Saleha seemed a little confused but leaned over and took out an article of clothing and started hanging it out.
“The hanging of the wash,” Mitsy said in the tones of a teacher addressing a class of children, “is one of the most beautiful expressions of Egyptian femininity. When an Egyptian woman reaches out to arrange an item on the line, her body achieves its highest humanity, realizing the height of her attractiveness and powers of seduction.”
Saleha stopped and looked at us with an embarrassed smile.
“Please don’t be embarrassed,” Mitsy said. “I’m not talking about you personally. I’m an actor, and I have studied body language. I just want to explain how beautiful the sight is to Kamel.”
Saleha bent down and pulled out another item to put on the line.
“Just look how the form exudes femininity,” Mitsy carried on enthusiastically. “As an Egyptian woman hangs out the wash, she is as alluring as a belly dancer in whose dance the seduction is frank and direct, a sort of invitation to sex. When a woman is hanging out the wash, her appeal is subdued and coy. The woman moves as if unaware of the excitement she arouses in any man watching her. Look. When the woman puts the clothes peg in her mouth and then takes it in her two fingers to peg the wash on the line, the use of the peg is loaded with strong, sensual overtones.”
That was more than Saleha could bear. She dropped the wet shirt into the tub.
“Mitsy!” she said with apparent anger. “I can’t concentrate on what I’m doing. Either leave me alone or I’ll go downstairs and come back in the afternoon.”
“Okay,” Mitsy said with a laugh. “I’m sorry.”
We left Saleha hanging out the wash. Mitsy brought as much happiness into our family as a young child discovering things for the first time, making silly comments which made everyone laugh and enjoy repeating them.
That night, I studied past two in the morning. I went to take a shower, wearing just my trousers and a shirt. Since Mitsy had come to stay with us, I never went out of my room in just my pajamas. I was walking down the corridor, but before I reached the bathroom door, I heard a whisper behind me, “Kamel…”
I turned around, and there was Mitsy standing in the dull glow of the night-light.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I want to talk to you.”
Confused, I replied, “Mitsy, if my mother finds us standing here together, she’ll be angry.”
“Why would your mother be angry?”
“Because I promised not to be alone with you in our apartment.”
Mitsy ignored what I had said and whispered, “Kamel, I’m in love with you.”
I stood there saying nothing, hardly able to breathe. Mitsy came so close that I could smell her delicate perfume, and she gave me a peck on the lips. Then she smiled, turned and retreated back to Saleha’s bedroom, shutting the door behind her. I was rooted to the spot. It felt like I was dreaming, but my astonishment gave way to joy. Mitsy had freed me of my deepest worries and anxieties. She had made me confront a reality I had long been trying to avoid: that I was in love with her too. I loved her voice, her laugh, her smile, her face and her hands. I even found the mistakes in Arabic entrancing. I went back to my bedroom and slept blissfully, waking up refreshed. After I showered and got dressed, I found Mitsy having breakfast with my mother and Saleha. She gave me a knowing smile.
“I’m late for work,” I said.
“Wait a moment,” Mitsy told me excitedly.
She quickly made me a sandwich, and as she gave it to me, she said, “You like white cheese. Take this and eat it on the way.”
Saleha smiled, and my mother then added in a half-serious tone of voice, “Take it! Don’t embarrass the girl!”
I took a taxi to save time. En route, I thought of Mitsy. Her kindness this morning had a new flavor. I thought of her delicate fingers as she gave me the sandwich. Where did all that beauty come from? I finished all my chores at work, and then, having asked permission from Monsieur Comanus, I sat down to study. By the time the clock struck five, Comanus had already left, and I was alone in the storeroom. Suddenly, Khalil appeared and told me excitedly, “Kamel! Come quickly. Prince Shamel has sent his car. It’s waiting for you in front of the Club.”
I turned off the lights and locked the storeroom door, trying to guess why he was asking for me. Was he going to give me a new mission? A servant led me to the prince’s office, where I found a surprise waiting for me. Abd el-Barr was sitting there in front of the prince. I did all I could to remain calm.
