by Daniel Hahn
‘No,’ I said, then waved my hand as if dismissing an insignificant detail.
We sat in a triangle with the round coffee table between us. The back and sides of the armchair were so fatly padded that the seat held me tightly. I placed the book on my lap and was glad Hosam did not repeat his question about whether I was studying.
‘How are you, Khaled Bey?’ he asked and then, before I could answer, introduced his friend. ‘Mustafa Khalaf, an old friend, a man I trust implicitly.’
‘It is neither here nor there whether you trust him or if that trust is implicit for I have no secrets to divulge.’ I heard the words spill out of me as though spoken by another man, and felt a heat fill my cheeks as I said them. Thankfully, they both laughed, albeit a short, uncertain laugh. ‘I had no idea I would find you here,’ I said.
‘Of course, of course,’ Hosam said.
‘And when I did I thought I should say hello.’
‘Absolutely. I am glad you did.’
Every so often one of them would reveal his teeth and I knew then that they were smiling. The waiter was standing beside us.
‘What do you think the German would like?’ Hosam asked Mustafa.
‘Better wait until he arrives,’ Mustafa told him, then leaning towards me he explained, ‘How can you know what another man would like? Better let him come and choose for himself. Let every man choose for himself, is what I say.’
‘A bottle of Jack Daniels,’ Hosam told the waiter. ‘And listen, your best meze. Don’t be a miser. Spoil us.’
The waiter blushed.
Hosam lit a cigarette and for a couple of seconds I could see his face clearly. I felt the usual mixture of horror and pleasure at finding myself in the presence of someone from Father’s world. Just before he blew out the match I caught his eyebrows curling with an earnestness that, although fleetingly witnessed, struck me as put on.
‘Look, Khaled Bey,’ he began, ‘your father was a dear man, and when he vanished, twelve years ago now – oh yes, don’t think I can ever forget – I had no idea what to think. I have tried to find out. I mean, when your mother…’
There was a hint of disdain in the way he said ‘your mother’ and I suspected he had stopped mid-sentence because he, too, detected the bitterness. He exhaled an astonishing quantity of smoke, which quickly vanished.
‘You see, I was reluctant when she asked me to dissolve everything. She offered no explanation. It was very difficult to know what to do. She simply said you all had moved abroad. “But what do you mean?” I said, and demanded to speak to Ali Pasha, but she said that she was acting on the Pasha’s instructions. Then she cried. It is impossible to know what to do when a woman cries.’
Mustafa agreed.
‘Forgive me, Khaled Bey,’ Hosam continued, ‘but her whole demeanour was strange, and so I knew – I am not a child – there was something she wasn’t telling me. It just didn’t seem right; not something Ali Pasha would do. I knew there were powerful people that had him in their sights, but he would never leave without a word, he would never terminate my lifelong service just like that. But I had no way to him, you understand? And the money; well, the money stopped as quickly as someone turning off a faucet, and you can’t run a business without liquidity.’
I nodded. I wondered if it seemed as if I were offering forgiveness. I remembered what my father had told me about his decision: ‘Our country is like a coconut, hard on the outside, soft on the inside, nearly impossible to penetrate. When an insect finds a pore and enters, it feeds on the milk but then gets too fat to leave. It then has two choices: either keep on drinking or fast and squeeze out again. I decided to fast.’
‘What have you been doing since?’ I asked Hosam.
‘Well, you know, keeping busy, this and that.’ He laughed and his friend, the trustworthy Mustafa Khalaf, shook. Hosam cleared his throat and in a deep voice said, ‘This is why we are here.’
‘We are here on work,’ Mustafa said.
‘We are meeting a German,’ Hosam said. ‘What’s his name?’ he asked Mustafa.
‘Mr Huffmyer.’
‘Yes, Huff-whatever.’
Mustafa shook for a second time and I realised that this was how he laughed.
‘He works for a large air-conditioning firm in Munich,’ Hosam went on. ‘What to do, Khaled Bey? Must keep busy, keep these old fingers meddling, or else I might forget everything your father taught me.’
