“And what if I don’t want a divorce?”
“You’d be happy living with a woman who doesn’t want to be with you?”
“If we were to listen to every hysterical woman, there’d be no families left in all of Egypt. Women don’t make good decisions. They’re fickle.”
“My sister, Saleha, is better educated than you.”
I said that just to provoke him. He was breathing heavily and trying to control himself.
“That’s enough, Kamel,” he said quietly. “Let’s not talk any more now. Wait until you have calmed down.”
I got up and walked over to him.
“You have to divorce Saleha immediately,” I shouted.
“Lower your voice.”
“I’ll speak however I like.”
“Seems you lack manners, just like your sister.”
“If anyone needs to learn manners, it’s you.”
He jumped to his feet, let out a shout and threw a punch, but I ducked it, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back, and yelled, “I’ll rip off the arm you used to hit my sister!”
At this point, the office staff rushed in to separate us.
“I’ll ruin your name!” I bellowed. “You low-down drug addict!”
He responded with a stream of invective, but he seemed shaken.
Seeing my accusations had hit a nerve, I started shouting at him again, “You should have got over your drug habit before marrying a woman from a decent family!”
The staff started trying to counter my accusation, but their protests were not terribly convincing. It seemed they knew the truth. As they hustled me out of the office, they took their time, as if to give me a chance to carry on insulting him.
“I’ll give you one week,” I shouted. “If you don’t divorce Saleha, I’m going to report you to the police for using drugs.”
I stumbled out onto the street. I was overwrought, but at the same time I felt happy about having shown up Abd el-Barr in front of his employees. I had managed to get back at him for humiliating my sister. I reached Soliman Pasha Street and walked down the Estoril passage to get to the Automobile Club. I started my shift in the storeroom with my mind completely distracted. Comanus noticed, but when he asked me what the matter was, I told him I was exhausted from my studies.
I finished my shift in the evening, and when I arrived home, I saw Saleha. The bruises on her face had turned blue. She put her arms around me and clung to me as she used to do when she was a child.
“Come to my bedroom,” I told her. “I have a few things to tell you.”
“Stay here and talk,” my mother said, getting up. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
I sat next to Saleha.
“I want you to look on all of this,” I told her, “as just a bad experience that you’ll forget.”
“What if Abd el-Barr won’t divorce me?”
“He’ll divorce you, whether he wants to or not.”
“Have you seen him?”
I nodded, and she asked me anxiously, “What did he say to you?”
“Don’t worry yourself about it. We got you into this mess, and we’ll get you out of it. As far as I’m concerned, the most important thing is for you to go back to school.”
“I can’t. I can’t face my school friends now that I have failed in my marriage.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. It happens to lots of girls.”
Saleha looked straight ahead as if mulling it over, and then she burst into tears. I kissed her head and tried to soothe her. A little while later, the three of us sat down to dinner. I tried to distract Saleha with a few funny anecdotes. That night when I went to my bedroom, I tried to study but could not. I lay down fully clothed and smoked a cigarette. I thought of my father and how much I missed him. How much he had put up with for our sake. Now that I was shouldering the burden, it seemed like catastrophes were occurring in swift succession. “May God have mercy upon your soul, Father!” I thought. “You kept all your troubles from us. You never complained.” Then I got up, did my ablutions, said the fatiha for my father’s soul and prostrated myself on the ground for longer than necessary. I prayed to God to have mercy upon him and to let him enter paradise. When I went to bed, I felt better. Prayer afforded me a real sense of calm. It made me wish that I prayed more regularly, but I was always getting distracted or giving in to laziness. I felt guilty at my religious laxity, even though I thought that it was not God who needed our prayers, but we were the ones who needed to pray in order to become better people. I believed in God’s justice and mercy. I believed that he would forgive us our religious shortcomings. I was going to try hard to be useful and to work in order to support my family, as well as study and do my duty for my country.
