“That needs some thinking over, Mr. Mahmud! Of course, you’ll have to go and see her.”
“But she’s a dried-out old lady, not even remotely attractive.”
“It’s work, sunshine! Everything has a price. But this time, my boy, we’ll make a pretty penny.”
The following day, after Mahmud had finished his shift, at two in the morning, he changed out of his work clothes and telephoned his mother from the Club to tell her that he would be staying that night with one of his chums. He went out onto the street, greeted Suleyman and then hailed a taxi to Madame Dagmar’s. He entered the lobby, but the moment he pushed the call button for the lift, the doorman appeared, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He looked at Mahmud with disbelief and asked him officiously, “Going to see whom?”
“Going to see Madame Dagmar on the third floor.”
“And what is the purpose?”
“She asked me to come and visit her when I finished work.”
The doorman’s expression changed into one of suspicion mixed with contempt. He opened the lift door and said to Mahmud, “Come with me.”
They rode up to the third floor in silence except for the loud whirring of the lift. As the doorman knocked on the apartment door, his expression turned to one of respect. Dagmar peered through the small grille in the door, and the doorman greeted her.
“Sorry for the trouble, Madame. This young fellow says he has an appointment with you.”
Her face relaxed and she said, “Yes. Please let Mahmud come in.”
Mahmud gave the doorman a sour look as he bowed and walked off. Dagmar was wearing a red robe and heavy makeup, which made her look like a rag doll. The moment Mahmud stepped inside, she bolted the door and threw her arms around him. She kissed him on the neck and chest, then rubbed her face against his chest, panting, hot to trot. Not knowing what to do with himself, he gently disentangled himself and asked her, “Might I have something to eat? I’m starving.”
30
“Abdoun is going to see Alku,” the staff told one another excitedly. It beggared belief. Abdoun, the assistant barman, was going to stand before Alku and demand an end to the beatings. Alku would never back down. He’d been having them beaten ever since they started at the Club and not for a day had any of them ever thought to protest. They simply trembled when Alku walked by and thanked God when he ignored them and just carried on. How could one of them now be going to confront him with a demand to stop the beatings? What would be Abdoun’s fate? Alku’s reaction would be ferocious. Whatever Alku’s reasons might have been for ignoring Abdoun’s rebellious talk until now, this time he would grind him into dust. On their breaks, they milled around Abdoun. “Are you still planning to go and see Alku?” they’d ask.
Abdoun ignored their mocking tone and insinuation and said, “Yes. I’m going to tell him to stop beating us.”
Then all the comments would rain down on him:
“So you think that you’re the nation’s leader?”
“We’d better say good-bye then, because you ain’t coming back!”
“Abdoun! Rushing in where angels fear to tread even though God tells us not to throw ourselves headlong into our own doom!”
“God tells us to stand up for what is right and against injustice,” Abdoun would answer.
The exchange would rage on, but Abdoun did not waver, and the staff eventually left him alone. If Alku were to wring his neck, it would be no more than he deserved. What they feared more than anything, though, was Alku’s anger spreading and falling upon them. Should that happen, they would have to disassociate themselves from Abdoun, and they all went over the things they might say:
“Your Excellency, we have had nothing to do with the lad, Abdoun. He’s a lowlife. Utterly mad. Please don’t blame us for him.”
“You are our father, and we’re your children and servants.”
The following night, Alku returned from Upper Egypt. The staff were waiting expectantly, but there was a surprise in store for them. “Abdoun isn’t going to meet Alku on his own. Bahr the barman and Samahy the kitchen boy are going with him.”
“We used to have just one mad guy,” someone jeered. “Now we’ve got three!”
The staff were all aware of the danger. They always knew that Abdoun’s plan was outright insubordination and that it might spread like a contagion. Sure enough, he had recruited supporters. Today it was Bahr and Samahy who had decided to go with him, but who might join tomorrow? The bar was empty except for a man and woman drinking beer at a far table. Karara shook Bahr’s hand and then got straight to the point.
“Bahr, you’re a grown man. And you’ve got sense. How can you go along with Abdoun? As his manager, you should talk sense into him.”
His colleagues echoed the sentiments. Bahr listened, squinting with one eye as he checked the clean glasses and lined them up on the shelf over the bar. Finally, he told them calmly, “I’m going with Abdoun. I can’t let him face Alku alone.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” asked Karara, raising his voice. “You want to go head-to-head with your master, Alku?”
“What’s it to you, Karara?”
“What’s it not to me! You and that lad Abdoun are going to cause nothing but trouble for us. If you stand up to Alku, he’ll take it out on all of us.”
“All right then, Karara,” scoffed Bahr. “Go and kiss Alku’s hand.”
They stared at each other, muttering insults. Karara put his hand on Bahr’s shoulder and was about to say something, but Bahr removed the hand and announced, “Gents! Thanks for the advice. Now excuse me. I’ve got work to do.”
He went back behind the bar. His colleagues despaired of talking him out of it, so they went off to try their luck with Samahy. They apologized to Rikabi for disturbing him, gestured to Samahy and walked him out of the kitchen. His eyes were watering from chopping onions, and as he wiped them with his sleeve, he asked, “Everything all right, guys?”
