We set a date after the first anniversary of my father’s death. Abd el-Barr rented a large apartment in Sayyida Zeinab Square so that I could be close to my family and would not let us spend a piastre furnishing it, installing a splendid kitchen and buying beautiful furniture for the entrance hall, as well as elegant sets of furniture for the living rooms and the bedroom. The days passed quickly, and soon the moment was upon us. I cried copiously as I look leave of my school friends and teachers. My emotions were mixed and contradictory—the notion of being married made me downcast and happy at once. Sometimes, the thought of leaving the family home plunged me into heart-thumping anxiety, and at other times, I felt excited and optimistic at the thought of starting a new life with a home of my own; I would have children and give them the best upbringing and education possible. What more could any girl want?
I tried to imagine what would happen on the wedding night. All I knew about marital relations was what I had gleaned from the whispers of girls at school. What did a man do with his wife? Would it be painful? Did a woman need it as much as a man did? I had no answers until Aisha explained it all to me. To this day I laugh when I remember how it happened. Aisha was preparing my body for the wedding. She came into the bathroom with me every day for a week in order to carry out her program, step by step. My mother watched with a mixture of curiosity and embarrassment as Aisha worked her hands over my naked body. Whenever Aisha started using coarse expressions, my mother would shudder and find some pretext to leave the bathroom. Two days before the wedding, as I was taking my clothes off, Aisha suddenly put her hand between my thighs, and I recoiled, pushing her hand away.
“Listen, girl!” she laughed. “No need to be embarrassed, although you’re as coy as your mother! I’ve left the best bit for last.”
She sat me down and, humming a vulgar ditty, started removing my pubic hair. My mother came back in and observed the process with a serious look on her face. She tried not to look at me but asked Aisha, as if requesting to be told her duties, “Do you need anything, Aisha?”
“Your daughter,” she said, giving a crude laugh, “will soon be all smooth and peachy down there! What a lucky fellow he’s going to be!”
My mother made no comment. She sat there with dignity, trying to remain oblivious and not show her embarrassment.
“Oh, Umm Said,” Aisha blabbed on, “I think we need to explain a few things to your daughter before the wedding night.”
“Explain a few things?”
“Good Lord!” Aisha said, beating her hand on her chest. “You can’t let the girl go into it blind! Shouldn’t she know what to do with a husband on the wedding night?”
My mother nodded as if taking the point. Then she came over to me and mumbled, “Listen, Saleha. You need to know what happens between a husband and wife. Well…nowhere is off-limits.”
My skin was stinging where Aisha had waxed me. Like my mother, I was pretending not to be interested in order to hide my embarrassment. My mother continued, avoiding eye contact, “It is a fact of life that God created woman to be a receptacle for man. Relations between a man and woman are based on affection and compassion.”
“Oh, Umm Said.” Aisha laughed out loud. “For goodness sake! You sound like you’re giving a sermon in the mosque! Listen, Saleha, my dear. Don’t listen to your mother! I’ll tell you exactly what you have to do with your husband.”
My mother seemed happy to have been relieved of this onerous task. She left us alone in the bathroom. Aisha had finished depilating me and was rubbing her hand over my body to check whether she’d missed a spot. Then she took on a serious expression.
“Do you know,” she asked me, “why the wedding night is called ‘the night of the entrance’ ”?
I said nothing.
“People call it ‘the night of the entrance’ because the man enters into the woman.”
Even now I laugh to recall Aisha’s explanation. She was a woman who could not be embarrassed. When she had given me her detailed explanation, she said, “Remember it, Saleha. Don’t ever forget it! Never be ashamed in front of your husband. Wear a skimpy nightdress for him. Dance for him. Behave like a tart in bed. As high and mighty as a man might be, he’ll turn to jelly at the thought of sex. If you can carry it off, Abd el-Barr will be putty in your hands.”
