The Automobile Club of Egypt
Page 18
Mr. Wright answered without a second thought, “You can go wherever you like, provided it is not during work hours.”
As the general manager had declined to make an exception, the night staff went to the funeral, and the day staff went off to visit the condolence tent. Many of them went to the apartment of the deceased to check on the children and offer their services. Umm Said thanked them and stated resolutely, “Thank you all so much. We want for nothing, thank God.”
Two weeks after the death of Abd el-Aziz, another important event took place. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and the Paradise Café was flooded with Club staff, with the four heads of department, Rikabi the chef, Maître Shakir, Yusuf Tarboosh and Bahr the barman, sitting in the far corner as usual. The café, as always, was abuzz with chatter, the glug-glug of water pipes, raised voices, laughter, the clacking of backgammon pieces and shouts for the waiter. Suddenly, Abdoun, the barman’s assistant, stood up and walked slowly to the middle of the café. He was as smartly dressed as ever in his carefully ironed white shirt, black trousers and black patent shoes. Abdoun looked at the Club staff sitting there, clapped his hands a few times to quiet them all down and then stated, “I want to say a few words.”
As they looked at him, intrigued, he continued, “What happened to the late Abd el-Aziz could happen to any one of us. Abd el-Aziz was murdered. Alku killed him.”
They just stared at Abdoun in disbelief. He took a deep breath as if trying to control his emotions and then loudly and defiantly declared, “That’s what happened. Alku killed Abd el-Aziz.”
Some of those present sought refuge in silence, while others jumped to their feet to object. They waved their arms around and tsk-tsked in disagreement. They were upset and confused, unable to take in what was going on. What Abdoun was now saying openly had been only intimated previously, surreptitiously, within earshot of trusted colleagues only. First making sure they were not being overheard, they would only then dare whisper some condemnation of Alku’s unconscionable behavior. They had never imagined this could be discussed openly. What a calamity for them all! Abdoun was attacking Alku in public! What had the world come to! It seemed somehow unreal, like a dream or a mystery. Fear shot through everyone. They knew that word would spread like lightning, that every utterance, movement or gesture they made now would be passed on in faithful detail to Alku, who would then exact retribution. Upon learning what Abdoun had said, Alku would make an example of them all. Their crime was having allowed Abdoun to speak like that. They had to disown his words publicly and stop him from going any further. It suddenly occurred to them that Abdoun might be in Alku’s pay, tasked with carrying out this little performance in order to check on their loyalty. This thought raised their emotions to fever pitch, and their anxiety turned to terror.
Hagg Yusuf Tarboosh clapped his hands together and reproached Abdoun in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “Abdoun, my son, you are mistaken and trying to sow discord. Ask God for forgiveness. Our lives are in God’s hands, and Abd el-Aziz died at his appointed hour.”
“No, Alku is responsible for his death.”
At this point, Maître Shakir shouted, “If Alku had Abd el-Aziz beaten, then he must have done something to deserve it.”
Upon hearing this, Abdoun appeared to be in the grip of some demonic force. He looked at Maître Shakir and asked firmly, “Then tell me why Alku has us beaten?
Voices rose up in protest at his question, with some people shouting out, “Alku is like our father.”
Abdoun paused, then looked around at them before continuing, “Even if Alku is like our father, we don’t beat our children once they have grown up. How long will Alku go on having us beaten like animals? You are in your forties and fifties. How can you put up with all that? How would you feel if your wives or children saw you being beaten?”
There was complete silence for a while, broken by Rikabi’s hoarse voice, “Abdoun. Just what is it that you want?”
“I want Alku to stop the beatings.”
“And who are you to tell Alku what to do?”
“I am a human being, Uncle Rikabi.”
“You are an impudent child.”
“So clinging to my dignity makes me impudent?”
“Your dignity comes from being lucky enough to earn a living.”
Abdoun stared at Rikabi angrily and was about to retort before Maître Shakir asked him calmly, “So, Abdoun, if someone makes a mistake, is Alku supposed to go easy on him?”
“He should come up with something that does not involve humiliating us. He could treat us like he does the employees in the royal palaces.”
“Listen, son, we are not like the palace employees! They are educated people with qualifications.”
Abdoun interrupted him sharply, “It doesn’t matter that we are not educated. We are flesh and blood and we have our rights.”
The staff were aware of the dangerous implications of this sentiment and shook their heads in disagreement, with Karara the waiter shouting, “His Excellency Alku knows better than we do what is good for us.”
Abdoun shouted back his retort, “Are you really all just willing to be treated like cattle?”
Yusuf Tarboosh nervously fingered his long string of prayer beads and added, “Alku is our master, and were it not for his graciousness toward us, we’d all long ago have been back in Upper Egypt with our buffalos.”
“We wouldn’t have ended up looking after buffalos, Hagg Yusuf!” Abdoun replied. “We were all respected in our hometowns. What we earn here is not thanks to anyone’s charitable heart. We work our fingers to the bone night and day for those wages. They don’t pay us as an act of kindness, and we deserve to be treated like human beings.”
