for having approved the union that afternoon at La Parisiana. Yet she’d always been afraid to stand up to him or protect her daughter.
    Even now, at this critical juncture, with two lives hanging in the balance, my father and my grandmother could barely communicate. Aware of the danger his wife and daughter were in, Leon had summoned all the doctors he knew to Malaka Nazli; yet none seemed to know what was wrong.
    Alexandra suddenly discovered a well of strength within her thatspurred her to take action. She left Malaka Nazli and walked, cigarette in hand, to the home of her stepdaughter, Rosée. Over a steaming cup of Turkish coffee, she confided the drama that was unfolding in our house.
    â€œEdith est en danger. Je suis folle d’inquiétude,” she told Rosée—Edith is in danger, I am worried sick.
    In times of crisis, the two women agreed, there was only one person to turn to, Rosée’s brother. Oncle Edouard, my grandfather Isaac’s son from his first marriage, was a charismatic figure, the head of my mother’s side of the family. He had managed to climb out of poverty, and as he prospered, he kept the extended family afloat. Because of his work as a pharmaceutical salesman, he knew all the leading specialists of Cairo as well as the most up-to-date drugs. My mother adored him, this half brother who was more like a father to her.

    Oncle Edouard.
    Informed that Edith was in danger of dying, Oncle Edouard rushed to summon one of the leading infectious disease specialists in Egypt. Together, the two men made their way to Malaka Nazli. My father greeted them with relief: he may have been the unchallenged ruler of Malaka Nazli, but he always knew when to cede power.
    The white-coated physician instantly made a diagnosis. “C’est la fièvre typhoïde,” he declared, confident and grim, and everyone felt shaken at his words. Typhoid fever was the scourge of Egypt.
    It seemed so obvious now. But while widespread, it was often misdiagnosed. Still, so much could have been done differently, if only they had known. There were medicines that could have been administered, doctors who could have assisted in the delivery, not merely a midwife. Most important, mother and child would have been separated.
    The doctor insisted on immediately removing Baby Alexandra from Edith, who had continued to nurse her despite her own debilitated state. But it was undoubtedly too late, he warned somberly. Because my mother had held her and fed her, it was likely the bacteria had spread to the infant.
    Malaka Nazli, which should have been a house of joy, was again a house of tears.
    Oncle Edouard directed his anger against my father, demanding to know how he allowed his wife to remain in such a state, when he could certainly have afforded to bring in the finest specialists much earlier. Leon didn’t even try to defend himself. He was mute, in shock at all the conflicting events—a newborn daughter, a desperately ill wife, news that both were in peril, and all from as common a disease as typhoid fever, which any competent physician should have been able to diagnose.
    He had to act swiftly to safeguard the other children. As panic swept the house, both César and Suzette were bundled up and taken by taxi to Tante Marie, while arrangements could be made to protect Isaac, who was only a toddler.
    The days turned into weeks. It was such a strange period, when Suzette and César heard nothing about how their mother and their new sister were doing. Because it was the summer, there was no school that would have given their days a structure. My father would stop by tolook in on them almost every day, but he was vague and evasive about goings-on on Malaka Nazli.
    Alexandra, undaunted by the prospect of being exposed to the fever,