Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

The guests all surged over to greet His Majesty the king, who looked at Botticelli and the girls around him and laughed.

“Carlo, quel joli bouquet de fleurs vous avez mis là, ” he said.

This magnanimous royal compliment moved Botticelli deeply.

“I am Your Majesty’s humble servant,” he said with some emotion, and then he presented the women.

He started with the olive-skinned girl, Inji, the daughter of the aristocrat Hasan Sharkis. Then he introduced the French danseuse, Chantal, who was currently performing at the Auberge des Pyramides nightclub. When it came to Mitsy, Botticelli gave the king a knowing look and smiled with pride as if drawing his attention to the pick of the litter.

“I should like to present to Your Royal Highness Miss Mitsy, daughter of Mr. James Wright, general manager of the Automobile Club.”

“Delighted to meet you,” the king said with a smile. “I know your father. He’s a good man.”

Mitsy muttered some words of thanks.

“And what do you do with your time?” the king continued.

“I’m a drama student at the American University.”

This appeared to interest the king, and when they sat down at the table, he chatted with her to the complete exclusion of the others, who tried as hard as they could not to appear jealous. It became obvious that the royal choice had been made. The guests from the other table started coming over to request permission to leave, the king seeing them off with a nod.

Botticelli got up with a self-satisfied look and bowed. “I beg Your Majesty’s permission to leave,” he said. “I should be taking these two beautiful ladies back home.”

“That’s not what I would call an unpleasant task!”

Everyone had now gone, leaving the king and Mitsy alone in the lodge. The servants were all standing close by in case His Majesty should need them but out of earshot of His Majesty’s conversation with his guest. Mitsy was listening to the king with a fixed smile, finding the situation so strange. Her previous impression of the king had been completely off. Was this flabby man sitting in front of her, who looked so ordinary, really His Majesty? The king ordered a bottle of wine and gestured to the waiter to let Mitsy taste it. She took a sip but noticed that he did not fill the king’s glass.

“Isn’t Your Majesty drinking?” she asked in a disembodied voice.

“Actually, I don’t like the taste of wine.”

She took another sip, feeling the need of the alcohol.

“Do you know,” the king said, “why people taste the wine before drinking it?”

“I don’t.”

“That custom has a story to it,” he said, sounding like some old sage. “The king of France was ill, and his doctor had forbidden him to take any wine. This king gave a party for his nobles and courtiers, and it went on late into the night. Every time someone made a toast, the guests drank, and the king did not. The wine by now had gone sour, but they were obliged to drink it. Not a single one of them dared to mention this to the king. The next day, every last guest fell ill. When the king learned of this, he launched the custom of the host tasting the wine first before serving it to the guests.”

“I have learned something new, Your Majesty,” Mitsy said with a laugh.

“I read it in a history book,” the king answered proudly.

“Does Your Majesty read a lot?”

“At least four hours a day.”

She knew he was lying, but she raised her eyebrows and said, “How wonderful.”

Why was she kowtowing to the king? Yet again she could not fathom her own behavior. How she hated her own false smile and the sound of her voice. But why was she being so obsequious when she was about to fall into a pit?

“Let’s be friends.” The king smiled. “From this night on.”

“Your friendship would be an honor for me, as it would be for anyone.”

The king nodded, and as if thinking about something deeply, he said, “Let me tell you something. I don’t judge friendship by time but by my feelings. There are some people I have known for donkey’s years, but to me they don’t feel like friends at all. On the other hand, I sometimes meet someone for the first time and feel as if I’ve known him for ages. It’s so nice to be able to talk to you. Lately, I have been feeling really lonely.”

“Oh, what a sad cliché,” Mitsy thought, but she carried on with her part and forced a sad smile. She gave the king a sympathetic look and asked, “How can Your Majesty feel lonely when you are surrounded by people who love you?”

“A man can be surrounded by people,” he said with a sigh, “and feel lonely at the same time because no one understands him.”

“This dull king is trying to come across as some sort of great thinker,” she thought.

He spoke of his hard, austere life and the royal responsibilities, which left him no time for recreation.

“I appreciate Your Majesty’s hard work,” she told him. “But you must find a way to relax.”

“How can I, when I shoulder the responsibility of Egypt, the most important country in the East?”

Even as she kept nodding in agreement, she could not help thinking, “What a hypocrite! He gambles the night away at the Automobile Club and then goes running after women. All this is part of your national duties?”

Suddenly the king fell silent. “Why have you stopped drinking?” he asked her.

“I drink slowly.”

“Well keep drinking, because I love to look at the rim of the glass as it touches your lips.”

He motioned to a waiter, who rushed over and refilled her glass with a bow.

She took another sip, and the king appeared on the verge of saying something. Suddenly, she felt his enormous hand squeezing hers. Her breath quickened, and she thought she was about to faint. He held her hand up, and as he kissed it, she whispered, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

He took a glass from the table. “Usually,” he said, “I don’t drink, but I shall tonight in your honor.”

She said nothing as he moved so close that she could feel his breath on her face as he whispered lasciviously, “I shall drink from your glass. I shall place my lips where your lips have touched, and that way I shall absorb all your secrets.”

Mitsy gave a smile of complete naïveté. “That is one honor,” she said, “that I should not like to have.”

“What do you mean?” the king said with some irritation.

Mitsy kept smiling and continued gently, “Please do not drink from my glass, Your Majesty.”

“And why not?”

“I’m not too well. I have a serious throat infection. My doctor has told me that it is rare but extremely contagious and can be passed on to anyone who comes too close or uses things I have used.”

The king stared at her, his smile vanished and his pupils dilated, apparently unable to take this in. Mitsy took a step back and told him apologetically, “My apologies. It’s just that I am worried about Your Majesty, with all those responsibilities, catching the infection.”

“Look, Umm Said,” said Aisha. “If you want Fayeqa to marry yourson, may the name of the Prophet protect him, I will go and fetch her for him myself.”

Umm Said muttered a few words of thanks, but Aisha carried on with gusto, “I know. By God Almighty, were we to search the whole world we would never find better than you. Marrying into your family brings us honor, so you can consider Said and Fayeqa as good as married!”

Umm Said still seemed a little anxious trying to make her point for the last time, “Let me repeat myself, Aisha. Without qualification, no happy ending. No ululations, no guests and no white dress.”

Aisha sighed. “Umm Said,” she said affectionately, “we’ll do whatever makes you happy. With God’s blessing.”