Yusuf Tarboosh’s face flushed and he muttered some words of prayer. The Club staff, against their better judgment, appeared to be on the verge of agreeing with what Abdoun was saying, when Rikabi the chef called out, “Just shut up. Hold your tongue, you scum, before you utter another word against your master Alku!”
His enormous body was quaking with anger. He strode over to Abdoun and would have hit him had the others not rushed over and stood between them, though it did nothing to calm the emotions and the arguments descending into unintelligible cacophony.
Bahr the barman said not a word, smoking his water pipe calmly and observing what was going on.
Rikabi walked right over and grunted at him, “Why are you sitting here so quietly, Bahr? Why aren’t you on our side against your friend Abdoun, or perhaps you agree with him?”
“Leave me alone, Rikabi.”
“I’ll bet you put him up to this.”
Bahr gave him a disdainful look.
“If I wanted to say something, I’d say it myself.”
Then he drew a long drag on the pipe, making the water bubble furiously and irritating Rikabi even more.
“All right, Bahr. I’ll tell Alku and he’ll teach you a lesson.”
“As you wish.”
“Would you defy our master?”
“You can think what you like,” replied Bahr, taking another drag on his water pipe.
Rikabi’s face flushed like that of an angry bull. “I’m leaving. I don’t have to listen to this rubbish.”
Walking out of the café was an exemplary solution. Up to that moment, the staff had been rooted to the spot by the rush of events and their terror at the consequences, but the moment Rikabi walked out, he was followed by Yusuf Tarboosh and Maître Shakir. Then the others dashed out after them into the street as if fleeing a fire, leaving behind the café waiters and a few regulars who did not work at the Club.
Abdoun dragged a chair over and sat next to Bahr the barman, who simply said, “Don’t blame them. It’s difficult for them.”
“Well, Uncle Bahr, I’d just like to understand how Alku can have them beaten and then be thanked for it.”
Bahr thought it over a little and said, “Alku is a devil who stops at nothing, but he controls their wages.”
With a wince, he responded,“Of course he has had me beaten, when I was young and had just started at the Club. But as I grew older and became the barman, he stopped having me beaten. Shakir, Tarboosh, Rikabi and I are never touched, because he earns so much from us.”
“He gets half of all our tips too.”
“Alku says that he uses it to pay for the training school.”
“Bahr, you know that’s a lie. The palace pays for the school, and Alku keeps the tips for himself.”
Bahr smiled and gave him an admiring look, saying, “God keep you, Abdoun. You are clever and brave, but unfortunately, your effort will come to nothing. You will never be able to change the way the staff think because their mentality is tied to the current system. Every word you said will by now have reached Alku’s ears. God help you.”
SALEHA
It seemed like the angel of death was hovering above our building. I felt a strange sense of foreboding about my mother. I trembled whenever I imagined that I might suddenly lose her like I had lost my father. I would wake up in the middle of the night and go to check on her. I would walk over to her in the dark as she was sleeping, holding my finger just below her nostrils to see that she was still breathing. I only ever left her side when I went to school. I made her sit next to me when I did my homework, and I felt that she needed me as much as I needed her. My mother had plunged headlong into battle to try to get my father’s pension. The day Comanus telephoned asking if he could come and see us, my brother Kamel and I were sitting with her. When she put the receiver down, she looked worried and asked us, “Why do you think Comanus wants to come and see us?”
Kamel placed a hand on my mother’s shoulder and replied, “It must be good news. Comanus is a good man.”
“But he already paid his condolences. What does he want now?”
“Perhaps now he has some news.”
My mother gave a sigh, “God help us. We have enough problems.”
The following day we all waited for Comanus to arrive, my mother, Kamel, Said, Mahmud and I. He shook hands warmly with us one by one. He was wearing a smart gray suit and a white shirt with a blue tie. From the very first, I felt comfortable with him. He looked like a pleasant, trustworthy man, and I liked the way he smiled and tried to pronounce Arabic consonants. My mother invited him into the sitting room while I went to the kitchen to prepare the Turkish coffee as he’d asked for it, semisweet. I served it with a glass of ice water on the beautiful silver tray my mother saved for guests. As agreed before he arrived, Mahmud and I then withdrew, leaving Comanus with the adults. As usual, my brother Mahmud appeared indifferent to what was going on and went off to his bedroom, but I could not overcome my curiosity. I turned the lights off in the dining room, pushed the door open a little and positioned myself so that I could see and hear without being noticed.
Comanus started off by saying, “I have come to see that you are all well.”
“It’s very kind of you,” said my mother warmly.
Comanus continued, “The late Abd el-Aziz was like a brother to me. Please, Umm Said, if you need anything, just ask me.”
“May God keep you, sir.”
They fell into silence again. Comanus cleared his throat and said, “I found out what happened when you went to see Mr. Wright. It’s very unfortunate.”