That is when I realized that Fayeqa’s ability to control Said was no coincidence. The strange thing is that though I was mortified, I was not offended by Aisha. She was just explaining facts of life, of which I knew nothing because they always took place behind closed doors. That was how men behaved with women, even my late father, may he rest in peace.
As the wedding day approached, I was beset by a mixture of both terror and curiosity, like a little girl on a scary fairground ride. The party took place on the roof terrace, with guests both from our street in Cairo and from Upper Egypt. I looked at the scene with a sense of detachment, as if through a murky glass. There was a crowd, food, women ululating, tambourines, shrieks and kisses. All the sounds seemed to be coming from afar, as if I were drugged or dreaming. Abd el-Barr decided that we would spend our honeymoon in Alexandria because I had once told him that I had liked the city ever since first visiting it as a child with my father. We reached Alexandria before dawn and stayed in a hotel fronting the sea in Mahattat al-Raml. I was still wearing my white wedding dress, and the staff welcomed me warmly in spite of the tiredness in their eyes. I greeted them in return, although I was almost fainting with embarrassment. I could not bear the thought that they knew what Abd el-Barr and I were about to do the moment we shut the door. For all their sweet and polite words of welcome, I could see a lascivious look in their eyes as they mentally undressed me.
We had a large room with a balcony overlooking the sea. As Aisha had instructed, I would shower and put on my short low-cut black nightdress. I did what she had said, but despite my best efforts to overcome my shyness, I found myself incapable of standing like that in front of Abd el-Barr, so I put on a full-length silk dressing gown. Sitting at the desk, Abd el-Barr smiled.
“Brava, my bride!”
“Thank you.” I managed to mouth the words as I sat on the edge of the bed. My breathing was shallow. My limbs turned to jelly, and everything Aisha had told me vanished from my mind. Abd el-Barr stood up and started walking toward me. I think I might have aroused his pity, as he suddenly asked me, “Are you feeling embarrassed?”
I did not answer. He laughed and said, “All right. I’m going to take a shower, but I won’t be a moment!”
I nodded and smiled. I noticed that he seemed to be holding something in his left hand, but I could not see what. I sat there in a state of total confusion until I heard the bathroom door open, and he called out with a laugh, “I’m ready, my little bride!”
I said nothing. I heard him come up behind me, but I was frozen to the spot and unable to turn around. I could almost hear my heart pounding. Then I was aware of Abd el-Barr putting his arms around me.
28
The blood test showed that Mur’i had died from cholera. The samples from the other staff came back negative, except for three who turned out to be carriers: the sous-chef and two of the waiters. They were rushed off to hospital for treatment and their families placed in quarantine. The Automobile Club shut its door for three days during which the whole building was disinfected by the medical corps of the British army. When the Club reopened, unprecedented precautions were instituted. Antiseptic soap was distributed to all the staff, and their caftans were changed daily, returning freshly ironed from Abdin Palace. The tablecloths and napkins and anything that could carry the infection were sterilized in an autoclave installed on the roof terrace. All water was boiled before being used for cooking, and if it was for drinking, lemon juice was added to it. Cold shellfish dishes were taken off the menu in the restaurant. All vegetables were soaked in a dilution of permanganate for a whole hour and then washed in boiled water, and they had to be served piping hot to the members. Even the ice cubes f
or the whiskey were now being made from boiled water. The staff followed the new precautionary measures to the letter, unable to get out of their minds the memory of Abd el-Malek and Mur’i lying there dying. Dispirited and frightened, they continued to feel that death was stalking them in every nook and cranny of the Club, ready to take them at any moment. Who would be the next victim? How was it possible that a life could just be snuffed out like that? Whoops, and you were gone. All your good times, and your bad ones too. Your voice and breathing just stop, and you turn into a cold corpse honored by a speedy burial. Had Abd el-Malek not been joking with them just a day before he died? Had Mur’i not just celebrated the marriage of his daughter a couple of weeks ago? Had he not seemed to be in good health that night? After the wedding, they had all ganged up to bring him back with them to the men’s apartment, where they sat up all night smoking hashish together. Had any one of them imagined that Uncle Mur’i, such an amusing chatterbox that night, would disappear from the face of the earth a few days later? They were all living on tenterhooks now. Any of them might be next. After all, as Kamel Gaafar had translated the words of the English doctor, “The new precautionary measures must be followed to the letter. Notwithstanding, the cholera microbe remains an ever-present danger. If any of you feels unusual in any way, you must inform us immediately so that we might treat and save you.”