Once I made these resolutions, I felt better and found the will to get out of bed and continue studying. I had been asked to translate an article about Egypt from The Times and give it to Hasan Mu’min the next day. It took me about two hours. The author had written at great length about the king’s depraved behavior and his nocturnal antics. I made myself a glass of mint tea and sat down; it was three in the morning before I went to bed. I was so preoccupied with Saleha’s misfortunes that I almost forgot about the mission that the prince had tasked me with.
The next morning, I arrived at the Club before ten o’clock. I had hidden the glass orb in my briefcase, which usually carried my textbooks. The staff were at that moment cleaning the building from top to bottom. I looked behind me to make sure that no one could see me. Instead of making my way to the storeroom, I went up the stairs into the casino and locked the door behind me. I knew that I had only a few minutes. The room was gloomy and reeked of smoke from the night before. I found the wooden stepladder leaning against the wall just as the prince had described. I picked it up and was dismayed to find it so heavy, as I could not just drag it along the floor in case it made a noise. With great difficulty, I carried it to the middle of the room and positioned it gently underneath the chandelier. I gingerly climbed up a few steps until my shoulders were level with the crystals. There was a small metal rung in the chandelier into which the glass orb fitted perfectly. I checked to see that it was firmly fixed in place before climbing back down. Suddenly, I heard shouting outside. It was part of the plan for Abdoun to pick a fight with one of the staff on the roof in order to divert their attention. I put the stepladder back where I found it, opened the door cautiously and slipped out undetected, tiptoeing down the stairs. By the time I reached the entrance hall, I was certain that my mission had been successful. Suddenly, I saw Labib the telephone operator standing in front of me.
“All hell’s broken loose on the roof,” I spluttered, trying to act natural. “I want to go up and see what’s happening, but if I do, Monsieur Comanus might turn up and find the storeroom still locked.”
“Don’t worry,” Labib said. “Go and open up. I’ll go and see what it’s all about.”
“Let me know that they’re all all right, Uncle Labib. I don’t want to sit downstairs worrying.”
I opened the storeroom door and turned on the light. Then I lit a cigarette. After the first drag, I told myself, “You’ve done it, lad!” I found the danger strangely exciting. I was still proud of myself for having distributed the pamphlets in Sayyida Zeinab and fooling the English soldiers. This time, I had carried out my mission even with so much on my mind, lacking sleep and distraught over Saleha. Thank God, I hadn’t slipped up and given myself away. I made a pot of Turkish coffee and smoked another cigarette. Then Comanus turned up, and I greeted him, asking him what he wanted me to do. I thought it best to behave naturally because at some point they could question Comanus if they discovered the orb. I lugged a few things to the restaurant and then asked permission to sit and study.
After a while, Comanus came and sat down next to me. He had a warm smile on his face. “How are you getting on with your studies, Kamel?” he asked.
“Thank God, I’m doing fine. And how are you, sir?”
; Comanus took off his spectacles and wiped them with his handkerchief as he always did when feeling pensive. Then he put them back on and said, “By God, I have to say, Kamel, that things at the Club have been a little odd lately.”
“What is it?”
“I’m worried about the staff. They’ve been to see Alku, and they asked him to end the beatings he gives them.”
“They’re right.”
“I know that it’s a sensitive subject for you because of your father, Hagg Abd el-Aziz, may God have mercy on him.”
“Not just because he was my father; it’s inhuman to have someone beaten.”
“But it surprises me. The staff have put up with it for twenty years. What suddenly made them object?”
“Everyone has his limits.”
“But the strangest thing is that Alku has agreed.”
“Well, that sounds all right to me.”
Comanus said nothing for a few moments. Then he gave me a worried look and said, “You don’t know Alku. He’s evil and unpredictable. There’s no way that he has suddenly turned into a kind person. God help us. I think that the Automobile Club has got some dark days ahead of it.”
