Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

“Welcome. Please come in. It’s an honor for us,” my mother said as she shook Mitsy’s hand and then gave her a big hug before leading her to the sitting room. They needed no help to get along. Almost at once, they were sitting there chatting and soon laughing away. My mother offered her a whole range of beverages and snacks and then invited her to stay for lunch, but Mitsy made her apologies.

“Your mother’s so lovely,” she said the moment we were outside in the street.

“Thank you.”

“She has a gorgeous face, very noble features, and she is so nice and kind.”

“I have a biased opinion, being her son, but I agree.”

We reached the square, and I looked around for a taxi, but she smiled and suddenly told me, “I don’t want to go home now. Can we go and sit somewhere?”

“Of course.”

I invited her to Café l’Auberge. At that time of day, it was empty. We sat at a corner table at the back. A waiter rushed over to us and seemed happy at Mitsy’s being there. He proudly repeated the few words he knew in English, and Mitsy told him, “I can speak Arabic quite well!”

“God be praised,” the waiter said, astonished. We ordered mint tea.

I watched the way she put her lips to the glass to sip the hot tea. I did not know what to say.

Without looking at me, as if talking to herself, she said, “You have done so much for me, and I’m such an odd person.”

“You’re different, I’ll admit, but in a positive way. But how do you manage it without alienating the people around you?”

“The truth is I don’t fit in.”

“Don’t you have friends?”

“I do, but they don’t understand me.”

“Then maybe you need new friends.”

Mitsy sighed, and her blue eyes became blurry. It was as if she could not look me straight in the face.

“My relations with my father are very tense.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You and your father are chalk and cheese. I have often wondered how someone like Mr. Wright could produce such a lovely girl like you.”

Having uttered that last sentence without thinking, I immediately felt embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“You’re right,” she said softly. Then she fell silent, as if trying to gather her thoughts.

“I’m living a nightmare,” she said.

After some coaxing, she told me in detail what had happened with the king. I listened without saying a word. Finally, she asked anxiously, “What do you think?”

Overcome with emotion, I replied, “I need a little time to take it all in. I’m perturbed by the king of Egypt’s behavior.”

“Well,” she smiled sadly, “I’m perturbed by my father’s behavior.”

“We have to accept our families for what they are…”

“I’m not trying to change my father, but, put quite simply, he has ruined my life.”

“Well, my brother Said is also unbearable, but I try to find a way of getting along with him.”

“Perhaps I would get on better with my father if I got away from him. The problem is that I don’t have a job, and he pays all my expenses, so I have to live in the same house.”

“Have you looked for a job?”

“I have, and I couldn’t find anything. But I’m going to start looking again.”

“How can I help?”

Mitsy smiled and looked at me gratefully.

“If you want to help me,” she said sweetly, “then stay near.”

She reached out and laid her hand on mine. I had an overwhelming desire to hug her, but I controlled myself. I gently withdrew my hand and asked her, “Would you like to go somewhere else?”

Suddenly she became jolly again.

“Oh, what a polite man you are!” she said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you really need to go. Just look how delicately you put it by asking me if I want to go somewhere else…”

I laughed because she was right. I had some studying to catch up on. I took her home by taxi, and then I continued on to Sayyida Zeinab. I took a hot shower and put on my pajamas, and then sat down at my desk with my textbook, but I could not help thinking of Mitsy. I went over what she said, and my imagination started to run wild. I could see myself battling viciously with her rotten father in order to get her out from under his thumb. James Wright was just a lowdown pimp, but I could not say that to Mitsy. What he had done was unjustifiable. English morals were different from our Eastern customs. English families allowed their daughters to have romances before marriage. So be it, but what Wright had done went beyond that. He had tried to push his daughter into bed with the king for his own benefit. He could not have had any other motivation. If his daughter became the king’s mistress, he would enjoy many privileges and make a fortune. In face of this sordid behavior, his daughter had shown bravery and real nobility of character.

Whenever I thought of what she had done with the king, I had to laugh. What a talented actress. She had turned the drama into a farce. I tried to concentrate on my studies until around three in the morning, when exhaustion overcame me, and I fell into a deep sleep.

In the morning I went to the Club and did my regular day’s work. At around six in the evening, Monsieur Comanus had already gone home, and I was getting ready to lock up when the telephone rang.

“Kamel,” Labib the telephone operator said excitedly. “His Royal Highness Prince Shamel is asking for you. I’ll connect you now.”

The prince greeted me quickly, and before I could respond, he continued, “Listen, Kamel. I need you to do something for me. I hope you’ll be able to do it without further ado.”

“At your command!”

“Tomorrow morning at seven I will be waiting for you at the palace.”

“Seven in the morning?”

“Yes. Seven o’clock on the dot. Don’t be late. I shall be waiting by the side door on Aisha al-Taymouriya Street.”

“Might I be told the purpose of our appointment?”

“I’ll explain everything when I see you,” the prince said and hung up.

I locked up the storeroom and went out onto the street and decided to walk home. I needed to think. First the odd story of Mitsy and the king, and now the prince was calling me out of the blue. Despite his charm, I was now closer than ever to thinking that he might be a little deranged. What could he want from me at seven in the morning? And why the side door? The only explanation was that he did not want anybody to see me going into the palace, I decided that the purpose of this visit had to be unnatural: the prince might be homosexual. There was nothing about the way he held himself or moved that pointed in that direction, but I had heard that some homosexuals look completely normal. The odd thing was that he had a reputation as a lady-killer. Maybe he was insatiable or swung both ways. My concern was starting to turn to terror. I felt put upon from all sides. It seemed most plausible that he was a homosexual. Hence the early morning at the back door. Did he mean to take me off to some side room and try to ravish me? My mind filled with all sorts of upsetting visions. I could see myself trying to wriggle out of his grasp. I could not get the image out of my mind. Even so, I could not wriggle out of the appointment. I had promised the prince, and he had helped me so much. I owed my job with Mitsy to him.

So I woke up at six o’clock the next day and told my mother I had an early lecture before work. I took a taxi from the square, and when we reached Garden City, I got out on the Corniche to prevent the driver from knowing my destination. I continued on foot to the prince’s palace but got lost in the winding streets of Garden City, which all looked alike. I walked past a uniformed guard on the street and was about to ask him where the palace was, when I remembered that the prince was intent on keeping the visit a secret. So I asked him, “Excuse me. Do you know Aisha al-Taymouriya Street?”