They hesitated for a few moments, and then Karara launched into him, “Listen, Samahy. We’ve come to warn you. Don’t let Abdoun talk you into standing up to your master, Alku. It’ll be worse for you. You’re just a kitchen assistant, and married, with two kids, at that.”
It was the truth, and it gave him a jolt. Samahy looked pained and worried as he muttered, “May God preserve us.”
They looked at him, unsure of what he was thinking. Samahy, avoiding their gaze, spoke up, “I mean, do you think it’s right for old Suleyman to get beaten at his age?”
“He brought it on himself.”
“He just asked for a pension for the widows and orphans. Is that a crime?”
“Then go along with Abdoun. It’ll be the end of you.”
“Abdoun is just demanding our rights. He should be thanked.”
“Thanked for what? May God destroy his home.”
It was clear their discussion was getting them nowhere. Samahy sighed and told them, “I’ve given Abdoun my word.”
“May God take you, lad!” Karara could not hold back his irritation. “Listen, Samahy. When you go and see Alku, you’re speaking for yourself. Don’t drag us into it.”
Samahy nodded, smiled weakly and went quietly back to the kitchen. The staff remained on tenterhooks all day long. At midnight, while His Majesty the king was playing poker, as usual, with some of the pashas, Samahy and Abdoun got changed, and the three men took a taxi to Abdin Palace. They traveled in silence. They were aware of the risk involved and felt that if they spoke to each other their resolve might crumble. At Abdin Palace, they greeted the guards and went in to go to Alku’s office. His ubiquitous spies had kept him up to the moment on the subject of their visit.
Hameed looked at them calmly, as if they were expected, giving them no supercilious look nor the usual dressing down for turning up without an appointment. He simply asked, “Everything all right?”
Abdoun cleared his throat.
“We have come to see Alku on an important matter.”
Ham
eed smiled and went into Alku’s office. A few minutes later, he came back out, and in an almost friendly monotone, he said, “Alku will see you now.”
It was a surreal situation, like a dream, they were proceeding as if down some enchanted passageway with no idea where it would lead. Now there was no turning back. They saw Alku sitting there at his desk, looking high and mighty, which unnerved them, and they said nothing until Alku barked at them, “Hameed said you wanted to see me.”
None of them replied, so Alku shouted ominously, “All right. Speak up!”
Abdoun managed to control his fear and started off in a tremulous voice, “Your Excellency. We have just come to ask you for what we are entitled to and certain that you will reject this out of hand.” He spoke as if to his equal and a spark of interest lit up Alku’s face.
“So what do you want?” he said.
“We have come to ask you to stop the beatings.”
“I only order beatings,” he said with a smile, “when one of you steps out of line.”
“Your Excellency, it is of course your prerogative to punish those who make mistakes. We can accept any punishment other than a beating.”
Alku suddenly smiled, which they found strange and worrying. Then he looked at Bahr and asked him, “Do you agree with what he said, Bahr?”
Bahr nodded. “Being beaten is an offense to our sense of dignity, Your Excellency.”
“Your Excellency,” Abdoun added, “all the staff hope that you will forgo corporal punishments.”
Alku looked down in silence for a few moments and appeared to be thinking. Then he got up and lumbered over to them. When he was right next to them, he said, “All right. Agreed.”
The lightning speed of his acquiescence stunned them into silence. Alku nodded and smiled.
“From today on, no one will be beaten. If fault is found in someone, his pay will be docked, or he will be subjected to an administrative sanction. You will be treated like the staff in the palace.”
“Thank you kindly, Your Excellency,” Bahr smiled.
Samahy muttered some unintelligible words, but Abdoun took a step toward Alku to thank him.
“Your Excellency, I promise that you have taken the right decision. You will not regret it.”
Such overfamiliarity despite good intentions would under normal circumstances have itself been considered a punishable act of insolence, but in keeping with his surprising and unfathomable response, Alku simply looked at them meekly and said, “All I want is for you to feel good about yourselves at work.”
The three of them started thanking him volubly. Alku was smiling broadly, showing his glistening teeth. As he showed them to the door, he added jovially, “All right. You can get back to work now.”
KAMEL
From the look on Mr. Wright’s face, I could see trouble was looming. He answered my greeting with a cold stare and said nothing. But I decided not to let him humiliate me this time.
Without being invited, I just sat myself down in the seat in front of his desk, paying no heed to his look of incredulity.
“Khalil told me that you wanted to see me.”
“I want to ask you about Mitsy,” he said, stuffing tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.
“She is progressing in leaps and bounds with her Arabic.”
“I’ve heard,” he said, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke, “that you have been going out with her.”
“That’s correct.”
“Why are you going out with my daughter?”
“Because it will help her to improve her Arabic.”
“Mitsy is an actress,” he smiled nervously. “A talented one. And like most artistic people, she goes through fads and phases. She throws herself into something only to discover that it’s not for her, and then she moves on.”
“What are you insinuating?”
“Your job is to teach Mitsy Arabic, not to take her on outings.”
“I treat Mitsy like an adult.”
