Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

It was almost three in the afternoon, and Ali Hamama was sitting, as always, behind the shabby counter. As the group entered, silence fell in the shop, and the customers cleared a path for them. Ali Hamama was squinting wildly to try to make out what was happening before his eyes, and at last he shouted hoarsely, “What’s this all about, Fawzy?”

Fawzy, too stunned to speak, just stood there looking rueful while the restaurant staff gripped him ever more tightly. One of the café men volunteered to tell the tale, which he did in a voice loud and clear enough for everyone in the shop to hear. Old Ali Hamama listened without showing any further emotion. His face wore that impassive expression with which he usually met the world. He stood up slowly and walked over to the group, deliberately, as if he were going to the toilet, and then, standing face-to-face with Fawzy, he gave him an enormous and loud slap on the face.

“So, it’s not enough for you to fail at school and be a general disappointment! I just have to sit here and you go out losing me money! There’s not a brain in that skull of yours, you bloody moron.”

Bedlam broke out as all the customers started jostling forward to try to calm the situation. But Ali Hamama, having now slapped Fawzy and Mahmud a few times over, turned to the café employees and asked them, “How much did they eat?”

“Twenty-four large plates.”

Old Ali Hamama squinted in disbelief, “How many?”

“Twenty-four — large ones.”

The old man raised his hands into the air as if about to do a jig, while making obscene gestures with his fingers and crying out, “I’d like to try to understand this, please God! I wasn’t born yesterday. How can three boys eat twenty-four plates of kushari ? Explain!”

The employees tried to explain the bet to Ali Hamama, but he refused to listen and kept insisting that he simply could not believe they had eaten so much. Some arduous negotiations followed, which kept coming up against this dead end, and whereupon the customers intervened to get them moving again. At last, Ali Hamama announced that he would pay for ten plates but no more. The café men, enraged, rejected the offer, but Ali Hamama simply retreated quietly to his seat and cocooned himself in silence, leaving them to continue clamoring. Finally, he said calmly, “Either you take the money for ten plates or you can take these boys to the police station and let the law teach them a lesson.” Then waving off Fawzy and Mahmud, he said, “Now, you two, get out of my sight and let me get on with earning a living.”

For half an hour Ali Hamama gave no further thought to the kushari problem. He directed his shop assistant that business carry on as if nothing had happened. From his seat behind the counter, Ali did likewise, reeling off the items for purchase so the cashier could tally them. This retreat achieved its aim, and one of the café men scurried back to the café to ask Hagg Subhi’s opinion about the offer proposed by Ali Hamama. He sped back with Hagg Subhi’s consent to accept payment for ten plates, allowing that God would somehow compensate them for the rest. At this point, Ali Hamama progressed to stage two of his plan and announced that for the moment he was short of petty cash but that as a trustworthy man who put the worship of God above that of men, he would pay them in kind. There was a further wringing of hands and rumble of protestation, but eventually the café men left the shop with three small pots of honey and various packages of cheese, butter, dried beef slices and pickled cucumbers.

It proved to be very difficult for Abd el-Aziz Gaafar to obtain extra work at the Club. He had not the slightest experience in service, and it was out of the question for a man over fifty to be sent to the training school. Moreover, Alku, as a matter of principle, avoided hiring on the basis of a recommendation, as it wouldn’t do for an employee to have a divided allegiance or a false sense of security. Comanus was aware of all that and tried a different tack. He went to see Mr. Wright, who, despite his hauteur, actually treated him decently, because Comanus was, after all, Greek and not Egyptian. Comanus explained Abd el-Aziz’s difficult circumstances and how his salary hardly covered his family’s needs. A half-supercilious, half-sympathetic smile appeared on Mr. Wright’s face, as if he were listening to a child’s prattle.

“The Automobile Club cannot help everyone who is a bit hard up. We are not a charity.”

“But Abd el-Aziz is a trustworthy and hardworking man.”

“Well, that’s only thanks to you.”

“Sir?”

“An Egyptian only works in exchange for a reward or out of fear. There is no such thing as self-motivation in the Egyptian psyche. If an Egyptian manages to carry out his duties properly, it is only because a European manager has trained him well.”

“Mr. Wright. Do you consider me a friend?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well then, shouldn’t friends help each other out from time to time?”

“What are you driving at?”

“I would like Abd el-Aziz to work as an assistant to Suleyman the doorman.”

“Let me think it over.”

“Suleyman is over seventy and needs an assistant. I am just asking you to allow Abd el-Aziz to stand with Suleyman at the entrance. The Club will not have to pay him, but he could earn a little extra in tips.”

Wright thought it over for a few moments, puffed out a thick cloud of pipe smoke and said, “I’ll agree, on one condition.”

“What is that?”

“I don’t want to hear his name ever again. If I hear a single complaint about him, I’ll fire him, and you won’t be able to protect him.”

“I give you my word.”

Wright nodded in agreement. Comanus got up, thanked him warmly and shook his hand, but just as he was leaving, he turned and asked, “Do I need to tell Alku?”

Mr. Wright stared incredulously. “If the general manager of the Automobile Club has given his word, I don’t think you need to go and get the agreement of the head chamberlain,” he replied.

That was just the answer that Comanus wanted. It meant that Mr. Wright would take it upon himself to inform Alku, who would not dare to disagree. Comanus, delighted at having achieved his mission, went back to tell Abd el-Aziz, who was deeply grateful. The following day, he went out for the first time to stand in the doorway of the Club. He already knew Suleyman the doorman because he came from the village of Kom Ombo, which was near Daraw in Upper Egypt. Despite their acquaintance, however, Abd el-Aziz knew from experience that working together with people one knows, even a close relative, called for a different set of rules. Suleyman gave him a warm welcome and appeared happy to have him there. By the end of the day, it was clear to Abd el-Aziz that working the door did not require any special skills. Suleyman’s job was completely symbolic. He was a human salute. He would sit on a bench outside the door of the club, and as soon as a member’s car hove into view, he would jump up and shuffle over, opening the door with a bow and say with the utmost deference, “It’s an honor to have you here, Your Excellency.”

Then His Excellency would get out of the car in a state of such high-handedness that he would hardly notice Suleyman, yet despite this distracted and oblivious state, he would still stretch out his hand to tip Suleyman, who would bow, utter some words of gratitude and call for God’s blessing upon His Excellency and then shuffle along behind the man until he reached the lift.

That was how Suleyman welcomed the members, who at the start of the evening arrived in droves, and how he would see them off as they left. As soon as an esteemed Club member stepped out of the lift, he would hurry over, bowing as he went, and then rush ahead to open the car door and collect his tip, which was generally double the arrival gratuity, since by that time of night members were typically a little sloshed. As for those who were really drunk, Suleyman would help them along, and if they were being difficult, he would take charge of them firmly but politely, not letting them go until they had reached the safety of their cars. He did all that with infinite humility, even if the drunken Excellency was out of control, shouting, cursing and behaving irrationally. If the Club member was tottering about, Suleyman would hold him up with both arms, and even if he had to put the poor man’s arms over his shoulders and drag him along, he did it with such aplomb that the inebriated Club member’s dignity was not dented, allowing him to wake up the following morning without feeling humiliated or mistreated.