“Welcome, Kamel,” the prince said with a smile. “Please, take a seat.”
I shook the prince’s hand and sat down on the sofa. I noted that Abd el-Barr was avoiding my eye.
“You charged me with finding a solution to your sister Saleha’s problem,” the prince said. “I have spoken with Abd el-Barr about the question of a divorce, and he seems willing to come to some understanding.”
“Basically,” interrupted Abd el-Barr, “I don’t want her. It was a mistake to marry into this family.”
“Watch what you are saying!” I shouted at him.
Abd el-Barr shot a furious look at me and retorted, “I am watching what I’m saying, in spite of you.”
I jumped to my feet in anger, but the prince shouted at me, “Kamel! Please stay seated. We are not here to argue.”
There was silence for a few moments; then Abd el-Barr cleared his throat and continued, “Your Royal Highness, I have spent a lot of money on this abortive marriage. I just want my money back.”
“What money?” I shouted. “You scoundrel.”
“Be quiet, Kamel!” the prince shouted. Then he turned to Abd el-Barr and said calmly, “Mr. Abd el-Barr, tomorrow my secretary will contact you to finalize the divorce. With regard to your expenses, we shall pay them for you.”
I was about to object, but I said nothing out of respect for the prince, who continued, “So have we come to an agreement? You are a clever man and surely don’t wish to create problems. Thus, I expect you’ll fulfill your part, remembering that while I prefer an amicable solution, I have other means at my disposal.”
Abd el-Barr nodded but made no comment. The prince shifted his attention to some documents on the desk before him. That was a signal for Abd el-Barr to leave. He stood up and shook hands with the prince, and then he passed near me as he was leaving and mumbled, “Good-bye.”
I did not answer. The moment he was gone, I blurted out, “Sir, that man is making a fool of us.”
The prince smiled, leaned back in his chair and said, “Kamel, I’m old enough to be your father and am much more experienced than you. Abd el-Barr’s honor has been wounded because you all know that he is an impotent drug addict. It’s natural that he should try to take his revenge on you. You were not here for my whole meeting with him. Had I not threatened him, he would not have agreed to a divorce. My secretary will give him a reasonable sum of money, and if he still refuses, then I will resort to other methods.”
“Might I know how much money you’re going to offer him?”
“By God, that’s none of your business!” the prince said with a laugh.
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
The prince got up from behind his desk and walked over to me. I jumped to my feet. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I have also taken care of the other matter. A small, furnished apartment in Garden City has been rented for your friend Mitsy. The rent is paid for a year, and this week I shall find her some work.”
“Sir, I cannot find the words to thank you.”
“There’s no need for gratitude among friends,” he interrupted. “I decided on an apartment in Garden City so that you can have complete privacy. It will be a fantastic love nest.”
He winked and let out one of his guffaws. I was dazzled by his nobility of spirit and felt guilty at having thought that he’d forgotten about me. In an effort to relieve me of my feeling of indebtedness, he said in a serious tone, “Soon, we will be assigning
new tasks to you for the organization. Come with me. I want to give you something.”
I followed him across the spacious hall to the studio. He turned on the light and then took out from a cupboard something that looked like a cigarette-rolling machine, the same size as the radio in the sitting room of our apartment. He set it down in front of me on the desk and said, “This is a paper shredder. Take it. All your colleagues have one. It’s very easy to use. Put the paper in this side and turn the knob like this. Before you go to sleep tonight, you must destroy all the organization documents you have.”
39
It happened during the busiest time of day, when the king was there and the Club was crowded. The bar was teeming with customers when Bahr shot a look at his assistant, Abdoun, and the two of them left the bar together. There was something resolute about their gait, as if they were leaving, never to return. In the kitchen, Samahy suddenly got up and walked out without requesting permission from Rikabi, who started calling after him, but he disappeared quickly without looking back.
