The Yacoubian Building: A Novel

  Then she would excuse herself to go into the bathroom and Taha would get straight into their old iron bed to wait for her, stretched out on his back, gazing at the ceiling, his heart brimming with that delicious, nervy passion that he had come to know and love and to which he looked forward every night—his implacable longing for her; her enchanting body, refreshed by the hot water, naked but for a large towel that enveloped her as she emerged from the bathroom; the tense, thrilling, silent moments, gravid with desire, while she turned her back to him and prettied herself before the mirror; and the confused words, empty of meaning, that she spoke in a hushed, gasping voice as she made a pretense of conversing on any subject, as though to conceal her desire for him. He would understand the signal and grant her no delay, crushing to himself her supple, tall, slender body and tickling her with his kisses and his burning breath till his sweetness overflowed and he emptied himself in her embrace of all his feelings—his sorrows, his memories, his frustrated hopes, his unstilled desire for revenge and his savage hatred for his torturers; even those blazing, obscure sexual yearnings that had so often swept over him and made him ache in his room on the roof—all this he would empty into Radwa’s body, to emerge liberated, at rest, the fire damped and replaced by a calm, steady affection that grew more firmly rooted every night.

  Once they had made love he would gaze at her with genuine gratitude and cover her hands, face, and hair with kisses. He had become an expert in the topography of her body and learned its language so well that their lovemaking would last for hours, during which Radwa’s face would light up at times with intoxication.

  Months passed in his life with her in which he tasted happiness. Then one night he was with her in bed when his performance unexpectedly faltered and he grew confused and finally desisted. Silence reigned and suddenly he jumped up, shaking the bed beneath them, and rushed over to switch on the light. She gathered together her clothes to cover her naked body and asked him anxiously, “What’s the matter?”

  He stayed silent and seated himself on the couch. Then he slowly doubled over and put his head in his hands, his faced creasing as though something was hurting him. Greatly distressed, she hurried over to him and asked, “What’s wrong with you, Taha?”

  Affected perhaps by her genuine concern for him, he moved restlessly, heaved a great sigh, and then said, avoiding her eyes, “Please don’t misunderstand me, Radwa. I’m happy of course with our marriage and I thank God a thousand times over for having provided me with a godly wife like you. But I didn’t join the camp to get married. I came with Sheikh Shakir for a particular purpose, to struggle for God’s cause. I’ve been here for a year, I’ve finished all the different types of training, and till now they haven’t entrusted me with a single mission. I’m scared that my determination will weaken as time passes.”

  He was speaking in a soft, sad voice. Then he struck his leg with his hand and cried bitterly, “If it were all about getting married, I would have married you anywhere but in the camp. Every day I ask myself a hundred times, ‘Why am I here?’ Why, Radwa? I’m sure that Sheikh Bilal married me to you to distract my mind from the struggle.”

  Radwa smiled like a wise, understanding mother and putting her arm around his shoulder said affectionately, “Seek refuge with God and chase these thoughts from your head because they’re the whisperings of Satan. Sheikh Bilal is an honest man and never lies. If he thought you weren’t worthy of gihad, he would have expelled you from the camp, just as he would never marry you to a corrupt woman who would divert you from your religion” (and here her voice took on a reproachful tone). “I’m your wife, Taha, and I’m the first to encourage you in gihad and I’ll be the first to feel proud of you if you attain martyrdom, which I pray God I may attain alongside you. But I know from my experience with the late martyr Hassan that military operations are not a game and that they are governed by precise considerations that are known only to the brothers on the Gamaa Council.”

  Taha opened his mouth to object, but she quickly and gently laid her hand on it as though to stop him speaking and whispered, “Be patient, Taha, be patient. Surely God is with the patient.”

  At exactly ten o’clock on Thursday morning, a black “Phantom” Mercedes pulled up in front of the Yacoubian Building. A smartly dressed man in his forties descended and made inquiries until he was conducted to Hagg Azzam’s office, where he greeted the latter and haughtily presented himself, saying, “Gamal Barakat, from the Basha’s office.”