By this time my eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness. I began to notice a vulnerable twitch in Hosam’s eyes that vanished as soon as he spoke again.
‘And you, Khaled Bey? Are you back here now for good?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Wonderful news,’ Hosam said.
‘Excellent,’ Mustafa said. ‘Allow me to tell you, sir, that no matter how far one travels, there is no place like home.’
‘What a man, what a marvellous man, your father,’ Hosam said. ‘He inspired great fear and respect. Once,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘a woman came into the office. Young, one of those university types. Wearing a tight skirt and holding a short stack of books against her hip. But she didn’t fool me. I suspected she got herself in some trouble and must’ve thought, ‘What the hell, I’ll give this a go.’ It was always like that, you see: people knew of Ali Pasha’s generosity and many came asking for help. You don’t need me to tell you,’ he said, and this time I nodded too. ‘I would advise the Pasha – oh, how many times I told him – “Don’t let them take advantage,” and he would say, “Be quiet, you stingy bastard.”’
Hosam laughed and was joined by his friend who had an astonishing ability of laughing soundlessly. Mustafa slapped the table and the waiter came. Hosam waved him away, but then called him back, a little too loudly. ‘Where’s our order, man?’
‘Right away, sir,’ the waiter whispered, perhaps to inspire gentleness in his customer.
‘Water at least,’ Hosam told him and then returned to telling his story. ‘Yes, I swear, he used to do that. If Ali Pasha liked you, he would shout abuse.’
Then, with complete earnestness, Mustafa said, ‘It’s true; insults can be a sign of affection.’
‘Yes,’ Hosam said, then emphatically added, ‘and the Pasha was like that.’
The waiter returned carrying a large tray.
‘Finally!’ Hosam told him.
The waiter dealt out the coasters as though they were playing cards. He placed a glass on each and then several small plates of food. He did this with such methodical care and speed that I found pleasure in watching him. Before he could leave, Hosam told him, ‘Don’t think you can forget about us now.’
‘Of course not, sir.’
‘Visit us from time to time.’
‘And how can I not, sir.’
After the waiter left, Mustafa told Hosam, ‘We need another glass.’
‘What? Oh yes. Maître?’ Hosam called. ‘Another glass. We are expecting a guest, a westerner, don’t shame us.’ And when the waiter returned, Hosam told him, with an authoritative yet affectionate tone, ‘Remember to keep these plates full. It would break my heart if I were to see one empty.’
‘The German might wish to drink something else,’ Mustafa explained, ‘but this way, if he fancied whisky, he could hit the ground running.’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Anyway,’ Hosam continued, leaning forward. ‘About that young woman. She was beautiful. When you watched her from behind, each buttock moved independently. The Pasha believed that he was better than me; that he could always detect more accurately whether someone was lying. He hated losing.’
‘What a lovely man,’ Mustafa said.
‘Have you met my father?’ I asked him.
‘No, but Hosam told me so much about him.’
‘Mustafa knows everything. Listen, your father didn’t mind giving money to a fraudster – even though it used to make my blood boil. What bothered him most was when my intuition proved more accurate than his.’
&n
bsp; ‘And how did you know if someone was lying?’ I asked.
‘You can always tell,’ Hosam said with such certainty that I regretted my question.
‘Indeed you can,’ Mustafa confirmed.
‘Listen, you always know,’ Hosam repeated, leaning a little deeper now towards me. ‘The sincere ones always look ashamed, whereas the fraudsters, no matter how hard they try, can’t stop their eyes glittering when they have your money in their hand. The sons of bitches used to think they were cleverer than us. God will see to them.’
‘You can’t cheat God,’ Mustafa said.
‘Oh, how I miss your father,’ Hosam said, and I could see that nervous twitch return for a moment. ‘And, listen,’ he said loudly, looking at Mustafa, ‘he almost always won. Incredible talent for seeing through people.’
‘Incredible,’ Mustafa said, reaching for his drink.
‘So this woman walked in.’
‘Yes, tell us,’ Mustafa said, eagerly.