33
Mahmud did not know what to think. In his heart of hearts, he knew that Rosa loved him, and he felt bad that she had been so upset by his relationship with Dagmar, but at the same time he was angry that she had humiliated him by pulling on his shirt. Mahmud recounted all of this to Fawzy, who smoked a whole spliff as he listened to his friend, appearing to weigh the matter over carefully. Stubbing out the spliff on the roof terrace wall, he said with a cough, “Rosa has got no right to be angry. If you back down, she’ll be no end of trouble in the future.”
Mahmud nodded. “I’m never going to see Rosa again,” he said.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Fawzy said.
“After what she did?”
“Give it a little time, Mahmud,” Fawzy said with a wink. “Some good may come out of it. Your difficulties with Rosa might yet work in your favor.”
“How’s that?”
Fawzy laid out the plan, and Mahmud executed it perfectly. He refrained from going to see Rosa for two whole weeks. He primed Labib the telephone operator to tell her that he had not been to work and that no one knew why. Mahmud disappeared completely from sight. When Rosa telephoned to order food from the Club, Mahmud would hand the package to Mustafa the driver.
“Please,” he said to Mustafa. “Take the package up, and I’ll wait here. If Madame Khashab asks after me, tell her I’ve left the job.”
Mustafa would smile gently and take the package up to her. The last time, Mahmud was waiting as usual in the car while Mustafa went up with the fruit tart that Rosa had ordered. After a while, he came back, sat behind the wheel and clapped his hands with a belly laugh.
“Mahmud,” he said as he started the engine, “what have you done to Madame Khashab? She’s crazy about you. When I told her that you’re still not back at work, she went mad!”
Mahmud said nothing as Mustafa drove along, chuckling. He had long since guessed that Mahmud was seeing Rosa but had not wanted to mention it. By nature, he was good-hearted and did not like to embarrass anyone or interfere, no matter how close the acquaintance involved. That day, as they sat in the garage drinking tea, the older man seemed on the verge of saying something, but he held back. They had chatted a little about this and that, when at last Mustafa placed his hand on Mahmud’s shoulder.
“Mahmud, you know how fond of you I am,” he said. “Your father, may God have mercy upon him, was like a brother to me. I can appreciate that you are young, and young people have their own rules.”
Mahmud gave him an inquiring look, but Mustafa kept looking at the ground as if trying to find the right words.
“I will give you one piece of advice, and I won’t say it again. What would you think, Mahmud, if the car had no brakes. What would happen to it?”
“There’d be an accident.”
“Good. Now a human being is like a car. He has to have brakes. If a young man goes around sleeping with this woman and that woman, eventually it’ll end in tears. May God forgive you and show you the right way.”
Mahmud sat there in silence. He loved and respected Mustafa, and he had expected him to say such thing.
“Listen to what I have to say,” Mustafa continued. “If you want to get married, get married, but don’t live in sin. Sin is sweet at first, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste. As God told us, ‘Do not draw near to fornication, for it is an indecency, and its way is evil.’ ”
Mahmud nodded and muttered agreement with an embarrassed smile on his face. That was all Mustafa had to say on the matter, and he changed the subject. That night, on the roof, Mahmud repeated old Mustafa’s words to Fawzy, who at that moment was licking the edge of a cigarette paper.
“Mustafa is old enough to be our father,” he said disdainfully. “He has to think like that. If he were our age and had the chance to be with a woman like Rosa, I bet he would.”
“But I am living a life of sin.”
“What’s the matter with you, Mahmud? All it takes is a word from someone and you change your mind!” Fawzy bellowed as Mahmud sat there sulking silently. Fawzy felt sure he had him back under control and smiled.
“You do trust me, don’t you, Mahmud?”
“Of course.”
“Then just keep on doing what I told you.”
The plan necessitated Mahmud staying away from Rosa for a third week, at the end of which Mahmud told Labib the telephone operator that he could put her calls through.
Not long after that, Mahmud heard Rosa’s anxious voice asking, “Mahmud, is everything all right?”
