Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

The supreme authority that Alku wielded over the servants would suddenly invert itself in the presence of foreigners. He could be standing like a crowned king among the servants, but the moment he saw a foreigner, he would rush over and bow, opening the door of the salon or lift with his own hands. He would show complete deference, even veneration, to any foreigner, which was most sincere, as he believed firmly in the superiority of the white race. He would always tell people, “The foreigner is always better and cleverer than we are, and whether you are Arab or Nubian, you must treat him with more respect.” His submissiveness to foreigners actually served to augment his prestige, as if he were declaring to the servants, “I am the servant of His Majesty the king and of foreigners, but to you I am lord and master.”

It was almost five o’clock in the afternoon when a black Cadillac cruised down Qasr al-Nil Street and stopped in front of the Automobile Club. The driver jumped out, bowed, and opened the door and Alku stepped out regally. He was dressed in his valet’s suit of green broadcloth, a zouave-style waistcoat with bullion embroidery, gold epaulets, and across his whole chest were gold aiguillettes, which swung gently whenever he moved his arms. He was wearing an elegant tarboosh and holding a cigar from which he took a puff from time to time, exhaling thick smoke, which obscured his face, the aroma mingling with his French eau de cologne.

Behind Alku scurried Hameed, his right-hand man, who carried out the punishments he decreed for the servants, which ranged from slaps on the feet to the lash in the case of major infringements. Hameed was a chubby black man in his twenties whose every movement made his corpulent frame shudder like a soft, blubbery mass unrestrained by bone or sinew. He had a fixed expression of sullenness and exuded a generally sour aura. His supercilious, repugnant gaze was ever watching for the slightest blunder. There were dark rumors. People said that Hameed was Alku’s illegitimate son by a belly dancer Alku had fallen in love with and that although Alku refused to acknowledge his paternity, he had secretly looked after him and paid for his upbringing, before finally taking him on as his closest associate at work. It was also said that one of the servants had abused Hameed as a child and that he had grown up to be a homosexual. For according to the Upper Egyptian folklore so ardently believed by the servants, a tapeworm had come to live in his dark, dank sphincter, feeding exclusively on the semen of the men who screwed Hameed, and that whenever the worm was hungry, it would gnaw so ferociously at him that he had to rush around looking for someone to sodomize him just to soothe the pain. This was how Hameed came to be a queer who craved hairy chests and strong thighs and who quivered like a woman at the sight of an erect penis. It was this lustful inclination that, in the opinion of the servants, explained his delight at humiliating men and the glee with which he administered a beating. Some of the servants swore by God Almighty that they had seen with their own eyes how, after a good flogging, he ran his hand over the weals on the servant’s naked back and bit his lower lip to suppress the waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

Most likely these stories were merely calumnies invented by the servants, who enjoyed swapping them surreptitiously out of their dread of Hameed, whom they detested no end.

The moment Alku set foot in the Club, everyone knew at once, the servants asking each other in terror where he was headed and what he wanted. Had he come on a routine inspection or to investigate something reported to him by one of his ubiquitous spies? These questions always remained unanswered. Alku’s inspections were one of the vicissitudes of fate from which no one felt safe. One never knew how far they would reach, and so when they occurred, the servants would always pray to God for protection. No matter how skillful or experienced a servant might be, as in a game of roulette, he could never predict when his number would come up. For Alku, good and evil were completely random matters. He might spend a whole day checking the rims of the lift doors for traces of dust as his gaze darted over to old Mur’i the lift attendant, who would stand there quaking. He might then take the lift and head to the bar where Bahr the barman would rush over to him and say in Nubian, “Good afternoon, Your Excellency. To what do we owe the honor?”

Alku did not answer greetings from servants, except a wave of his hand or a slight nod if he was in a good mood. If in a foul mood, he would raise his eyebrows almost imperceptibly or just ignore the greeting completely. Alku walked into the empty bar with the servants scurrying behind him and gestured to Hameed to open the wooden drawer with the previous night’s receipts. Reaching into the drawer, Hameed gave them a fleeting glance before flinging the slips into the air and, in a voice choked with anger, crying out, “Your tabs are really floating now, Bahr!”

Bahr was about to respond, but a piercing look from Alku shut him up and made him lower his head. Alku did no more than register this impertinence before turning and walking out of the bar.

A little explanation is needed here. The “floating tab” was a well-known system used by barmen to manage their receipts. Rather than ringing up an item such as two beers or two whiskeys again and again, a barman would put enough money to cover the tab into the till and would then present the same bill to another member who ordered the same thing. This time the barman pocketed the money. Hence it was called a floating tab as the same bill bobbed around from customer to customer.

Alku then headed to the restaurant, but just as he reached the door, at the very last moment, he turned and headed for the casino, the servants still hurrying along behind him. He strode up to the farthest table in the room, next to the window, rubbed his hand a few times on the underside of the table and then slowly lifted his fingers up to his eyes. The waiters stood around him, almost breathless from fear. It would be an unmitigated disaster if Alku saw the slightest trace of dust on his fingers. But thank the Lord, there was not an atom of dust on the underside of the table. What happened then is proof of Alku’s second sight. As he was waiting for the lift, he spotted Idris the waiter in the distance. He turned to look him over, and then, like a cat that has just seen danger, he tensed his muscles and arched his back as if bracing for a fight. Gesturing toward Idris, Alku harrumphed and shouted, “Bring that one here!”

Idris froze on the spot, with an ingratiating smile. Hameed grabbed him and dragged him so roughly by the sleeve of his robe that he almost fell over. Alku uttered another phrase that hit Idris like a lightning bolt, “Search him.”

At this, Hameed was to take the suspect to the servants’ changing room on the roof. There they stood, surrounded by servants trying their best to hide any sympathy for their colleague. With an ugly and vengeful smile, Hameed told Idris to take off his caftan, which he searched carefully. Then Hameed inspected Idris’s baggy undertrousers, causing Idris to utter a low moan that soon turned into a loud gasp as Hameed extracted two twenty-five piastre notes from Idris’s sock.

“Thief!” shouted Hameed and then, like a hunting dog, turned to present the notes to Alku, who asked in a low and deliberate tone, “How long have you been thieving, Idris?”

“Forgive me, Your Excellency,” he wailed, almost in tears. “I’ll never do it again.”

Alku shook his head once, whereupon Hameed took his cue and gestured to two of the servants to grab Idris by the arms. This served two purposes, forcing the colleagues of a guilty servant to witness the beating while also enlisting them to prevent him from dodging any of the lashes. There was no such thing as friendship for anyone who broke the rules. It made them understand that it could happen even to one of their oldest colleagues. It was no use feeling upset at his disgrace and pain, as the guilty had no rights.