Needless to say, dealing with the imminence of death had not been part of their daily routine. Many now started saying their prayers regularly, beseeching God at length for mercy and forgiveness. Some tried to cope otherwise with alcohol and hashish. After the night shift, instead of going to the Paradise Café, they would go to the men’s apartment to get drunk or light up a water pipe with hashish and brood. But despite persistent effort, there was no forgetting their ordeal. Their attempts at laughter sounded hollow, and they would slowly sink back into grief and hopelessness. It was no use. The fates were ranged against them. They were living like shadows. Before they had been merely abused and fleeced by Alku and flogged by Hameed, as they tried to put aside a few meager piastres for their families. They bore this misery with a vague and lingering hope, which they hardly dared even verbalize, that their lives might suddenly improve, that some unexpected event might release them in one fell swoop and lead them to a happier life, that God in His mercy would have a change of mind and lift their cloud of wretchedness. How could anyone resist what God had in store for him? Take Yusuf Tarboosh. He had been just as desperate, but by God’s blessing, the king found his presence at the gambling table lucky and showered him with money. Does God Almighty not bring things into existence with a single word? Does He not provide sustenance to whomsoever he wishes?
That vague hope was one of the reasons for their opposition to Abdoun’s rebelliousness. They believed that wisdom dictated that they should bend with the wind, bear all the humiliations and live with injustice while they dreamed of salvation. That was better than starting up all sorts of hopeless arguments with Alku, who in any case would end up on top. Reason dictated that they should just be patient until God provided salvation.
As time passed, they believed less that Abdoun might be Alku’s stooge and started considering him no more than a stupid waste of space. Although a few were still prepared to speak up for Abdoun, most remained opposed. If he got worked up about dignity and rights, they would refute him or just ignore him or stare at him with the sort of sympathetic smile you might give a child imitating an adult. In any case, the daily discussions with Abdoun had now been overtaken by the recent succession of sorry events: the deaths of two colleagues, the discovery of cholera, the shutting of the Club and the new sanitary measures.
Every day brought them a worrisome new development. Even with the Club disinfected and operated with new precautions, its reopening was a flop. The king, who was meticulous about his own health, stopped coming. His example was followed by the princes, pashas and most of the members. For the first time, the Club shut its doors at one a.m. The paucity of customers meant that the staff’s real source of income, tips, dried up. Their salaries were low, and without gratuities, their children would surely starve. The Club was in the doldrums, but Mr. Wright came up with a solution to the crisis. He asked Dr. Frankham, the senior medical officer in the British army, to stamp, sign and issue a certificate stating that the Automobile Club had received the all clear and was free of the cholera microbe. Dr. Frankham hesitated, explaining that on the practical level, it was impossible to confirm that any locale was completely microbe free. But after a long conversation, they reached a compromise. Dr. Frankham would issue a certificate stating that the Club had been disinfected to the highest possible standard. Mr. Wright had scores of copies made and ordered them to be posted to every member.
Soon, they started gradually coming back. Whenever a member turned up, Maître Shakir, following Mr. Wright’s instructions, would explain in great detail how the Club had been disinfected. He would take him to the kitchen to see the precautions for himself and then take him up in the lift to see the giant autoclave on the roof. To seal the deal, Maître Shakir would then sit him down at a table and, with a reassuring smile, tell him, “The Club has been disinfected under the supervision of the British army medical corps, and as Sir must already know, English doctors are the best in the world.”