My mother pricked up her ears. She leaned back against her chair and said firmly, “It just does not make sense that my late husband could work at the Club for five years and that they don’t pay a widow’s pension. What rules or laws do they operate under?”
“You’re right. The rules and bylaws are unjust.”
My mother replied with a stronger voice, “The rules and the bylaws mean nothing to me, sir. Please God, the court will make them pay what is due to us.”
“But, Umm Said, going to court is a long, drawn-out process.”
“I will make them pay.”
“The lawyers also charge a fortune!”
“We can afford it, thank God.”
“I have come to suggest another solution.”
My mother looked at him and said nothing.
Comanus took a sip of coffee and continued: “After much effort, I have managed to persuade Mr. Wright to take two of your boys on at the Club, in the place of their late father. One will work with me in the storeroom and the other doing deliveries. Together they will earn the equivalent of his pension.”
My mother remained silent, and Comanus added quietly, “Isn’t that a better solution than the headache of going to court?”
“God help us,” muttered my mother who seemed to be thinking it over.
Comanus smiled and added apologetically, “Of course, Mr. Wright has agreed to this on condition you do not take the Club to court.”
“I understand.”
“So, you agree?”
“Please God it will all be for the best. I just need two or three days to think it over and I’ll telephone you.”
“Splendid!”
“I am so grateful to you, Monsieur Comanus, for having thought about how you can help us. We will never forget this kindness.”
Comanus replied with warm sincerity: “It’s the very least I can do for the late Abd el-Aziz. But, please, Umm Said, give me your answer soon. It was difficult to win Mr. Wright over, and I’m worried he’ll change his mind.”
They chatted about nothing in particular for another quarter of an hour, and then Comanus said that he had to leave. They showed him out and returned to the sitting room. My mother sat on the chair next to the window, with Said and Kamel near her on the sofa. As I was on my way to join them, my mother said, “Come in, Saleha. I want to tell you something.”
The moment I sat down next to her, she told me excitedly, “The khawaga, Comanus, has come up with a new idea.”
“I heard it all.”
Kamel asked me, “So what do you think?”
“Well, of course, working at the Club is better than having to fight in court.”
My mother seemed happy to hear that I agreed. She sighed. “Thank God. God knows our situation.”
Silence fell on us again. It felt as if my mother was trying to decide for sure. Then she turned to Kamel and Said and told them with a tense smile, “We haven’t got any time to lose. We have to make a decision tonight so I can give Comanus an answer tomorrow.”
They both looked at her in silence as she continued to explain, “Mahmud can do deliveries. Which of you will work in the storeroom with Comanus?”
Said replied, “I will not work at the Automobile Club.”
“And just why not, Lord Said?” asked my mother sarcastically.
“I’m waiting to see about my diploma, and then I will find a better job.”
“And you’ll find a job just like that!”
“God will help.”
“The country’s brimming with qualified people who can’t get a job.”
“I’d rather be out of work than bunged up in the storeroom.”
“And what’s wrong with the storeroom?”
“I want to work in my own field. In carpets.”
“That’s just like you. Can’t think about anyone but yourself.”
“It’s not a sin to think about myself!”
“But it is a sin not to think about us. You should be ashamed to sit there in front of me and turn down the only chance we have of getting through this. Do you never think that your mother and siblings need every piastre we can get? Do you not realize that this job which you are rejecting out of hand is one which your father did for years just to look after us?”
“My father, may God have mercy on him, put up with the misery out of guilt at having squandered his wealth on his relatives.”
“How dare you! How dare you speak about your late father like that!” my mother shouted, her eyes wide with anger.
Said looked defiant and said, “Listen. I can read you like a book.�
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“Speak to your mother with some respect!” Kamel warned him.
Said ignored him and carried on shouting at our mother, “You want to throw me into that storeroom so that your darling Kamel can finish his university studies. He’ll be a lawyer and I’ll be a menial. No. Things are different now. You’ve already stopped me from going to university, what more do you want?”
“You are the one who stopped yourself. Did anyone tell you to get such low marks?”
“All right then, I’m a disappointment, a loser. Just let me be. Soon I’ll be able to support myself. I’ll leave home, and then you won’t have to put up with me. Your beloved Mr. Kamel, the lawyer, can get off his backside and do something useful for once in his life.”
“Did I raise you to speak like that, Said?” my mother asked, her voice quivering. It had no effect on Said. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Kamel and I sat there in silence. Suddenly my mother burst out in tears. I rushed over to her and started kissing her head and her hands.
Kamel said, “Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll work in the storeroom.”
“But your studies,” she replied weakly.
Kamel put his hand on her shoulder and said, “With God’s help, I’ll do both.”
16
James Wright had put aside his usual haughty demeanor and seemed almost to smile at Carlo Botticelli, who was seated in front of him. He offered him a cigar from an ornate mother-of-pearl box, saying warmly, “Mr. Botticelli. How nice to see you.”