Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

“Red wine,” Fawzy called out.

She got up and went toward the kitchen, but Fawzy called after her, “Of course, we can’t drink on an empty stomach.”

As Tafida turned to look at him, he added, “Get us something nice to eat. We have to eat properly if we are going to have some energy.”

Mahmud was embarrassed by Fawzy’s cheek and looked at the ground saying nothing. He sat there with his hands on his thighs like someone at a funeral. Tafida stood there as if confused about what she should do, but then she turned, went out into the hall and disappeared somewhere in the apartment. Mahmud glanced across the hall, and having assured himself that she had gone off to the kitchen, he looked daggers at his friend.

“What the hell!” he said. “You’re going to get us both into deep shit.”

“Don’t worry,” Fawzy said disdainfully, laughing. “You’ve got to treat these rancid old birds harshly from the word go.”

“You’re overdoing it.”

“Listen, sunshine, didn’t she ask you to sleep with her?”

“She wanted to sleep with me, not with you,” he spat out. “And even if she did ask for sex, you have to treat her with some respect. She’s an old lady from a good family, and you’re treating her like some tart.”

“But she is a tart.”

“Just be careful, because if Madame Tafida gets upset with us she could cause us loads of trouble.”

Fawzy gave him a look of exasperation.

“Shut up, Mahmud. Stop spouting garbage. I know what I’m doing.”

They had to break off their conversation because Tafida appeared slowly wheeling a trolley upon which she had arranged a bottle of red wine, already opened with the cork resting on the side, three wineglasses and a number of small plates of snacks: white cheese, olives, pickled cucumbers and a roast chicken cut into four pieces. There were also three silver forks and a wicker breadbasket covered with a white napkin.

Mahmud’s nerves had taken away his appetite, so he just had a glass of wine and a piece of chicken, but Fawzy ate with gusto, downing a few glasses of wine as he chatted away about nothing with Tafida like an old friend, and then he suddenly asked her, “Do you own the Sarsawy gold shop in the jewelry district?”

“The shop belonged to my father, may God have mercy upon his soul. My sister and I inherited it.”

“How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

Tafida appeared to resent this question, and she hesitated a little before conceding an answer, “I have one brother and one sister.”

She was about to say “younger than me” but stopped herself. Fawzy finished eating, heaved himself out of his chair and went to the bathroom. When he came back, he headed straight for Tafida and sat down next to her on the sofa. He put his hand on her shoulder and whispered into her ear, “Do you know how lovely you are?”

It was a strange word to use for Tafida’s tired, wrinkled and over-made-up face. For the first time, she used a formal tone of voice, “Thank you for the compliment.”

Fawzy suddenly felt he was being toyed with. “Don’t get all coy and innocent with me,” he said to himself. The wine had emboldened him, and he leaned over and pressed his nose against Tafida’s neck and stroked her lower back with his hand.

“I’m not giving you a compliment,” he said in a shaky voice. “You really are lovely. You are all woman.”

Tafida squirmed, but Fawzy moved even closer to her.

“Please,” she tried to object. “Don’t do that.”

Since Fawzy was sure he was going about things in the right way, he took her display of coyness as a sign of acquiescence. She neither stood up nor moved away, and despite her apparent reticence, her face betrayed a different emotion. Fawzy snuggled up to her even more, putting his arms around her and kissing her neck as he whispered, “You’re so lovely.”

Tafida tried to push him away coquettishly.

“Stop it, Fawzy. You’ve gone mad!”

“I can’t. You’re as lovely as the full moon.”

Mahmud observed the scene, stunned into silence. Why was Fawzy behaving like that with her, and why was she giving in to him? He could not fathom it. He had not gone in for all this malarkey with the two old ladies he had befriended. In fact, the opposite had happened. It was the women who had done the sweet-talking. Even Tafida, the first time he saw her, had been the one who initiated it. It was not his style, all those sweet nothings. He had to admit that Fawzy was much more forward than he was. As Mahmud sat immersed in his thoughts, the scene was moving on quickly. The old lady had given in and was moaning and giggling softly as she sat there with her legs open, looking like a circus animal responding to its trainer. Fawzy was kissing her passionately on the mouth as she uttered stifled whimpers. Then he nibbled her ear as his hand strayed over her flat chest. Mahmud could not take it anymore and jumped to his feet.

“I’ll be going, Fawzy. Good-bye, Madame.”

The formality of the phrases sounded odd under the circumstances. Fawzy pushed Tafida aside and tried to gather his thoughts. Then he got up and dragged Mahmud aside, whispering sharply, “Don’t you dare go.”

“What should I do, just sit there?”

“We came together and we’re leaving together.”

“Look, you’re getting on with it, and there’s no point in me sitting here. Besides, it’s not a pretty sight.”

“I’ve told you, you’re not going.”

Fawzy’s tone was resolute, and Mahmud gave in. Fawzy went back to Tafida and grabbed her by the hand. She sprang to her feet as if she had been anticipating this sign from him. He put his arms around her, and the two of them made their way across the hall into the bedroom.

“We have lost His Majesty’s confidence. This is the greatest loss the Club has faced since it was founded. The king’s privacy has been breached, and Club members will now stop coming for fear they will be photographed too.”

Wright’s face was flushed from the effort of trying to control his anger.

“I assure you,” replied Alku, “that I shall find the traitor who installed the camera.”

“Leave that to state security. I want you on another matter.”

Alku looked at Wright who filled his pipe bowl and then puffed.

“I want you,” Wright continued, “to convince His Majesty to start spending his evenings at the Club again.”

“That’s a tall order,” Alku said ruefully.

“But it is possible. I know how close you are to the king.”

“His Majesty is still shaken by what happened.”

“We just want him to give us another chance.”

“I shall try.”

“Listen,” Wright said resolutely. “If you manage to persuade the king to come back to the Club, I’ll make it worth your while.”

That night, Alku thought it over at length and resolved to do everything he could. Naturally, he was salivating over the financial reward on offer, but he also needed to be rehabilitated. Somehow, the scandal had dented his pride and his standing. After twenty years of wielding complete control over the staff in the royal palaces, he had allowed the reins to be loosened, and now someone, with the help of Alku’s own staff, had managed to infiltrate the Club and take that photograph of the king in his pointed hat, then distributed the photograph throughout Egypt. This scandal would leave an indelible stain on his name if he didn’t do something soon. Whenever he thought about it, he became enraged at Wright. Alku had warned him from the moment Abdoun started inciting the staff against the management, but Wright had ignored the warning, obviously so as to stay on good terms with Odette. If only Wright had listened to Alku and fired Abdoun, none of this would have happened. And what exactly were the state security officials doing? All their investigating and poking around seemed to yield nothing, not even a suspect. Alku had been to see Anwar Bey Makki, head of state security, to tell him that Abdoun was the one who had been inciting insubordination among the staff. But Anwar Bey Makki, while lending him the sympathetic ear of a man listening to a precocious child, said only, “Thank you for your help in this matter. I can assure that we are aware of this and are studying the matter carefully.”