Within a month of the issuance of the medical certificate, most of the members had returned, and finally, His Majesty honored the Automobile Club with his first visit since its closure. That night, the staff were all in a festive mood. The king seemed to be in tip-top form, his companions joking with him and each trying to outdo the next to keep him in good cheer. The moment he saw Yusuf Tarboosh, the king told him, “Joe, reste à côté de moi. J’ai besoin de chance ce soir.”
Yusuf gave a deep bow and mumbled, “At your service, Your Majesty.”
Thus life at the Club returned to normal. The tips started to flow again, and there was an atmosphere of cautious optimism. But would the staff’s lives go back to normal or was there still more tragedy in store? One morning, the late Abd el-Malek’s widow came with her two little angelic boys, Michel and Raymonde. It was very moving to see them with their mother. The men clustered around them, welcoming them with a sorrowful warmth. She had brought along the little ones to ask for financial assistance from Mr. Wright, who peremptorily refused to meet with them, leaving a very blunt message for them with Khalil the office clerk, “There is nothing to discuss. You have already received the end-of-service payment.”
Abd el-Malek’s widow asked him, “Did you ask him about a pension, Uncle Khalil?”
Khalil cast his gaze downward and mumbled, “I did ask him, Umm Michel, but he told me that there are no pensions for Egyptians.”
“But, Khalil, the end-of-service payment will only keep us going a month or two. After that, how will I be able to feed my children? Please go and talk to the Englishman again, or let me go and talk to him.”
Her pleading tone so aroused Khalil’s sympathy that he flung caution to the wind. He went off again to Mr. Wright’s office. Wright said nothing but picked up his newspaper and carried on reading while gesturing to Khalil to get out. Downcast, he returned to Umm Michel, who realized from his expression that his efforts had failed and she started crying. The staff then took up a collection and handed the cash to Suleyman, the doorman and oldest member of staff, who then pressed the sum into the widow’s hand.
“The late Abd el-Malek was our brother and dear friend,” he told her. “The same goes for his family and children. Please, Umm Michel, if you need anything, call us and we’ll bring it over to you.”
The widow’s feelings of gratitude exacerbated her grief, and she burst out sobbing as she muttered some words of thanks and then left, taking her children with her. Two days later, the scene was repeated with the widow of Mur’i the lift attendant, who tried her luck with Alku. She went to his office in Abdin Palace to request assistance, but Alku reaffirmed that the Club bylaws did not allow the payment of pensi
ons. Mur’i’s widow neither broke down nor begged but became angry and started shouting, “What do you mean, no pensions? How are we going to eat? If someone dies, are his family supposed to starve to death?”
She was a hard-nosed Upper Egyptian woman who had married Mur’i late in life, after the death of his first wife. They had produced three children, who were still of school age. Her sense of injustice only inflamed her anger. She was completely unaware that shouting at Alku was considered completely taboo.
His eyes bulged in disbelief as he gestured at her and barked, “Get out!”
Mur’i’s widow held her ground, shouting back at him, “So you would send me away like some beggar! I just want what my children are entitled to!”
At this, Alku gave a look to Hameed, who got the hint and grabbed Mur’i’s widow by the arms, dragging her out of the office. Two palace guards were called to help him, and she did not stop screaming as they frog-marched her out, “Shame on you, you heathens! Do you want me to go begging in the streets?”
She put up a struggle, trying to slip out of their grip, but Hameed thumped her on the back and shouted breathlessly, “Listen, woman! We’re treating you nicely out of respect for the late Mur’i. If you don’t leave, I’ll have the guards arrest you and throw you into prison.”
She now became aware of the danger of the situation, and her shouting turned into tearful imploring. Hameed realized that her will had now been broken and stepped back a little, gesturing to the guards to eject her. Then he turned around and walked slowly back to Alku’s office.