Alaa Al Aswany - The Yacoubian Building

After much thought and extensive legal consultations, Malak settled on his plan — a contract with a nonexistent company that he would sign along with Zaki el Dessouki and register at the public notary’s office. Then he would hide it away until Zaki died, when Malak would produce the contract. This would make it impossible for him to be thrown out of the apartment, given his status as a commercial partner of the deceased. But how to get Zaki to sign the contract? This was when he started to think of Busayna el Sayed. Zaki el Dessouki was helpless before a woman and a clever one could sucker him into signing the contract without realizing. Malak had offered Busayna five thousand pounds to get Zaki el Dessouki to sign and given her two days to think about it. He suffered no doubts that Busayna would agree, but he didn’t want to appear too eager for her agreement. As he had expected, she had agreed, but she had asked him directly and clearly, “If I bring you the contract with Zaki el Dessouki’s signature on it, what guarantee do I have that you’ll pay?”

Malak had his answer ready and said quickly, “It’s on a give-and-get basis. Keep the contract with you until you get the amount in full.”

Busayna smiled and said, “Then we’re agreed. If there’s no money, there’s no contract.”

“Of course.”

Why did Busayna agree?

Why should she refuse? Five thousand pounds is an excellent sum, with which she can cover the needs of her brothers and sisters and buy what she needs to get her trousseau ready. Likewise Malak will get the apartment after Zaki el Dessouki is dead, and he will know nothing about what she has done and she won’t be doing him any harm because he will be dead. And even if it did harm him, why should she pity him? In the end, he’s just a doting old man with a roving eye and deserves whatever he gets.

She had lost her compassion for people and a thick crust of indifference had formed around her feelings — that disgust that afflicts the exhausted, the frustrated, and the perverted and prevents them from sympathizing with others. She had succeeded, after repeated attempts, in ridding herself of feelings of remorse and buried forever the guilt that had afflicted her when she took off her dress in front of Talal and washed off his defilement, then put her hand out to him to collect ten pounds. She had become crueler, and more bitter and daring, and she no longer even cared what the residents of the roof told one another about her reputation. She knew enough of their own shameful acts and scandals to make their pretense of virtue something to laugh at. If she had got into a relationship with Talal because of her need for money, she knew other women on the roof who cheated on their husbands just to get some pleasure. And at the end of the day she was still a virgin and could marry any respectable man and would cut out the tongue of anyone who spoke ill of her.

Busayna had started working on Zaki el Dessouki, waiting for the right time to trick him into signing the contract, but it wasn’t an easy matter because he wasn’t the hateful old man that she’d imagined. On the contrary, he was kind and well mannered and treated her with respect. She never felt with him that she was performing a job that she’d been paid for as she did with Talal, who would strip her of her clothes and play around with her body without addressing a single word to her. Zaki was sensitive with her. He had got to know her family and loved her little brother and sisters and bought them lots of expensive presents. He respected her feelings, listened to what she said with interest, and told her engrossing stories about the old days.

Even their encounters in bed didn’t leave her with the feeling of disgust that Talal did. Zaki would caress her gently, as though he feared that the touch of his fingers might hurt her and as though he were toying with a rose whose petals might tear under the least pressure. He would kiss her hands a lot (and it had never occurred to her that a man might kiss her hands), and on the first night, when their bodies met, she had whispered gently in his ear as she held him tight, “Be careful. I’m a virgin.”

He had laughed softly and whispered, “I know.”

Then he kissed her and she felt her body melt completely in his arms. He had his own magical way of making love. He substituted experience for vigor, as though he were an old player who made use of his exceptional skills to compensate for his lack of suppleness. In herself, Busayna wanted the husband to whom she would one day be tied to be as gentle as he was. However, her growing admiration for him irritated her somewhat because it called up inside her feelings of guilt. He was kind to her and she was betraying him and hurting him. This good man, who was tender to her and made a fuss of her and told her the secrets of his life, could not for a moment imagine that she was preparing to take over his apartment after his death. When she thought of it, she despised and hated herself and she felt as sorry for him as a surgeon would for his wife or children if he were to perform an operation on them. She had set about getting his signature on the contract more than once when he was under the influence of alcohol but had drawn back at the last moment. She would be unable to go through with it and then later, to her amazement, would blame herself greatly and feel exasperated with herself for her feebleness. The fact is that her pity for the old man Zaki and her feelings of guilt on the one side and her implacable desire for money on the other continued to struggle with one another inside her with equal force, until eventually she summoned up all her will and decided to settle the matter and trick him into signing at the earliest opportunity.

“See how all my suits are winter suits. I used to attend parties in the winter and in the summer I would go to Europe.”

They were sitting in Maxim’s after eating dinner. It was around midnight and the place had emptied of customers. Busayna had put on a new blue dress that revealed her shining throat and cleavage, and Zaki was sitting next to her sipping whisky and showing her a collection of old photographs. He appeared in the pictures as a smart, handsome young man, smiling and holding a glass in a group of men wearing evening dress and beautiful women wearing revealing evening gowns; in front of them were tables crammed with food and bottles of superb wine. Busayna looked at the pictures with passionate interest, then pointed to one of them and burst out laughing, saying, “What’s that? That’s a very weird-looking suit!”

“That’s evening dress. In the past every occasion had its special costume: morning dress was different from afternoon dress, which was different from evening dress.”

“You know, you looked nice. Like Anwar Wagdi.”

Zaki guffawed loudly. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I lived through beautiful times, Busayna. It was a different age. Cairo was like Europe. It was clean and smart and the people were well mannered and respectable and everyone knew his place exactly. I was different too. I had my station in life, my money, all my friends were of a certain niveau , I had my special places where I would spend the evening — the Automobile Club, the Club Muhammad Ali, the Gezira Club. What times! Every night was filled with laughter and parties and drinking and singing. There were lots of foreigners in Cairo. Most of the people living downtown were foreigners, until Abd el Nasser threw them out in 1956.”

“Why did he throw them out?”

“He threw the Jews out first, then the rest of the foreigners got scared and left. By the way, what’s your opinion of Abd el Nasser?”