Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

“I have made a few forays into poetry.”

The prince laughed and called out, “Good Lord, we’ve got a poet in the storeroom!”

That made me laugh. He laid his hand on my shoulder, and there was warmth in his voice as he added, “You’re a young talented chap. I can see a bright future for you.”

He held out a gold pound coin and said, “Here. A small gift.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” I said. “But, thank God, I am not in need of help.”

“My boy, if I had a son, he would be your age now. Imagine me as your late father and don’t stand on ceremony. Please do take it.”

He kept his hand held out with the coin, but I held firm. “Thank you so much, sir, for your kindness, but please forgive me.”

The prince gave a broad smile, as if he had never been surprised by a refusal. He put the coin back in his pocket and turned to leave but stopped suddenly as if he had remembered something. He smiled again and asked me, “Are you here every day?”

“Except for Wednesday. That’s my day off.”

“What time do you finish work?”

“At six o’clock.”

“Fine. On Thursday at six o’clock, I shall send my chauffeur to pick you up and bring you to the palace. Do you have any objection to paying me a visit?”

“It will be a great honor for me.”

As I made a rather deep bow, I said, “At your service, sir,” and Uncle Suleyman and I accompanied him out of the Club, walking behind him until he reached his black Buick. We stood there watching until the car disappeared from view. Uncle Suleyman then grabbed hold of my sleeve. “Get inside. I want to speak to you,” he barked at me with uncharacteristic abruptness.

I followed him into the storeroom. He was limping along and seemed worked up about something. When we were alone, he turned on me furiously, saying, “Are you out of your mind, Kamel? How could you embarrass His Royal Highness like that!”

“I didn’t embarrass him.”

“You refused his gift.”

“I apologized politely.”

“Well, it’s a good thing it was Prince Shamel you did that to.”

“Why?”

“Because he is one of the kindest princes in the ruling family. Didn’t you notice that he himself came to check on the wine? He could have made us all come running to him. But he is a man of humility and tolerance. Had you rejected a gift from any other prince, he would have had you fired on the spot.”

“I’m not a beggar, Uncle Suleyman.”

“Just listen, son. The prince liked you and wanted to give you something. You must never refuse.”

“Well, I just did.”

“Who do you think you are, Kamel? If you carry on like that in the Club, you’ll bring all sorts of misfortunes down upon yourself. We are all servants of the princes. Can’t you understand that?”

I really wanted to tell Uncle Suleyman that I was a law student and not a servant. Even though I had been forced to take a temporary job in the storeroom, that did not make me a servant, but not wishing to offend him, I bit my tongue.

The story spread around the Club. Most of the servants agreed that I was wrong to have refused the prince’s gift. I tried to explain my thinking, but, as one, they clung to their own interpretation, some of them simply incredulous. “Listen, son, it’s a great mistake to look a gift horse in the mouth. Are you better off than the princes?”

I realized that it was pointless pressing the matter. I feigned agreement and bit my tongue. I heard conflicting opinions about Prince Shamel from the staff. Some thought him a great man, pointing out his outspokenness, humility and sympathy for the poor, while others referred to him as an uncontrollable womanizer, a faithless unbeliever who had married an Italian woman and then divorced her before they’d had children. He then flung himself into endless relationships, changing partners as often as his socks. I also learned from them that Prince Shamel’s relations with His Majesty were not good. The king did not care for his self-satisfaction and resented both his liberal way of thinking and his common touch. His Majesty, in fact, considered him a Communist, though he was also jealous of him. Prince Shamel was a gifted artist of international repute whose photography was exhibited in Europe, and as he mentioned, he had received his higher education at the Sorbonne, whereas the king was an unlearned soul, with no university degree, let alone interest in art. The staff recounted two incidents in particular that had caused the chill between the king and Prince Shamel. One time, the king had been sitting with the prince and offered him a cigar, which the prince took and then leaned forward as if waiting for the king to light it for him. It was instinctual and unintended, and he realized his mistake almost immediately, springing to his feet, apologizing, but the king was so angry that he turned his back on the prince, cutting him completely and chatting with the other guests. Finally, the prince made his excuses and left. The other incident occurred when the whole royal family had been invited to a lunch party at Muntaza Palace, and Prince Shamel jumped into the swimming pool before asking the king’s permission, a grave breach of protocol. Some courtiers brought this to the prince’s attention. When he climbed out of the pool, the courtiers gave him to understand, in the clearest but politest of terms, that he was no longer welcome. He left the palace and never again received a royal invitation.

This tale only increased my respect for the prince. I felt that this man, who had no fear of the king himself, would treat me with kindness and respect, insignificant as I was. Still, I wondered why he was interested in me. It seemed odd that he would invite me to his palace when he hardly knew me. Of course I was looking forward to visiting him, but I hoped that the visit would not end badly and spoil my wonderful impression of him.

On Thursday, at the appointed hour, just before I left the storeroom to go wait outside for the prince’s car, Comanus warned me, “Be careful about what you say to the prince. Think twice before you utter a word.”

Uncle Suleyman, on the other hand, took me to the car and whispered in my ear, “Listen, Kamel. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Don’t do anything stupid, like you did the first time you met him.”

Prince Shamel’s palace was on the banks of the Nile in Garden City. The car made two sharp turns and drew up at the entrance. I wondered how just one man could live in this stately house when thousands of Egyptians lived cramped in tiny spaces. The palace was beautiful and elegant, with impressively high ceilings, enormous halls and marble columns. It all seemed unreal to me, as if I had ended up in a movie. A dark-skinned servant opened the door, and I was received in the hallway by an elegant man in a white suit, white gloves and a blue tie. He bowed to me and said, “Good evening, Mr. Kamel. Please follow me. His Royal Highness is waiting for you in the studio.”

I followed him across the hallway. We turned right, and he opened a huge door into an enormous photography studio. The lights were dimmed. I could see scores of photographs on the walls and a number of cameras pointing in all directions. The prince was not dressed as I had expected him to be. He was wearing a blue cotton shirt, a tie and black shoes. He looked tired and was unshaven. He smiled and greeted me warmly, “Welcome, Kamel. I apologize for having been too busy to make myself presentable. We won’t shake hands, because I don’t want to stain your clothing.”

He gave a loud laugh and held his hands out, and I saw that he was wearing rubber gloves with developer all over them. “If you’d like to look at some of my photographs on the wall,” he said, “please go ahead.”