Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

“Thank you, Kamel. You may go.”

“I notice,” I said as I stood up, “that you were not taking notes. But I would like eventually to sign the written transcript.”

As he held out his hand, he smiled and told me, “This has not been an official interview, only a chat between friends. Don’t worry.”

I was confirmed in my bad impression of him. Why at the end did he tell me not to worry? Did he suspect me of having fixed up the camera? It must have gone through his mind. An investigator needs to leave all possibilities open. I tried to assure myself that I was in a strong position and that he would not be able to lay anything at my feet. Going to the casino and attaching the camera had taken less than fifteen minutes. Not a soul had seen me going upstairs to the casino or leaving it. Labib the telephone operator had seen me standing in the entrance hall, but he would have been convinced that I had just arrived at the Club since I had asked what the hubbub on the roof was all about. Abdoun had managed to get the film out of the camera and was sure that no one had seen him. There was not a shred of evidence against me, but I was still plagued by fear. What I feared most was that one of my colleagues would be accused. If that were to happen, I would face a real dilemma. My conscience would not allow an innocent to suffer on my behalf, but on the other hand, were I to own up to it, I would bring down the whole organization with me. I had to hold myself together. I could not change what had happened.

I went out into the street. It was four o’clock. I had a whole hour until I had to meet the others. Hasan Mu’min had summoned me to an emergency meeting and warned me that I might be under surveillance. I decided to walk to the prince’s palace, to calm my nerves and have a chance to reflect. I took a circuitous route down small side streets, stopping every now and then. I would light a cigarette and look around me. I arrived a quarter of an hour early. I did not want to meet the prince on my own. I was exhausted and had neither the inclination nor the energy for small talk. So I kept my distance from the palace and continued walking until I reached the bank of the Nile, where I sat down on a marble bench. I could see myself attaching the camera, sitting with Mitsy, arguing with Abd el-Barr. I tried to find some explanation for this rush of events. It felt like I was in a movie, drawing near to its denouement. Was this all normal, or did I have a problem? Were the lives of the people strolling by full of similar problems? Why had I fallen into this vortex only after the death of my father? A few minutes before five, I walked around the palace, entering through the open garden gate and descending into the apartment where we held our meetings. I knocked on the door, and the prince opened it.

“Please come in, Kamel,” he whispered with a nod.

The others were already there. I greeted them and sat down at the far side of the room next to the window. The prince put on his gold-rimmed glasses and leafed through the papers in front of him on the table.

“First of all, I should like to congratulate you upon the success of the operation. Thousands of copies of the photograph have been distributed in Cairo. Next week we will print a large number of copies for distribution in the provinces. They may have discovered the camera, but we got what we needed. Everywhere, people are going on about the scandalous photograph of the king.”

The feeling of excitement was palpable in the room. Atiya added enthusiastically, “We have struck the corrupt tyrant a painful blow.”

Odette continued in a serious tone, “This goes beyond the king’s personal corruption. We have exposed the reactionary capitalist regime that is subservient to the occupation.”

Everyone muttered in enthusiastic agreement.

“Have you followed the reactions in the press?” the prince asked.

“There has been a total silence about the scandal,” Hasan Mu’min said quietly as he nodded affirmatively.

“I thought the press would be braver,” the prince said with a smile.

“There are some newspapers,” Hasan added, “that are tools of the palace and receive secret monthly subsidies, but there are also some independent newspapers which believe that publishing the photograph would be an act of lèse-majesté.

“We don’t need them,” Atiya said. “All we have to do is distribute the photograph ourselves.”

“I have to thank Abdoun and Kamel,” the prince said looking at me affectionately. “They carried out the operation to the letter.”

Abdoun mumbled a few words of gratitude, and I added feebly, “I did my duty. Nothing more.”

“The regime’s reaction will be violent,” the prince said. “As far as the head of the secret police is concerned, it’s a matter of life and death. If he doesn’t find the culprit, he’ll lose his position.”

“They will intensify their efforts,” said Odette. “We have to proceed with the utmost caution. I would ask that we all review our security procedures before adjourning today.”

“We must avoid any unnecessary telephone calls,” added the prince. “We don’t know who may be under surveillance. The security services may be eavesdropping. We shall continue meeting every Friday at seven in the morning. You’ll be informed in the case of any change.”

The prince then turned to Abdoun and asked, “How are things at the Automobile Club?”

Abdoun took a little time, as if gathering his thoughts.

“Alku has punished the entire staff. He has suspended gratuities. The staff salary barely covers a family’s needs for a couple of days. With this, they’ll be going hungry very soon.”

“Will they protest?” interjected Atiya.

“We are weighing up the options,” said Abdoun, “but it’s a tricky situation. Alku has carte blanche from the general manager to punish the staff however he chooses. He has never been more powerful.”

“That’s not a punishment, my lad,” Atiya retorted. “It’s a crime. How can people be obliged to work for next to nothing?”

“The tips are not part of our salary, officially,” replied Abdoun. “And what’s more, none of us has an employment contract.”

The prince took a sip of coffee and asked, “Let’s all think about this. When we distribute the photograph in the provinces, will it exacerbate conditions for the staff at the Club?”

There was silence for a few moments, and then Odette spoke up, “On the contrary, distributing the photograph in the provinces will confirm that the staff had no part in what has happened.”

“They will still be held responsible,” said Abdoun, “because the photograph was taken in the Club.”

“Yes, I know,” replied Odette. “But if the photograph is distributed in the provinces, it will mean that the conspiracy is bigger than the staff of the Club.”

“What I fear,” said the prince in a serious tone, “is that the staff will buckle under the pressure.”

“Even if they do,” responded Abdoun, “they don’t have any information to give. No one saw Comrade Kamel attaching the camera, and no one saw me taking out the film.”

The prince nodded, and shuffling his papers, he said, “We now need to go over our plans in exact detail. Any error now could bring us all down.”

This last sentence aroused the fear of those around the table, and they listened carefully.

“The photograph has to be distributed at exactly the same time in all the provinces. If any of our comrades, in any of the provinces, are late, they will be exposing themselves to arrest.”

“I have made this clear to all the comrades,” Hasan Mu’min assured him.

“Please go over the instructions with them again.”

“When will it take place?” I asked the prince.