“By your mother’s life,” Rikabi roared, “you’ll pay for this.”
The same thing took place in the restaurant. The waiters, Nouri, Banan and Fidali, to the customers’ astonishment, set down the plates they had been carrying on the nearest table and walked out of the restaurant. In the casino, Jaber and Bashir also walked out. They all stopped work at the exact same moment and, as if according to plan, all started walking away. They went down the stairs and assembled in the Club’s entrance. No explanation was forthcoming until Bahr went to Maître Shakir and told him that he and his colleagues were waiting for him in front of the telephone cabin. Bahr did not give Shakir a chance to reply or ask anything. He got to the end of his sentence, then turned and went back to join the others. What happened that night will forever remain unique in the annals of the Automobile Club: eight members of the staff stopped work without permission and assembled in protest in the Club’s entrance hall. Maître Shakir rushed over to them and said in hushed, but angry, tones, “What’s got into you? Have you taken leave of your senses?”
Abdoun answered immediately, “We are not working, and we want to see Alku.”
Maître Shakir looked at him with incredulity and said, “You want to see Alku? Go to his office!”
“We are staying here,” said Bahr, “until Alku comes to see us.”
As if knowing that there was no point in discussing the matter, Shakir turned and said, “All right. You don’t want to work? Don’t work! But standing here will get you nowhere. His Majesty is upstairs, and the Club members will see you as they come and leave.”
No one answered. They stood their ground. Maître Shakir, in growing confusion, thought it over for a few moments and then said, “Go into one of the offices until Alku arrives.”
The offer was unexpected, and the men looked at each other hesitantly, but Bahr decided the matter by saying, “We are not moving until we see Alku.”
The group muttered support, and Maître Shakir did not argue further. He disappeared inside the telephone cabin for a few minutes, then came out and, without acknowledging the men still standing there, went directly up the stairs and rushed back to the restaurant. Club members coming in through the front door on their way to the lift looked with astonishment at the strikers standing there, immobile and silent, as if they themselves could not believe what they were doing. Were they really refusing to work and waiting to confront Alku? It seemed like a strange dream. They knew that Alku would arrive at any moment, and yet they felt no fear. They were holding their ground to a degree that astonished even them. Where did they get their courage? It was as if, the moment they got over their initial fear, it disappeared completely. At that moment, they felt different. They were not servants, and Alku was not their master. They were staff at the Club demanding their rights, and if they felt so inclined, they could refrain from working. Their self-assuredness manifested itself in a new attitude and tone of voice.
“Listen, men!” Samahy called out. “When Alku gets here, let me talk with him.”
They looked at him and smiled. There was a certain disparity between his skinny build and the audacity he was showing.
“I’ll be doing the talking,” Bahr said. “I know Alku better than you.”
Samahy looked resentful, but Bahr laughed and added, “Don’t get angry, Samahy. I’ll let you talk, but when I’ve finished.”
Samahy nodded, and after a short while, Alku appeared, striding across the threshold, followed by Hameed and Suleyman the doorman. The strikers stood where they were. They did not rush over to greet him as usual.
“Why have you left your posts?” he asked with a breathless scowl.
“Your Excellency,” said Bahr firmly, “we have been working for nothing for three months.”
“It’s the same for your colleagues.”
“We’ve got nothing to do with them,” replied Bahr. “We’re the ones standing here in front of you, and we won’t go back to work until we get what we’re owed.”
Alku looked them over as if unable to believe what was happening, and then in a strange, hoarse voice, he said, “Get back to work.”
“We will only go back to work,” said Bahr, “when you have returned our tips to us, because that’s what we’re owed.”
“Yes!” added Samahy, who could hold himself back no longer. “If you want us to go to work, pay us what we’re owed.”
That did it. Puny little Samahy, to whom Alku usually never addressed a word and whose name he could not bring himself to utter, was standing up to his master! Alku glowered and ground his teeth.
“For the last time,” he announced, “don’t be stupid and go back to work.”