  Hagg Azzam sat next to him in the car, but throughout the journey they exchanged no more than a few compliments, after which Azzam busied himself with telling his prayer beads and saying prayers. He knew that the Big Man lived on the Mariyut Canal, but he’d never imagined that his house would look the way it did—a vast palace, reminiscent of the royal palaces he’d seen as a child, set on a high hill which made it look like an impregnable citadel, and surrounded by not less than fifty acres of land, all of it under cultivation.

  To cover the distance between the outer gate and the door of the palace, it took the car about half an hour, during which it traveled along a long highway amid gardens and trees. Three times it came to a halt in front of a security barrier where it was inspected by security men. They were enormous and dressed in three-piece suits with matching ties. Large pistols hung from their belts and in their hands they held electrically operated batons that whistled and which they carefully examined the car with, proceeding thereafter to scrutinize Hagg Azzam’s identity card, comparing its details with the permit that the secretary presented to them. This happened three times and annoyed Hagg Azzam so much that on the last occasion he came close to objecting. However, he suppressed his anger and kept silent and eventually the car mounted a broad, winding driveway that took it to the door of the palace. There the security procedures were repeated with the same care and thoroughness, and this time they opened and went through Hagg Azzam’s briefcase and then asked him to go through a metal detector. The annoyance showed clearly on his face and the secretary came up to him and said rudely, “The security procedures are essential.”

  The secretary then asked him to wait in the lobby and disappeared. Hagg Azzam remained waiting for a while, during which he looked at the marble columns, the Persian designs on the luxurious carpets, and the giant crystal chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling. Slowly he started to feel annoyed and insulted and thought that they must be using this long wait and the exaggerated security procedures deliberately to humiliate him. “They treat me with contempt at the same time that they rob me of my money. They want to get a quarter of the profits on a platter and don’t utter a word of thanks, the impudent thugs!” Azzam’s resentment grew, his face darkened, and he felt a strong urge to pull out of the meeting; he felt like summoning the secretary then and there, and telling him that he was leaving, come what may, but in his heart he knew that that was impossible; even if they left him waiting the whole morning, he wouldn’t dare say a word in protest. He was swimming with the big fish now and one mistake could be the end of him. It was his responsibility to prepare his gambit and draw on all his experience so as to ensure that the Big Man felt sorry for him and to convince him to reduce the percentage to less than a quarter. That was the utmost he could do and any stupidity he might commit he would pay for dearly and immediately.

  Finally he heard footsteps behind him and was seized by such terror that he found himself bereft of the strength to turn around. One of the guards appeared and made a sign to him to follow him. They walked down a long corridor, their footsteps ringing on the polished marble floor, and ended up in a spacious hall, with, facing the door, a large oak desk and a large conference table around which ten chairs were lined up. The guard signaled to Azzam to sit and said insolently as he departed, “Wait here till the Basha calls you.”

  Azzam was perturbed by the use of the word “call.” Did that mean that perhaps the Big Man was not actually there? Why hadn’t he contacted him to cancel the appointment and save him all
this trouble and why had they left him waiting so long? Suddenly, he heard a voice echoing loudly throughout the hall saying, “Welcome, Azzam!”

  Seized by terror, he leaped to his feet and looked around, searching for the source of the voice, which uttered a gentle laugh and continued, “Don’t be scared! I’m somewhere else, but I’m calling you and I can see you. Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get to the point. Why did you ask to meet me?”

  The Hagg pulled his wits together and made an effort to raise his voice and say the things that he’d prepared over the past two weeks, but he was so rattled that the ideas evaporated in his head. After a few moments he was just able to get out, “I’m at your service, sir, and Your Excellency’s to command. Your graciousness overwhelms me and your goodness embraces the whole nation. May Our Lord keep you for us and preserve you for Egypt! I live in expectation that Your Excellency will regard my case with mercy, sir. I have many responsibilities and I’ve got households to support, God knows. Twenty-five percent’s a great burden for me, sir, really.”

