Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

By the ninth week, they could take it no longer. One afternoon they all met in the café. The night shift staff came before their shift had begun, and the day shift staff came before their shift had ended. They formed a great throng. The department heads were absent. Maître Shakir was sitting there smoking a water pipe, but when he saw them all arriving, he guessed the purpose of their meeting, ordered the bill and left. Bahr the barman was the only department head who turned up. He sat smoking a water pipe silently in one corner of the café. Everyone was seated, except for Karara the waiter and a few others who could find no seats or perhaps simply wanted to be seen and heard.

“So what do we do now?” Karara cried out as if kicking off the show. “What are we to do about this catastrophe?”

“We’ve got wives and kids to support!” someone grumbled out loud.

“How are we going to keep our families going? Are we going to have to steal or beg?” asked another.

“Uncle Suleyman,” someone called out, “I’m going to have to give up this job.”

“You can’t,” said Suleyman, smiling sadly.

They fell silent, overcome with sudden fear. Suleyman shook his head and continued, “If any of you quit your job without Alku’s blessing, it’ll be the end of you. You think it’s as easy as that? Twenty years ago, when the Club first opened, there was a waiter called Anbar from Luxor. He did something wrong, and Alku beat him. In those days, Alku used to beat us with his own hands. Anbar had a difficult time with that. He sat up all night, and the following morning, he walked out of the Club. He disappeared. You know what Alku did? He told the police that Anbar had stolen some money. They arrested him and put him on trial, and he got three years in prison.”

They shuddered as they imagined Alku getting them sent to prison too. After all their hard work, to be kicked in the teeth like that!

“Listen, everyone,” said Karara. “We have to find a way out of this.”

“But what can we do?” whined Samahy.

“We have to find out who installed the camera.”

“If the bloody police can’t find out, how can we?”

Abdoun was sitting in the corner. He got up and walked to the center of the café, where they could all see him, and said, “Listen, everyone. You need to understand that the ban on tips has got nothing to do with any camera being found.”

“Beat it, Abdoun,” Karara shouted with a look of disgust.

Abdoun paid no attention and continued calmly, “Alku was going to ban tips whatever the circumstances. If it hadn’t been that scandalous photograph, he would have found another reason.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that when he agreed to stop the beatings, he must have decided then to take his revenge on all of us.”

“That’s enough poisonous talk,” shouted Karara. “There has been a scandal involving the king, and it’s natural that Alku would punish us. Instead of trying to stand up to Alku, we should apologize to him.”

“Apologize for what?” asked Abdoun. “What have we got to do with it? State security officials are the ones responsible for the king. What’s more, the king himself has come back to the Club and treats us as if nothing happened. That means that Alku is more upset about the dent to the king’s reputation than the king himself.”

The staff mumbled among themselves and exchanged confused whispers.

“Listen, everyone,” Abdoun continued, “we are in a dispute with Alku, and we are in the right. Alku wants us to continue being subject to his whims, and we are demanding to be treated with respect. We do our work and get paid, and if we do something wrong, we should be disciplined without humiliation.”

The staff were all at their wit’s end, and their dismay was visible.

“So, Abdoun,” asked old Suleyman, “what should we do?”

“Hold on to our dignity,” answered Abdoun.

That set the cat among the pigeons. “What bloody dignity!” they called back at him.

As their shouts mingled, it became clear that not all of them agreed. Most were furious with Abdoun, but Samahy, Bahr and some others put up a valiant defense of Abdoun, who said nothing as the controversy raged around him.

“Abdoun is right.”

“Was he wrong to stand up for our rights?”

“Who told him he could speak for us?”

“You say that now, but didn’t you thank him when he got Alku to stop the beatings?”

“We thanked him out of politeness, nothing more. And now we’re all living a catastrophe.”

“Listen, Abdoun,” said Karara. “What do you say to us going to apologize to Alku?”

There were shouts of approval.

“Good idea!”

“Absolutely. If Abdoun apologizes to Alku, he’ll forgive us.”

“I have nothing to apologize for,” declared Abdoun.

“You have to apologize!” shouted Karara, and other voices seconded his call.

“I will not apologize,” said Abdoun, staring them down. “And I will not let anyone beat me. Not Alku or Hameed or anyone. Instead of demeaning yourselves even more and letting Alku have you beaten like cattle, be men and demand your rights with your heads held high.”

Suddenly, Karara rushed over to him and screamed, “Where the hell did you come from? You’ve made our lives a living hell, and I hope God does the same to you.”

Some of those standing around rushed forward to keep the two men from coming to blows. The staff were now in a state of deep gloom as they realized that the problem was insoluble.

Suleyman strode slowly to the middle of the café and gestured toward them, saying, “Listen, guys. We need to sort this out.”

“Sort it out? That’s what we’re trying to do!” someone called back at him.

“Abdoun is too proud to go and apologize to Alku,” he said, trying to make his weak voice audible. “So we will go instead and ask him for forgiveness.”

Some people called out in support of this idea, but Abdoun shouted above them, “Apologizing to Alku will achieve nothing. The more you demean yourselves, the more he will demean you.”

“You’re an odd bird, Abdoun,” Suleyman shouted in a rage. “Who put you in charge of us? We are free to do what we want. If you don’t like what we say, you’re free to leave.”

Abdoun gave a sad smile, but Suleyman repeated his remark.

“Good-bye, Abdoun, you can leave us. I want to tell the men something that you won’t like to hear.”

Having been told to go, Abdoun just looked at Suleyman in disbelief, before turning on his heel toward the exit.

“Wait, Abdoun. I’m coming with you.”

That request was uttered by Bahr, who put down the mouthpiece of his water pipe and followed Abdoun out. He was followed in turn by Samahy and a few others. Those who supported Abdoun numbered ten out of a total of forty-four. Once Abdoun and his friends had left, the others felt easier and clustered around Suleyman, who expounded his idea to them. He would go and tender a new apology to Alku. Those left gave their enthusiastic support to the plan.

“Take me with you, Suleyman,” Karara called out.

Thus the delegation was made up of the two men. Suleyman, the longest-serving member of staff, and Karara the waiter, the one most devoted to Alku and most hostile to Abdoun and his supporters. Just before midnight, Karara asked permission to leave from Maître Shakir, and Suleyman got one of the waiters to stand in for him at the door. Mustafa took them to Abdin Palace and then drove quickly back to the Club. When they got to Alku’s office, Hameed eyed them suspiciously as Suleyman politely stated, “Mr. Hameed, I have come with Karara to see His Excellency Alku.”

“Regarding…?”

“We have come to beg our master Alku to put an end to the unsettled state of affairs prevailing in the Club.”