“Yes, thank God.”
“I need to see you.”
“I’ve got work to do.”
“All right. Come over when you finish work.”
“All right.”
Mahmud spoke that last word in a voice that seemed not his own. At the end of the shift, Mustafa drove him to his apartment in al-Sadd Street. Mahmud went in the main door and waited until he heard the car drive off. Then he went back out and took a taxi from Tram Street to Rosa’s building. He wanted to avoid having to listen to another sermon by Mustafa on sin. It was after three in the morning when Mahmud went up to the fourth floor and rang the bell.
Rosa opened the door so quickly that she must have been waiting behind it. The moment she saw him, she whispered, “Mahmud! Where have you been?”
She pulled him inside and flung her arms around him. He stepped away from her and stood in the middle of the sitting room. She stepped toward him and, in a trembling voice, told him, “Shame on you, Mahmud, for leaving me all alone so long.”
“But, Rosa,” he said angrily, “you insulted me and you grabbed me by the shirt.”
“I’m so sorry, Mahmud. I’m sorry.”
She hugged him again and covered him with kisses as he stood there impassive. But he was starting to get excited, so he put his arms around her and walked her into the bedroom. That night, he pounded away at her as if to inflict punishment and pain, as if trying to ascertain whether she had learned her lesson and understood that she should never deal with him that way again. She did not fail to play her part, shrieking like a naughty child, though with pleasure, screaming and shouting and begging for mercy, promising to be good. Rosa had orgasm after orgasm, during which she writhed and shuddered into contortions he had never seen before. Mahmud had already planned to stay the night, having telephoned his mother from the Club to say that he was going to stay with a friend. He slept in Rosa’s embrace. As they ate breakfast in the morning, he saw that she looked relaxed and happy. They chatted away, and when it was time for him to leave, she hugged him and nuzzled her face against his chest. As he pushed her gently away, he noticed tears on her face.
“Rosa, what’s the matter?” he asked, holding her hand.
“I’m afraid you’re going to leave me,” she whispered. Then, after a pause,
she continued, “Mahmud, I can’t live all alone again. Before I met you, I was so miserable. I would just drink and wait to die. You have no idea what you have done for me. You’ve put some meaning back into my life. Please, Mahmud, don’t leave me.”
They carried on seeing each other, and Rosa never again uttered a word about his relationship with Dagmar. Fawzy’s plan had succeeded, for Rosa had now realized that the choice was straightforward: either he could go on seeing other women too, or he would dump her.
Mahmud’s life went back to its old rhythm. Two nights with Rosa, two nights with Dagmar and three nights without them. He and Fawzy were having the time of their lives. Girls, excursions, sex in brothels, the best quality hashish, smart clothes and riding around on the red Lambretta.
One night, as they were sitting on the roof, Mahmud suddenly piped up, “There’s a new woman who wants me to sleep with her.”
Fawzy clapped and yelled, “You’re the top! How did you get to know her?”
“I was making a delivery on Thursday, and she grabbed me.”
“Maybe Rosa or Dagmar told her about you.”
Mahmud ignored Fawzy’s teasing tone.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“You’ve got another one in the bag.”
“I can’t.”
“Is she Egyptian or English?”
“Egyptian.”
“Well-off?”
“Very. She’s a Sarsawy.”
“The Sarsawys with the gold shop?”
Mahmud nodded.
“She’s our fatted calf. Don’t let this one slip through your fingers!”
Mahmud swatted the suggestion away.
“What’s this ‘calf’ shit! She’s ancient.”
“All right, but you’re already doing it with two other old ladies.”
“She’s older than they are. She must be at least seventy. I’m astonished that someone of her age is still interested in sex.”
“You’ve hit the jackpot! The older they are, the more they pay.”
“She can go to hell with her money.”
Fawzy looked Mahmud straight in the eye and asked him, “Are you going to turn down more money?”
The Automobile Club of Egypt Page 39