  The Big Man said nothing, so Azzam was encouraged and he went on, “I am covetous of your Excellency’s generosity. For the sake of the Prophet, don’t send me away brokenhearted! If Your Excellency could lower the percentage to an eighth, for example, I’d be most grateful.”

  Another moment of silence passed. Then the voice of the Big Man rang out irritably, “Listen, Azzam. I don’t have time to waste on you. That’s the set rate and it’s the same for everyone. We go into any big business like your agency as partners for a quarter of the profits. We get that percentage in return for our work. We protect you from the tax office, the insurance office, the safety standards office, the audit office, and a thousand other offices that could bring your project to a halt and destroy you in a flash. And anyway, you especially should thank God that we’re willing to work with you at all, because you’re in a dirty trade.”

  “Dirty?”

  Azzam repeated the word in a loud voice and a murmur of denial escaped from him that provoked the Big Man even more, for his voice rose warningly as he said, “Are you really an idiot or are you just pretending to be one? Your basic profit comes from a dirty trade that has nothing to do with the Japanese agency. Bottom line is, you deal in hard drugs and we know all about it. Sit at the desk and open the file with your name on it. You’ll find copies of the reports on your activities—investigations by National Security, the Narcotics Squad, and Central Criminal Investigations. We have everything. We’re the ones who have put a hold on them and we’re the ones who can activate them at a moment’s notice to destroy you. Sit down, Azzam, and don’t be silly—read the file. Study it and learn it well, and at the end, you’ll find a copy of our partnership contract. If you feel like signing it, sign it. It’s up to you.”

  The Big Man let out a derisive laugh and the voice was cut off.

  Abduh greeted him with distaste. He shook hands with him coldly without rising, then averted his face and occupied himself with his waterpipe. Hatim smiled and said affectionately, “What kind of a way to greet someone is this? At least order me some tea!”

  Without looking at him Abduh clapped his hands and ordered a glass of tea from the waiter. Hatim began the conversation by saying, “My condolences, Abduh. You believe in Our Lord and His power. But does grieving over your son have to stop you from seeing me?”

  Abduh suddenly exploded, “Stop it, Hatim Bey! God forgive us, my son died because of me.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning Our Lord punished me for sinning with you.”

  “So everyone whose son dies is being punished by God?”

  “Yes. Our Lord, Glorious and Mighty, ‘delays but does not forget.’ I offended greatly with you and I deserve to be punished.”

  “Who made you believe that? Your wife Hidiya?”

  “What business is it of yours if it was Hidiya or anyone else? I’m telling you it’s over between us. Each one goes his own way. I don’t see you and you don’t see me ever again.”

  His voice was agitated and strangled and he was shouting and waving his hands as though to push himself past the point of no return. Hatim said nothing for a while, then started to talk calmly with a changed plan in mind.

  “Okay, old chap. We’re agreed. You’ve left the roof and the kiosk and you want to end our relationship, and I agree. But where are you going to find the money for yourself and your wife?”

  “God provides.”

  “Of course God provides. But it’s my duty to help you, even if our relationship is over. Despite your ill treatment, Abduh, I still care about you…. Listen. I’ve found you a great job so you’ll remember me kindly.”

  Abduh remained silent and seemed to be hesitating. He took a long draw on the waterpipe as though to hide his confusion.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me what the job is?…I’ve recommended you for the post of doorkeeper at the French Cultural Center in El Mounira. It’s a decent and easy job and the pay is five hundred pounds a month.”

  Abduh remained silent, neither accepting nor objecting. Hatim, sensing his success, went on, “You deserve the best, Abduh. Here.”

  He took a pen and a checkbook from his purse, put on his glasses, wrote a check, and said, smiling, “This is a check for a thousand pounds to cover your expenses till you take over the new job.”

