Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

“Mahmud,” he said as he started the engine, “what have you done to Madame Khashab? She’s crazy about you. When I told her that you’re still not back at work, she went mad!”

Mahmud said nothing as Mustafa drove along, chuckling. He had long since guessed that Mahmud was seeing Rosa but had not wanted to mention it. By nature, he was good-hearted and did not like to embarrass anyone or interfere, no matter how close the acquaintance involved. That day, as they sat in the garage drinking tea, the older man seemed on the verge of saying something, but he held back. They had chatted a little about this and that, when at last Mustafa placed his hand on Mahmud’s shoulder.

“Mahmud, you know how fond of you I am,” he said. “Your father, may God have mercy upon him, was like a brother to me. I can appreciate that you are young, and young people have their own rules.”

Mahmud gave him an inquiring look, but Mustafa kept looking at the ground as if trying to find the right words.

“I will give you one piece of advice, and I won’t say it again. What would you think, Mahmud, if the car had no brakes. What would happen to it?”

“There’d be an accident.”

“Good. Now a human being is like a car. He has to have brakes. If a young man goes around sleeping with this woman and that woman, eventually it’ll end in tears. May God forgive you and show you the right way.”

Mahmud sat there in silence. He loved and respected Mustafa, and he had expected him to say such thing.

“Listen to what I have to say,” Mustafa continued. “If you want to get married, get married, but don’t live in sin. Sin is sweet at first, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste. As God told us, ‘Do not draw near to fornication, for it is an indecency, and its way is evil.’ ”

Mahmud nodded and muttered agreement with an embarrassed smile on his face. That was all Mustafa had to say on the matter, and he changed the subject. That night, on the roof, Mahmud repeated old Mustafa’s words to Fawzy, who at that moment was licking the edge of a cigarette paper.

“Mustafa is old enough to be our father,” he said disdainfully. “He has to think like that. If he were our age and had the chance to be with a woman like Rosa, I bet he would.”

“But I am living a life of sin.”

“What’s the matter with you, Mahmud? All it takes is a word from someone and you change your mind!” Fawzy bellowed as Mahmud sat there sulking silently. Fawzy felt sure he had him back under control and smiled.

“You do trust me, don’t you, Mahmud?”

“Of course.”

“Then just keep on doing what I told you.”

The plan necessitated Mahmud staying away from Rosa for a third week, at the end of which Mahmud told Labib the telephone operator that he could put her calls through.

Not long after that, Mahmud heard Rosa’s anxious voice asking, “Mahmud, is everything all right?”

“Yes, thank God.”

“I need to see you.”

“I’ve got work to do.”

“All right. Come over when you finish work.”

“All right.”

Mahmud spoke that last word in a voice that seemed not his own. At the end of the shift, Mustafa drove him to his apartment in al-Sadd Street. Mahmud went in the main door and waited until he heard the car drive off. Then he went back out and took a taxi from Tram Street to Rosa’s building. He wanted to avoid having to listen to another sermon by Mustafa on sin. It was after three in the morning when Mahmud went up to the fourth floor and rang the bell.

Rosa opened the door so quickly that she must have been waiting behind it. The moment she saw him, she whispered, “Mahmud! Where have you been?”

She pulled him inside and flung her arms around him. He stepped away from her and stood in the middle of the sitting room. She stepped toward him and, in a trembling voice, told him, “Shame on you, Mahmud, for leaving me all alone so long.”

“But, Rosa,” he said angrily, “you insulted me and you grabbed me by the shirt.”

“I’m so sorry, Mahmud. I’m sorry.”

She hugged him again and covered him with kisses as he stood there impassive. But he was starting to get excited, so he put his arms around her and walked her into the bedroom. That night, he pounded away at her as if to inflict punishment and pain, as if trying to ascertain whether she had learned her lesson and understood that she should never deal with him that way again. She did not fail to play her part, shrieking like a naughty child, though with pleasure, screaming and shouting and begging for mercy, promising to be good. Rosa had orgasm after orgasm, during which she writhed and shuddered into contortions he had never seen before. Mahmud had already planned to stay the night, having telephoned his mother from the Club to say that he was going to stay with a friend. He slept in Rosa’s embrace. As they ate breakfast in the morning, he saw that she looked relaxed and happy. They chatted away, and when it was time for him to leave, she hugged him and nuzzled her face against his chest. As he pushed her gently away, he noticed tears on her face.

“Rosa, what’s the matter?” he asked, holding her hand.

“I’m afraid you’re going to leave me,” she whispered. Then, after a pause, she continued, “Mahmud, I can’t live all alone again. Before I met you, I was so miserable. I would just drink and wait to die. You have no idea what you have done for me. You’ve put some meaning back into my life. Please, Mahmud, don’t leave me.”

They carried on seeing each other, and Rosa never again uttered a word about his relationship with Dagmar. Fawzy’s plan had succeeded, for Rosa had now realized that the choice was straightforward: either he could go on seeing other women too, or he would dump her.

Mahmud’s life went back to its old rhythm. Two nights with Rosa, two nights with Dagmar and three nights without them. He and Fawzy were having the time of their lives. Girls, excursions, sex in brothels, the best quality hashish, smart clothes and riding around on the red Lambretta.

One night, as they were sitting on the roof, Mahmud suddenly piped up, “There’s a new woman who wants me to sleep with her.”

Fawzy clapped and yelled, “You’re the top! How did you get to know her?”

“I was making a delivery on Thursday, and she grabbed me.”

“Maybe Rosa or Dagmar told her about you.”

Mahmud ignored Fawzy’s teasing tone.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ve got another one in the bag.”

“I can’t.”

“Is she Egyptian or English?”

“Egyptian.”

“Well-off?”

“Very. She’s a Sarsawy.”

“The Sarsawys with the gold shop?”

Mahmud nodded.

“She’s our fatted calf. Don’t let this one slip through your fingers!”

Mahmud swatted the suggestion away.

“What’s this ‘calf’ shit! She’s ancient.”

“All right, but you’re already doing it with two other old ladies.”

“She’s older than they are. She must be at least seventy. I’m astonished that someone of her age is still interested in sex.”

“You’ve hit the jackpot! The older they are, the more they pay.”

“She can go to hell with her money.”

Fawzy looked Mahmud straight in the eye and asked him, “Are you going to turn down more money?”

“I’m telling you, I can’t sleep with her.”

“All right, big guy. If you don’t mind, then, I’ll have a go.”

When James Wright wanted to see Alku, he would usually send a message through Khalil the office boy. This time he called him himself.

“Get here right now,” he told him curtly, not waiting for a response before hanging up. Alku knew that the matter must be serious, so he left immediately for the Automobile Club, and when he arrived, he found a group of men, official looking but plainclothes, in the entrance hall. Suleyman the doorman told him under his breath that they were secret agents. Alku dashed across the entrance hall with Hameed scuttling along behind him. The staff rushed over to Alku, but he ignored them. They watched him with a mixture of fear and anticipation, as if waiting for him to explain what was going on. In Mr. Wright’s office, he found Muhammad Alawi Pasha, the king’s private secretary, and Anwar Bey Makki, the head of state security. Alku knew them both well. These two positions were among the most important in the country, not just by dint of their portfolios but because of their proximity to the king. Anwar Bey Makki oversaw, in the full sense of the word, the king’s movements and was in charge of all the security measures carried out by the royal guard. He had the authority to approve or cancel any and all royal visits based on his judgment of the security considerations. He only needed to croak out, “Your Majesty’s safety cannot be assured during this visit,” for the event to be canceled, no matter how important it was.