‘She walked in, stabbing both heels into the marble like an army general, putting on kilos and kilos of confidence, speaking in a fancy accent so false it could have been manufactured in China. She stood in front of me and asked for the “Managing Director”. I told her, “Listen, mademoiselle, what Managing Director are you talking about?” She said – I still remember her courage, I swear to you, without blushing or even blinking, she said, “Your Managing Director.” I couldn’t help but laugh. I went in to tell the Pasha. I found him standing, tapping the rubber end of a pencil at a place on the globe. He asked me to show her in. I closed the door and left them talking for a long time. They were in there for at least an hour. I couldn’t make out what they were saying; I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, of course, but usually you could catch the gist. Halfway through Ali Pasha called the tea boy and asked him to bring a cold glass of water, which usually meant the visitor had become emotional. Suddenly she opened the door and walked out, her heels hardly touching the floor now. When I asked the Pasha he told me, “None of your bloody business,” and for years I had no idea what had gone on in there. My mind went to far off places. But then one day I met her on a train to Alexandria. She was dressed all in black. Pretended she didn’t know me, but I persisted, reminding her of the day she came to the office, of her interview with my Managing Director. Eventually, she could see I wasn’t going to go away…’
‘Hosam can be persistent,’ Mustafa said in praise. ‘In fact, he is one of the most persistent people I know. Which is why he is excellent at what he does. I have learnt so much from him. Dogged, in fact. And, as everyone knows, persistence is a virtue.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it is.’ Then after a little pause I added, ‘That’s exactly why I have come back.’ These words surprised me. It was an insight arrived at only as I was uttering the words.
Hosam too must have noted it, because he stopped for a moment before continuing. ‘Persistence and perseverance,’ he said. ‘Well, listen, if you don’t try, you won’t get. Most important of all are your intentions; if you have good intentions, then rest assured God will open roads for you. Anyway, she eventually spoke.’
‘But first tell us,’ Mustafa interrupted. ‘How did you convince her?’
‘I was frank. I told her the man she had met was my boss; that I had worked for him for nearly twenty years, ever since I left school; that he had taught me everything I knew and that when a groom asked for my sister’s hand Ali Pasha paid for the wedding and bought the newlyweds a fridge-freezer and washing machine, and later, when I got married, he did not allow me to put a hand in my pocket. But then one day this man, under whose shade my entire family sheltered, vanished. I still don’t know where or why and so anything of him, the smallest detail, comforts me.’
‘You are a decent fellow,’ Mustafa said.
‘Only the son of a whore would forget,’ Hosam said.
‘I can see how that won her over,’ Mustafa said.
Hosam lit another cigarette and this time the flame illuminated a different face. Tears had welled up in his eyes. For the first time the silence that contained us was not forced. He took out a folded handkerchief and pressed it into each eye.
‘Anyway. It turned out her mother had just died. She buried her in Cairo and was now moving to Alexandria. She had an extraordinarily large suitcase, and as heavy as a corpse. I dragged it to the next carriage where there were fewer passengers and we could speak privately. She began telling me of the circumstances that drove her to come asking for help. She was training to be a teacher. Her superior would make the occasional advance when no one was looking. She tried to endure it, but one day he went too far. She decided not to go to the police and that was, of course, her second mistake. The first was not showing him the limit with regards to those advances. Her third was that she agreed to sleep with him once again. “I couldn’t forget what happened,” she told me, “and thought this might make it right, make it as if it were all my idea.” And the man wanted more. And who could blame him? But with every time he became more violent, convinced he could do with her as he pleased.’
‘Her fault,’ Mustafa said.
‘Things got very bad. She didn’t know what to say when one day her mother saw the blue ghost of a man’s hand around her arm.’
‘He needed to be taught a lesson,’ Mustafa said.
‘If she were my sister I would have killed him,’ Hosam told him. ‘But also how can you know she was telling the truth? And by that point it was too late.’
‘Too late,’ Mustafa agreed.
