Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

They tried to continue the conversation, but Maître Shakir cut them off and left them standing there. After a little further discussion, they decided to go see Hagg Yusuf Tarboosh. He had just finished saying his afternoon prayers. He shook hands with them one by one, his hand still wet from his ablutions. They repeated what they had told Maître Shakir. He bit his lip and shook his head, and as if fearful of being overheard, he spoke quietly, “By God, if it was up to me, I would have given you all pensions, but my hands are tied.”

They stood there looking so crestfallen that Hagg Yusuf added in a conciliatory tone, “Why don’t you put a little aside every month?”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” they countered. “Where do we get the money from, Uncle Yusuf? It’s not like we’re rolling in it.”

Tarboosh gave them a look of irritation and retorted, “You seem to have forgotten yourselves. You don’t know how lucky you are. Praise God and avoid the devil!”

They did not stay and argue with Yusuf but went back to inform their colleagues on the results of their efforts. Their bitterness was turning more and more to indignation, until Suleyman the doorman surprised them with his idea. Suleyman was in his seventies, the oldest member of the staff, and all his teeth were gone. He could hardly drag himself along due to the pains in his joints. For all that, he came up with something completely unprecedented in the history of the Automobile Club.

Alku had come for an afternoon inspection tour. He had climbed out of his car as usual and made his way to the entrance with Hameed scurrying along behind him. Suleyman had walked over to him and bowed, but just as Alku walked past him, he suddenly grabbed the sleeve of his embroidered jacket. Alku jerked his hand away and looked at Suleyman in disbelief, but the latter just called out in a tremulous voice, “Master Alku! The families of Abd el-Malek and Mur’i are begging you!”

“Begging me for what?” Alku roared.

“For a pension from the Club.”

“We don’t have pensions.”

“How are they supposed to live, Master Alku?”

“What’s it got to do with you, Suleyman? Mind your own business.”

“How is it not my business?” Suleyman was starting to get angry. “We are all one big family.”

This was more than Alku could stand. He made a gesture to Hameed and shouted to some of the servants standing in the entrance hall, “Grab hold of him!”

Such a call usually ended up with the offender being immediately restrained, but this time the servants stood their ground. They made no movement, seemingly refusing to carry out the order. Suleyman was their senior and held an elevated status in their eyes. Moreover, he was not a well man and could hardly walk. Hameed could not possibly beat him as he had the others. One of the servants walked over to Hameed, with an ingratiating smile on his face. He was about to ask Hameed to overlook the matter, but before he could utter a word, Hameed’s flabby body started quaking with anger, and he roared thunderously, “I said grab hold of him! Are you deaf!”

There was nothing they could do. Two of the servants went over to Suleyman and grabbed him by the arms. Hameed’s eyes bulged as he walked over to him and started slapping him. Suleyman put up no resistance and looked confused. The blows rained down on the old man’s face as the servants tried to hide their dismay, averting their gaze and trying to hold their breath lest some sound betray their feelings of disapproval or sympathy. They waited until the punishment was over and Alku, with Hameed following him, had gone into the Club, before rushing over to Suleyman, who stood rooted to the spot with a sad smile on his face. They kissed him on the head and tried to comfort him.

“Never mind, Uncle Suleyman.”

“Alku will get his punishment from God.”

“He’ll answer for this one day.”

Uncle Suleyman dragged himself over to the bench. He listened to their words of consolation with a grateful yet absent look. He did not seem able to take in what had happened. It seemed incredible that he could be set upon like that at his age, and his look of startled bewilderment remained until he finished his shift and went home. The following day, after evening prayers, when Abdoun went to the café, he noticed Suleyman at the table by the window. Some of the staff had brought him there to take his mind off things before his next shift. Abdoun went over to him and shouted angrily, “How dare anyone lift up his hand against you!”

Suleyman looked down and muttered a few words of thanks to Abdoun, who then looked at the men sitting with him and asked, “So who’s going to be next?”

They became flustered and retorted:

“Shut up, Abdoun. You’re all we need now.”

“Yes. Here’s another misfortune for you to crow over!”

“Alku had Abd el-Aziz beaten up,” Abdoun responded. “And he just lay down and died. Abd el-Malek’s and Mur’i’s children have nothing to eat. And now, to round it off, Uncle Suleyman, the oldest among us, has been smacked about like a child. All that and you sit there doing nothing. What are you afraid of? What worse could happen?”

No one said anything, so Abdoun continued, “As long as you stay terrified of Alku, you’ll live like dogs.”

“Abdoun, we’re not sitting here doing nothing. We went to see Maître Shakir and Yusuf Tarboosh to ask them to go and speak to Alku about the pensions. But they won’t.”

“Of course they won’t,” Abdoun smiled. “Shakir, Tarboosh and Rikabi — they’re all in on it with Alku. They won’t take our side against him. You seem to have forgotten how it works here in the Club — the big guys share the bonus with Alku. He lets them fleece us, and they pay him off.”

The other staff knew deep down that Abdoun was speaking the truth. They were about to ask him what they should do, but then they remembered that his way of thinking was fraught with danger. So they sat there saying nothing. Abdoun sat there downcast too for a while. Then he looked up at them and said, “Listen. We need to get what we deserve. I’m going to go and see Alku.”

“Go and see him?”

“Yes. I’ll go and see him and demand that he put an end to the beatings. I’ll tell him that we are not animals or children to be beaten.”

They looked at him incredulously, and one of them said, “You’re certifiable.”

“If Alku had Uncle Suleyman beaten over just a word he uttered,” another added, “then what do you think he’ll do to you?”

“We’ll see,” Abdoun smiled. “I’ve made my decision. Alku has gone to Upper Egypt, but he’ll be back in two days’ time. The moment he gets back, I’m going to go and see him.”

There was some agitated muttering, and someone asked, “Is anyone going with you?”

“If anyone wants to come along with me,” Abdoun announced, “then he is most welcome. If no one wants to, then I’ll go and see Alku on my own.”

The air in the small room was thick with cigarette smoke and lit by a weak lightbulb dangling from a wire in the ceiling. Around the paper-strewn tabletop sat some people, among whom I was surprised to see Hasan Mu’min. I stood there like a rabbit in the headlights and said nothing. He stood up and embraced me.

“I’m aware that Hasan Mu’min is an acquaintance of yours,” Prince Shamel said. “Let me introduce you to the others.”

They all stood up as they shook hands with me. The prince introduced me first to a pretty, petite woman with short hair, called Odette, then to Abdoun, the barman I already knew from the Club, though we had never spoken. Then there was a bald man in his fifties with a paunch, whom the prince proudly presented to me, “Mr. Atiya Abd el-Aziz, the greatest trade union leader in Egypt.”