  His hand remained extended for a moment until Abduh slowly stretched out his hand and took the check, saying in a low voice, “Thank you.”

  “Abduh, I never forced our relationship on you. If you’ve decided to leave me, leave me. But I have one last request to make of you.”

  “What request?”

  Hatim leaned toward him until they were touching, put his hand on Abduh’s leg, and whispered in a passionate voice, “Stay with me tonight. Just tonight, and it’ll be our last. I promise, Abduh, if you come with me tonight, you’ll never see me again after that. I’m begging you.”

  They sat next to each other in the car wrapped in a tense silence. Hatim was putting his plan into effect with precision and reckoned that in the end he would be able to keep Abduh, who would be incapable of resisting the attractions of the money and the new job, just as he would resume their relationship as soon as he had tasted the pleasure once again. Abduh for his part had justified his acceptance of Hatim’s invitation as something unavoidable imposed on him by his circumstances: since leaving the kiosk, he’d been unable to find the money to support himself and his wife, taking even his tea and tobacco on credit from the owner of the café, who was from his home village. He had borrowed three hundred pounds in less than two months from his Sa’idi acquaintances and he was fed up with his fruitless search for suitable work. He had worked as a day laborer, but he couldn’t stand it and left after a few days. It was no longer in his power to endure that kind of hard work, carrying the heavy basin of mortar on his back up and down all day long for a few pounds, half of which were stolen by the contractor, to say nothing of the insults and indignities. What was he to do, then? The job that Hatim was offering him was respectable and decent and would keep the wolf from the door forever. So why shouldn’t he sleep with him just tonight, do what he wanted just this once, and then cash the check, pay off his debts, cover his immediate needs and the moment he started his new job break off the relationship and close this dirty chapter in his life? He was confident that God would forgive him and accept his repentance and he would go at the first opportunity once this was over and make the pilgrimage so that he could return purified of all sin, just as his mother had borne him. It would be the last night for him to commit the sin and the next day he would announce his repentance and sin no more. Abduh decided privately that he would not inform Hidiya that he had seen Hatim because if she knew she would make his life hell. In fact, she hadn’t gone a day since the death of the child without fighting with him and abusing him and calling God’s wrath down upon him. The sorrow had caused her to lose her mind and she had become a heavy burden o
n his nerves, treating him as though he had murdered his son with his own hands. The sad thing was that the feeling of guilt had seeped into him from her and taken him over, often preventing him from sleeping. All that would come to an end tonight. He would satisfy Hatim’s body one last time, get the position, and stop sinning.

  They entered the apartment without speaking and Hatim turned on the lights, saying cheerfully, “The house is horrible without you.”

  Abduh suddenly drew close to him, embraced him, and tried to take off his clothes so that he could make love to him. He was in a hurry to get the job done but Hatim understood his haste as a sign of his longing for him and laughing a happy coquettish laugh whispered, “Be patient, Abduh!”

  He hurried into the inner rooms while Abduh opened the bar, took out a bottle of whisky, and poured himself a large glass, which he polished off at one gulp without water or ice. He felt an urgent need to get drunk and, in the short time that it took Hatim to pretty himself up, had emptied a number of glasses into his belly. The alcohol took immediate effect. He could sense the blood surging passionate and hot through his veins, and the feeling took possession of him that he was strong and capable and that nothing could stop him from doing what he wanted. Hatim came out of the bathroom wearing rose silk pajamas over his naked body and walked slinkily to the kitchen, returning with hot food, which he placed on the table, and poured himself a glass of whisky, which he slowly sipped, provocatively licking the edge of the glass with his tongue. Then he put his hand on Abduh’s strong arm, and sighed, “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Abduh removed his hand and said in a drunken voice, “Hatim Bey, we made a deal. Tonight’s our last night. Tomorrow morn, each goes his own way, roight.”