His voice boomed terrifyingly, and then there was silence. He stared at the men, but they just stood there, immovable and unshakable.
“We have made it clear,” said Abdoun. “No pay, no work.”
“What’s come over you, you sons of dogs!” shrieked Hameed, shaking with rage. “Is that any way to speak to your master?”
“Let them be,” Alku said, turning to Hameed. “They can do what they want.”
He spoke that last sentence as if it had some hidden meaning, then turned slowly and walked out of the Club. After a few steps outside, he stopped with his back toward them and addressed someone out of sight. Suddenly, a whistle sounded, and soldiers ran into the Club. There was no way for the strikers to put up any resistance. The soldiers arrested them and violently dragged them out. The strikers shouted out in protest, but the soldiers kept slapping and kicking them until they got them into the police car waiting for them outside the door.
SALEHA
Why did I love Mitsy so much?
Because she was nice and well mannered, and because Kamel loved her, and I loved anyone Kamel loved. Perhaps I liked the experience itself—that I should be friends with an English girl who spoke Arabic and wanted to learn all about Egyptian life. I never felt the passage of time when I was with Mitsy. We would chat and discuss things and laugh a lot. She insisted on helping my mother and me with the housework, asking about everything I was doing. She learned things I never imagined would interest any English girl. The moments we enjoyed the most were when we were having a cup of coffee together. We would sit on the balcony around the large brass table on which we would place the burner, the cups and the cold water perfumed with a few drops of rosewater.
One Wednesday after early evening prayers, as we were getting ready to drink our coffee, Mitsy took the packet of coffee beans from me and said, “I’ll make the coffee today.”
She was wearing a blue dress and had pulled her hair back into a ponytail, revealing her dainty ears. A few minutes later, Mitsy looked at me as I was sipping the coffee, and laughed, “Sometimes I imagine that we’re two women living in an Ottoman sultan’s court.”
“Why at a court?”
With a wave of her hand, Mitsy dismissed my comment and said, “Oh…the sultan’s wives generally didn’t do any
thing. They spent their days in the bathhouse and making themselves beautiful. We would look after our bodies and get ourselves ready, because the sultan might summon us to his bed at any moment.”
“Would you like to play a role like that onstage?”
“Of course I would! But even if the chance never came, I could always enjoy fantasizing about it! An actor must be able to imagine lives outside his own.”
Mitsy was silent for a moment and then asked me, “Do you believe in reincarnation?”
It was so typical of her to change the subject so suddenly.
“I’ve read about it,” I said.
“Could it not be possible that our souls have lived previously in different places and circumstances and that we died and have been reincarnated into this life?”
“It’s possible. But I’m a Muslim, and in my religion God tells us that our spirit is in His hands and that he has sole control of it.”
“Well, I often feel that in a previous life, I was an Egyptian woman. Egypt feels so familiar to me that this can’t be the first time I have been here. Even when I speak with you, Saleha, I feel that I have seen and heard you before.”
Mitsy fell silent for a moment and then added, “I just hope you don’t think I’m mad!”
We both laughed, and then she changed the subject again. “How are you getting on with your studies?”
“I’m trying as hard as I can, but it hasn’t been easy.”
“I’ll remind you of that after you pass the exams with flying colors.”
Then we suddenly heard two light taps on the apartment door: Kamel’s signature knock.
“Come in!” I said.
I had never seen Kamel happier than he was at that moment. He shook hands with Mitsy, kissed me on my cheeks and then said nothing for a while, as if he was trying to control himself. He put his hand in the pocket of his waistcoat and took out a folded piece of paper.
“Congratulations, Saleha!” he said. “Here’s your divorce.”
I could not take it in immediately, but then I jumped up and threw my arms around him and kept repeating, “Thank God! Thank God!” I started crying, and a few minutes later my mother came in to congratulate me. It occurred to me that the last thing I had expected when I married Abd el-Barr was that my marriage would turn into such a nightmare that we should all be celebrating the divorce.
The Automobile Club of Egypt Page 46