Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

“What’s it to you, Karara?”

“What’s it not to me! You and that lad Abdoun are going to cause nothing but trouble for us. If you stand up to Alku, he’ll take it out on all of us.”

“All right then, Karara,” scoffed Bahr. “Go and kiss Alku’s hand.”

They stared at each other, muttering insults. Karara put his hand on Bahr’s shoulder and was about to say something, but Bahr removed the hand and announced, “Gents! Thanks for the advice. Now excuse me. I’ve got work to do.”

He went back behind the bar. His colleagues despaired of talking him out of it, so they went off to try their luck with Samahy. They apologized to Rikabi for disturbing him, gestured to Samahy and walked him out of the kitchen. His eyes were watering from chopping onions, and as he wiped them with his sleeve, he asked, “Everything all right, guys?”

They hesitated for a few moments, and then Karara launched into him, “Listen, Samahy. We’ve come to warn you. Don’t let Abdoun talk you into standing up to your master, Alku. It’ll be worse for you. You’re just a kitchen assistant, and married, with two kids, at that.”

It was the truth, and it gave him a jolt. Samahy looked pained and worried as he muttered, “May God preserve us.”

They looked at him, unsure of what he was thinking. Samahy, avoiding their gaze, spoke up, “I mean, do you think it’s right for old Suleyman to get beaten at his age?”

“He brought it on himself.”

“He just asked for a pension for the widows and orphans. Is that a crime?”

“Then go along with Abdoun. It’ll be the end of you.”

“Abdoun is just demanding our rights. He should be thanked.”

“Thanked for what? May God destroy his home.”

It was clear their discussion was getting them nowhere. Samahy sighed and told them, “I’ve given Abdoun my word.”

“May God take you, lad!” Karara could not hold back his irritation. “Listen, Samahy. When you go and see Alku, you’re speaking for yourself. Don’t drag us into it.”

Samahy nodded, smiled weakly and went quietly back to the kitchen. The staff remained on tenterhooks all day long. At midnight, while His Majesty the king was playing poker, as usual, with some of the pashas, Samahy and Abdoun got changed, and the three men took a taxi to Abdin Palace. They traveled in silence. They were aware of the risk involved and felt that if they spoke to each other their resolve might crumble. At Abdin Palace, they greeted the guards and went in to go to Alku’s office. His ubiquitous spies had kept him up to the moment on the subject of their visit.

Hameed looked at them calmly, as if they were expected, giving them no supercilious look nor the usual dressing down for turning up without an appointment. He simply asked, “Everything all right?”

Abdoun cleared his throat.

“We have come to see Alku on an important matter.”

Hameed smiled and went into Alku’s office. A few minutes later, he came back out, and in an almost friendly monotone, he said, “Alku will see you now.”

It was a surreal situation, like a dream, they were proceeding as if down some enchanted passageway with no idea where it would lead. Now there was no turning back. They saw Alku sitting there at his desk, looking high and mighty, which unnerved them, and they said nothing until Alku barked at them, “Hameed said you wanted to see me.”

None of them replied, so Alku shouted ominously, “All right. Speak up!”

Abdoun managed to control his fear and started off in a tremulous voice, “Your Excellency. We have just come to ask you for what we are entitled to and certain that you will reject this out of hand.” He spoke as if to his equal and a spark of interest lit up Alku’s face.

“So what do you want?” he said.

“We have come to ask you to stop the beatings.”

“I only order beatings,” he said with a smile, “when one of you steps out of line.”

“Your Excellency, it is of course your prerogative to punish those who make mistakes. We can accept any punishment other than a beating.”

Alku suddenly smiled, which they found strange and worrying. Then he looked at Bahr and asked him, “Do you agree with what he said, Bahr?”

Bahr nodded. “Being beaten is an offense to our sense of dignity, Your Excellency.”

“Your Excellency,” Abdoun added, “all the staff hope that you will forgo corporal punishments.”

Alku looked down in silence for a few moments and appeared to be thinking. Then he got up and lumbered over to them. When he was right next to them, he said, “All right. Agreed.”

The lightning speed of his acquiescence stunned them into silence. Alku nodded and smiled.

“From today on, no one will be beaten. If fault is found in someone, his pay will be docked, or he will be subjected to an administrative sanction. You will be treated like the staff in the palace.”

“Thank you kindly, Your Excellency,” Bahr smiled.

Samahy muttered some unintelligible words, but Abdoun took a step toward Alku to thank him.

“Your Excellency, I promise that you have taken the right decision. You will not regret it.”

Such overfamiliarity despite good intentions would under normal circumstances have itself been considered a punishable act of insolence, but in keeping with his surprising and unfathomable response, Alku simply looked at them meekly and said, “All I want is for you to feel good about yourselves at work.”

The three of them started thanking him volubly. Alku was smiling broadly, showing his glistening teeth. As he showed them to the door, he added jovially, “All right. You can get back to work now.”

From the look on Mr. Wright’s face, I could see trouble was looming. He answered my greeting with a cold stare and said nothing. But I decided not to let him humiliate me this time.

Without being invited, I just sat myself down in the seat in front of his desk, paying no heed to his look of incredulity.

“Khalil told me that you wanted to see me.”

“I want to ask you about Mitsy,” he said, stuffing tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.

“She is progressing in leaps and bounds with her Arabic.”

“I’ve heard,” he said, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke, “that you have been going out with her.”

“That’s correct.”

“Why are you going out with my daughter?”

“Because it will help her to improve her Arabic.”

“Mitsy is an actress,” he smiled nervously. “A talented one. And like most artistic people, she goes through fads and phases. She throws herself into something only to discover that it’s not for her, and then she moves on.”

“What are you insinuating?”

“Your job is to teach Mitsy Arabic, not to take her on outings.”

“I treat Mitsy like an adult.”

“You need to understand,” he said, raising his voice, “that you are just Mitsy’s teacher. You give her a lesson, and you get paid.”

“That’s what it was like at the start, but Mitsy and I have become good friends,” I said, now trying to provoke him.

“Oh. Really?” he said with a sarcastic smile on his face.

He put his elbows on the desk and leaned forward as if about to lunge.

“You’re Nubian, aren’t you Kamel?” he asked with ardent disdain.

“I’m Upper Egyptian.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The Upper Egyptians descend from the tribes who came to Egypt with the Islamic conquest. The Nubians are a different ethnic group with their own language.”

He made a hand gesture to show his complete indifference and retorted, “I shall consider you Nubian, whatever the case may be. Have you heard of the German explorer Carl Hagenbeck?”