Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

He pursed his lips and, ignoring her provocation, said calmly, “Hasn’t your mother mentioned the invitation from the king?”

“She told me.”

Wright smiled and said nervously, “You have accepted, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“An invitation is something that you can accept or turn down.”

“Would you turn down the king’s invitation to dinner?”

“I’m entitled to turn it down, if I wish.”

“Are you joking?”

“No. I’m perfectly serious.”

As Mr. Wright threw his spoon down into his soup bowl with a clatter, he snarled, “If you turn it down, you’ll be committing the greatest act of stupidity yet.”

“I can do what I want.”

“You’re a fool.”

Victoria, who was following the rising tension, tried to calm things. “Mitsy. Of course you can decide whether you want to go or not. Your father is just giving you some advice. That’s all.”

“Then I thank him for his advice.”

The blood rushed to Mr. Wright’s face and he shouted, “We don’t need your sarcasm. If you turn down the invitation, you are an idiot, not right in the head. I will not allow you to harm yourself.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“You’ll find out.”

There was silence. Mitsy wiped the edges of her mouth with her napkin. Her chair screeched as she pushed it away from the table. She took a few steps toward her father and said, “Fine. I’m not going to the party.”

When the Club staff returned from the café, they threw themselves into their work as if to disassociate themselves from Abdoun’s words and affirm their absolute and unimpaired loyalty to Alku. They took it for granted that Alku would already have heard about what had happened and that he would summon them to ask, “How could you have allowed that lad to speak against me?”

They prepared their answers, rehearsing them in their minds for the eventuality. They would say:

“Your Excellency. That lad is a piece of scum. He is out of his mind.”

“We refused to listen to him and told him to behave himself.”

“You are our master and our father. We are your children, your servants.”

As they expected Alku to bear down on them at any moment, the hours passed slowly with the apprehensive staff muttering prayers to keep evil away. With their nerves at the breaking point, they continued to fret, and when work slowed a little and they were sure that they were not being observed, they went into a side room to discuss the situation anew, as if to make certain that the awful incident had actually happened. They launched into the absent Abdoun, telling each other that he must be mad to have spoken out so insolently, repeating his words in a whisper and feigning incredulity. Bahr the barman and a small number of the staff said nothing. The others tried to outdo one another in spewing curses and heaping scorn upon Abdoun, but even so they were befuddled. Did they really, deep down, disagree with what Abdoun had said? The answer was yes and no. Their expressed anger at Abdoun hid a touch of admiration, but it was coated with such thick layers of fear that they had to condemn him publicly lest they be tarred with the same brush. They too wished that Alku would put an end to the beatings, but they were certain that would never happen. They knew they would never see justice reign. Abdoun had spoken the truth, but of what value was that? When had the truth ever changed anything in their lives? How many times had they lied out of fear or to keep their masters happy? How many times had they accepted the truth of something they knew to be false? How often had they been obliged to feign laughter or sorrow? How many times had they borne false witness out of fear or in hope of a tip? Let Abdoun speak as much as he wants. He could never change a thing at the Automobile Club. Abdoun was either a dreamer or plain stupid, whereas they were wise and practical people with a sense of their own limitations. They consoled themselves:

“People only say things like that in films.”

“What does he know about dignity or disgrace?”

“Our dignity comes from being able to earn a living.”

Then, with the authority of someone who has a thorough understanding of the matter, Karara the waiter spoke up, “You want the truth? We need to be beaten. If Alku stopped the beatings, the Club would go to rack and ruin. We are insubordinate by nature, like the race of Nimrod. We are driven by fear, not shame. If not for fear of being beaten, we’d do nothing but walk around thumbing our noses at our bosses.”

They looked down, some of them nodding in agreement. They wished that Alku would hurry up and punish Abdoun, that he would crush him. They longed to see Abdoun receiving his due and a taste of the stick, screaming and begging Alku to forgive him. That would make them feel safe again. That would confirm for them again that submissiveness to Alku was the best and most rational way to behave. Then they would be able to shake their heads, pucker up their lips in sympathy and say ruefully, “Poor Abdoun. See what happens when you get out of line?”

The whole day passed and nothing happened. The next day, just before noon, the black Cadillac pulled up in front of the Automobile Club, and Alku climbed out. Everyone who saw him at that moment would confirm that they had never seen him so angry. His black face was ashen, his coarse lips screwed up together, and he had the bloodshot eyes of a drunken man. Marching through the entrance door, Alku looked around impatiently, as if searching for something, as if he had come on urgent business and would brook no delay. Hameed was prancing along behind him, panting like an eager hunting dog. The staff all stepped aside for Alku, no one daring to proffer a greeting. They knew that they were about to witness an event unique in the history of the Club, one that they would be able to tell their grandchildren about. Some felt pity for Abdoun, about to meet his dreadful fate, but most just felt relief that Alku’s evident fury was not directed at them. You were asking for it, Abdoun. You’ll get the lesson of your life, and you won’t stand up to your masters again. Alku will crush anyone who stands up to him and then put him back in his rightful place.

When Alku went into Mr. Wright’s office, the servants clustered around in the corridor, pressing their ears to the door. Like children at a circus or a wrestling match, they were on tenterhooks waiting for the action to begin. With a thrill in their voice, they whispered to each other:

“It’s the end of Abdoun. Alku will rip him to shreds.”

“He may even fire him.”

“He’ll have him put in prison like he did to Ishaq when he stole a royal pack of cards.”

After half an hour, Alku marched out of Mr. Wright’s office as resolutely as he had entered it. He stopped in the doorway of the Club and unexpectedly turned around, noticing that the servants had been watching him surreptitiously. He thundered at them, “What are you all standing around for? Get the hell away from here!”

The servants all scattered like chickens, except Maître Shakir and Hagg Yusuf Tarboosh, who walked over to Alku and bowed.

He just stared at them and said, “What do you want?”

“Your great Excellency,” Yusuf Tarboosh answered reverentially. “You are our father and we live in gratitude to you.”

Maître Shakir took a step closer and continued in the same ingratiating tone, “Please, Your Excellency. Please punish that Abdoun severely.”