‘Now, most of the people who came to the Pasha were what you would expect: a defeated street-sweeper wanting money for medicine for his sick child, one of the porters needing money for school uniforms, that sort of thing. She, on the other hand, was unusual. “How did you know about the Pasha?” I asked her. “I heard from people in the neighbourhood that he was fair and generous,” she said. “So what exactly were you expecting him to do? We weren’t running a Mafia,” I told her. “We weren’t going to break the man’s legs.” “Of course not,” she said. “What I asked for was money, a loan, to run away. I thought I could go to Alexandria – I have always loved Alexandria – and teach in a small school where no one knows me.” “Where is your family?” the Pasha had asked her, and the woman told him that the only relative she had left was her mother and that she would take the old woman with her. That was when, according to the woman, the Pasha said, “So you want me to pay you to run away and leave the man to do the same to another woman?” The woman didn’t know how to respond. Then the Pasha asked her, “Are you otherwise content?” “What do you mean?” she asked him. “In your life,” the Pasha said, “and apart from this man, are you otherwise content?” “Yes,” she said. “And your mother, is she content also?” “Yes,” she said. “Does she want to move to Alexandria?” “No, but I will convince her.” “Don’t disrupt your life. Old people hate moving. Strengthen your heart. Every time one of us runs the tyrant becomes stronger.”’ Before a silence could intervene, Hosam said, ‘But listen to the wisdom: Every time one of us runs the tyrant becomes stronger.’
‘Yes,’ Mustafa said, enthusiastically.
Then, to me, Hosam said, ‘I told you; Mustafa is an old friend. I have told him all about your father and what happened to him. Don’t believe what people say, Khaled Bey. He got too big, is what it was. They came after him because he got too big.’
I was determined not to respond. I looked up towards the high chandelier, which was slightly behind me and to one side. It no longer resembled an electrocuted spider. I could now see elegance in it. Its crystals glittered beautifully. It looked like a blonde woman’s hair tied up in a bun. I wondered whether Father’s eyes had ever fallen on it during his visits to the palace in order to play snooker with the king, and probably lose to the king, and I wondered also if he had ever observed the resemblance the chandelier paid to a spider and sometimes to a woman’s hair. Thinking I needed him, the waiter was coming towards me. Knowing full well that th
e extravagant chandelier was not a recent addition, I nevertheless asked him, ‘Tell me, are the crystals part of the original room?’
‘Indeed, sir, the chandelier was certainly part of the original room.’
‘The same crystals? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, because, as you gentlemen know, this was the king’s games room.’ He was directing his speech now at my companions and me, which I could see irritated Hosam. His mouth was open, hoping at any moment to resume his story. ‘And the room is pretty much as it was then,’ the waiter continued. ‘The only additions are the bar and the piano. The chairs, gentleman, you are sitting in are also new, but they were modelled on pieces that were part of the palace furniture, however, not intended for this room, of course, for this, as I have already explained to Your Excellencies, was the snooker room, and therefore hardly had any furniture in it, or not nearly as many pieces as now.’
Hosam waved him away. The waiter bowed and said, ‘But before I leave you, allow me to confirm that the armchairs, gentlemen, are of goat’s leather, the highest quality.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Hosam told him. ‘We won’t scratch them.’
‘Your pardon, sir, it’s not what I meant.’
‘I know,’ Hosam told him. ‘Be at ease. What’s your name?’
‘Omar, Your Excellency.’
‘Give this Excellency business a rest, Omar, and tell me, where are you from? And please don’t say Zamalek. I detect an accent. Is it Al Munufia?’
‘But, sir, you are so good?’
The obscurity of the waiter vanished. Now he was Omar from Al Munufia, a governorate in Lower Egypt. He bowed again and returned to the bar.
‘The bastard,’ Hosam said beneath his breath. ‘Lecturing us.’ Then, trying to read the time on his watch, he asked Mustafa, ‘Aren’t they supposed to be punctual, these Germans?’ But then suddenly he looked beyond me and jumped to his feet.
When Mr Huffmyer reached our table Hosam gave a deep bow. The German looked bored. I excused myself, refusing Hosam’s half-hearted invitation to remain, and sat with my book at a table on the opposite side of the bar.