“You need to understand,” he said, raising his voice, “that you are just Mitsy’s teacher. You give her a lesson, and you get paid.”
“That’s what it was like at the start, but Mitsy and I have become good friends,” I said, now trying to provoke him.
“Oh. Really?” he said with a sarcastic smile on his face.
He put his elbows on the desk and leaned forward as if about to lunge.
“You’re Nubian, aren’t you Kamel?” he asked with ardent disdain.
“I’m Upper Egyptian.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The Upper Egyptians descend from the tribes who came to Egypt with the Islamic conquest. The Nubians are a different ethnic group with their own language.”
He made a hand gesture to show his complete indifference and retorted, “I shall consider you Nubian, whatever the case may be. Have you heard of the German explorer Carl Hagenbeck?”
“No.”
“Carl Hagenbeck was a great wild animal trader in Europe in the nineteenth century. He used to send hunters into forests all over the world to trap animals, which he would then sell to zoos.”
I made no comment. He chuckled and continued, “The topic of Hagenbeck might not mean anything to you, but I’m sure that you will be most interested when you hear the rest of the story.”
I sat there in silence and he went on, “At some point, Carl Hagenbeck wanted to upgrade his inventory. Along with animals, he started hunting natives, whom he displayed in cages. The idea caught on like wildfire in zoos all over the world. Can you imagine that hundreds of thousands of Western visitors, men, women and children, used to go and gawk at the caged Africans?”
“That’s really vile,” I retorted. “Inhuman.”
“That might be how you see it, but millions of Westerners would not have agreed with you.”
“Does your civilization have ethics that allow you to hunt humans and put them in cages?”
“Your question presupposes that all mankind has reached the same stage of development.”
“I would have thought it goes without saying.”
“Well, not exactly. Do you think you could convince me that Shakespeare and Alexander Graham Bell have the same mental capabilities as some primitive Indian or African?”
I stood up and walked over to him. “Mr. Wright,” I said, trying to control myself, “I need to go and unlock the storeroom. Will you allow me to go?”
“No. You can’t go until I’ve explained what connects you and Mr. Hagenbeck.”
“I told you, I’ve never heard of him before.”
He was not listening. He opened his desk drawer and took out an old photograph, which he passed across the desk to me.
“Among Hagenbeck’s human acquisitions was a Nubian family. Doesn’t that arouse your curiosity? Hagenbeck sent his hunters to Nubia, and they managed to capture an entire Nubian family, three generations. They put them all in a cage, and the Berlin zoo acquired the rights to show them. Then the cage made the rounds of all European zoos. That’s the family in the photograph. If you look closely, you can see the grandfather in the cage, next to the son and his wife, who is holding an infant. Unfortunately, it would appear that the grandmother died during capture.”
I averted my gaze.
“I’m not interested in the photograph,” I growled.
“Oh,” he scoffed, still holding out the picture, “and here I was thinking that you might like to see some of your Nubian forebears.”
“Mr. Wright. Are you trying to humiliate me?”
“I can’t see what I have said that might humiliate you.”
“You are saying that my forebears were like animals.”
“You can interpret my words any way you like. I have not made anything up. That is a historical truth. Nubians were hunted, put in cages and exhibited in most of the zoos in Europe.”
“I don’t wish to listen to this.”
I did not wait for him to respond but got up and marched out of the office. When I turned ar
ound to close the door, I could see him looking at the papers on his desk with a self-satisfied smile. It was more than I could bear, and I made my way to the storeroom, where I sat and waited for Monsieur Comanus. When he turned up, I told him that my mother was ill, and I needed to be with her. He gave me the day off and made me promise to call him in the evening and tell him if my mother was feeling better.
I wandered aimlessly around the streets downtown, so blinded by rage that I kept bumping into people. The humiliation was torturing me. I had to do something. I wanted to go back and give that racist idiot a thrashing in front of everyone, damn the consequences. That pimp who crowed that my ancestors were animals is the same man serving up his daughter for the king’s pleasure. Is that what you understand by the word “honor,” Mr. Western Civilization? Even if we were animals, at least we would not pimp our daughters. I stopped walking. I could not take it anymore, and I went back to the Club, heading straight for Wright’s office. My appearance seems to have shocked Khalil, because he sprang out of his chair.
“Are you all right, Kamel?” he asked me anxiously.
“I want to see Mr. Wright.”
“Didn’t you just see him?”
“Mr. Wright and I have some unfinished business.” My voice was loud enough for the general manager to hear.
Uncle Khalil grabbed my hand.
“Come with me,” he whispered. “Please.”
Uncle Khalil dragged me out onto the street and away from the Club.
“The last thing you need to do,” he said, “is to go making problems with Mr. Wright.”
“He treated me like a piece of dirt.”
“That’s nothing new with him. He despises all Egyptians, but God gave us brains, and we can think for ourselves. You’re a hardworking lad. Don’t ruin everything that you’ve worked for. If you went in now and had it out with Mr. Wright, you might feel a little better, but both you and your brother would be fired.”
His comment reminded me that my mother depended on our salaries, and I recalled the sight of her stricken face when my father passed away and how relieved she looked when I handed over my pay.