Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

That sentence broke the ice and let the men vent the violent emotions which had initially been suppressed by shock. The staff rushed over to the freed men and embraced them. They tried to comfort them, but as they all started speaking at once, no one could make out exactly what they were saying. Tears ran down Bahr’s cheeks, and Abdoun grimaced and bit his lower lip as if trying to suppress a sharp pain, the groans of the other men turning into shouts and wails.

Straight after the dawn call to prayer, and right on time, two taxis turned up on al-Sadd al-Gawany Street, and Umm Said, Saleha, Mitsy and Aisha all rushed down to the street and got into one of the cars. In the other, Gameel the lawyer sat with Fawzy and Mahmud and a man wearing a blue suit. Umm Said, sitting silently next to the driver, noticed Mitsy’s face in the rearview mirror. Praise be to God. This was another of His miracles. An English girl, who had come from the far ends of the earth, to enter their life and live with them. As she looked out the window, she became aware of the constant whispering between Mitsy and Saleha and thought that these two girls, whenever they were together, would always have something to say to each other and could never sit saying nothing. Scenes from her life went through Umm Said’s mind. She could see Kamel as a child and reminisced over what a happy and sweet boy he had been, what a sense of responsibility he had, unlike his selfish brother Said. She recalled the sudden death of her husband and Saleha’s unfortunate marriage and divorce and the night of Kamel’s arrest. His imprisonment was still like a deep wound gnawing away at her nerves.

“Kamel has been put in prison because he is a brave nationalist. I am very proud of him,” she would always say to people trying to comfort her, but deep inside she really wished that he had never become involved in the whole affair. Her innermost self really wanted to rebuke him — but in the softest way possible. She would smile and tell herself, as if addressing him, “I’m not angry with you, Kamel. I could never be angry with you, whatever you do, but couldn’t you have waited until you graduated before taking up the struggle? Couldn’t you have thought about us, son? There are thousands of young men to fight against the occupation, but how many of them provide for their family as you do?

After approximately an hour, the taxis pulled up in the courtyard of the foreigners’ prison. Mahmud, Fawzy and the man in the blue suit stepped out, and Mahmud rushed over to help his mother and the women out of their taxi. They all stood in front of the building as Gameel quickly went through the entrance formalities. They walked through the massive doorway and down a long dark corridor until they reached the prison governor’s office. Gameel opened his briefcase and took out a document.

“Please go and take a seat in the waiting room,” he said.

They went through a side door into the waiting room. They all sat there, saying nothing, except for Umm Said, who kept muttering, “God grant forgiveness, great and merciful God.”

A few minutes later, the lawyer appeared at the door and said, “Please come with me.”

They all followed him, and as Umm Said headed for the usual visitors’ room, the lawyer said, “Not that way. Please use the other door.”

They looked at him in bewilderment, but he laughed and told them, “The governor is letting us use his office.”

They trooped into the governor’s office, and Kamel soon appeared. He was neatly shaved, his hair carefully brushed and even his blue prison uniform looked clean and pressed. His mother rushed over to him, embraced him and burst out crying. He leaned over to kiss her hands, and then Saleha gave him a hug. When it was Mitsy’s turn, she laughed and shook his hand.

“You look well!” she chirped. “And I can confirm that you are still good looking.”

The man in the blue suit went over to him and introduced himself.

“Muhammad Irfan. Notary.”

Kamel shook his hand warmly. After a little while, they all sat down around the notary, who was sitting in the governor’s chair and had placed in front of him a large file. He opened it, uttered the customary invocations of God’s beneficence and power and started speaking of marriage in Islam. Then, taking Kamel’s hand he placed it in Mitsy’s and, covering them both with a white handkerchief, he went through the formalities of the marriage contract. Kamel looked happy, and Mitsy was emotional as they were congratulated. Aisha could not control herself. She raised her head and, putting her hand in front of her mouth, started ululating. The happy noise sounded odd in the gloomy atmosphere of the prison.

As he did every night, once Alku had made sure that His Majesty was fast asleep, he went over the next day’s duties and just before dawn repaired to his own suite in Abdin Palace. This consisted of two large bedrooms, a reception room, a luxurious bathroom and a much plainer office. Alku was worn out and took a hot shower, then poured himself a whiskey, which he gulped down followed by two glasses of cold water before sinking down on his bed. He shut his eyes, rolled onto his right side and let sleep wash over him. Suddenly, he heard a noise in the room. He peered into the darkness and thought he could make out some shapes near the window.

“Who’s there?” he barked.

No one replied. He sprang out of bed and reached out for the light switch but felt a hand grab him by the throat.

“Don’t move!”

“Who are you, and how did you get in?” Alku shouted.

That was when he felt the first blow. Alku groaned loudly as if in protest, but the punches continued. They hit him on the head and punched and kicked him. He could just about make out their forms in the darkness. Two men pinned his arms apart while another stood behind and held his head up for more punches. The man in front of him, who seemed to be the leader, was holding a flashlight which gave out a small circle of light. The beating continued, violent and unabated, with Alku moaning and groaning loudly.

“Shame on you!” he managed to spit out.

The beating started anew, and the man in front kicked him in the shins. Alku started to plead, “I’m an old man and you’re young enough to be my children.”

The leader laughed, “So now you’ve become a gentle and caring father, you low-down bastard!”

“What do you want with me?” Alku managed to stutter out, terrified.

“We’ve come to settle the account.”

“What account?”

“The bill for all the bad things you’ve done.”

“If I’ve done something wrong, I apologize.”

“It’s too late for apologies now.”

“Let me go and I’ll do anything you want.”

“We want our due. You have robbed us and treated us like filth.”

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

“That’s your problem all over…you think we’re stupid.”

“I swear. I’ll do anything. Believe me.”

“You’re not going to trick us again.”

“Give me one last chance.”

“There isn’t room for all of us. It’s either us or you.”

Alku called out for God’s mercy. The flashlight went out, and the room was completely dark. Shots rang out followed by the sound of footsteps rushing away. There were shouts in the palace corridors and guards ran to Alku’s suite. They switched the light on and found Alku, Qasem Muhammad Qasem, chief royal chamberlain, in his blue silk pajamas, stretched out on the floor with a bullet through his forehead, his mouth wide open and his eyes fixedly staring into the distance with a surprised look that he would wear for all eternity.