Most of the staff did not see things that way, nor did they believe in the new and kindly Alku. Happy as they might have been about the end of the beatings, they were still apprehensive, and their joy was not unalloyed. Five or six had sympathized with Abdoun and his two colleagues from the outset, and when the delegation achieved its aim, they felt bold enough to declare their support for them. In the café, however, the arguments raged on between those who had supported them and those who were dubious.
Someone said, “I can’t believe that Alku would suddenly turn over a new leaf.”
“Well, aren’t we flesh and blood and entitled to our dignity?” another asked.
“So Alku just discovered our dignity yesterday?”
“It was our mistake. We stayed silent and accepted all the humiliation. The moment we demanded our rights, he had to comply.”
“So now Alku’s afraid of us?”
“He needs us just as we need him. If we stay united, he can’t get the better of us.”
“That’s just Abdoun’s delusion. Alku can do what he wants with us and with our families.”
“You’re a coward. You’ve just got used to being made of jelly.”
“By God, you’ve all suddenly turned into heroes! Abdoun has brainwashed you.”
“Abdoun got us our rights.”
“Did he perform a miracle? Any one of us could have gone and complained to Alku.”
“Then why didn’t you? Why did you put up with the beatings for years without opening your mouths?”
“That Abdoun’s got too big for his boots. It’s all going to end badly. You’ll see.”
The workers carried on exchanging sharp words and accusations, and had calmer heads not prevailed, it might have ended in a fistfight. The latent aggression turned into bickering, which everyone knew served no useful purpose. The department managers were gravely concerned, and when Samahy gave him the news, Rikabi the chef let out a long groan.
“Alku has put a stop to the beatings? How lovely. You must be stoned, Samahy, my lad.”
“I’m not stoned, Uncle Rikabi,” Samahy retorted. “Don’t believe me if you don’t want to.”
Talking back to Rikabi would usually have merited some punishment, but the chef managed to contain himself and walked over to the sink to wash his face with hot water before giving instructions to his kitchen staff and then rushing off to the still empty restaurant. There he found Maître Shakir sipping a glass of tea. He greeted him quickly, sat down next to him and told him what had happened. At first Shakir could not believe it, but when Rikabi assured him it was true, they both went off to see Yusuf Tarboosh, who, upon being informed, asked God for forgiveness, shook his head and then wondered aloud, “How is it that Alku would listen to a lad like Abdoun? It’s some sort of farce.”
The three managers waited until midnight and then headed off to Alku’s office. Hameed met them with a frown, but he treated them politely, and without saying anything, he gave them to understand that he knew why they were there and that he was with them. They found Alku in his office smoking a cigarette. Shakir was the first to speak.
“Your Excellency Alku. You know just how much we love you and are devoted to you.”
“Get on with it,” Alku said nervously. “I don’t have much time.”
They were not sure how to continue, but Yusuf Tarboosh spoke up. “We have heard a strange piece of news, and we have come to ask Your Excellency if it is true.”
“You heard right. I have abolished the punishment of beating,” he said, looking at them provocatively.
“If Your Excellency has done away with beatings,” Rikabi said brusquely, “there’ll be repercussions for the standard of work.”
“The staff will only work properly,” seconded Shakir, “if they live in fear of beatings.”
Yusuf Tarboosh said nothing for a few moments, and then, fingering his prayer beads, he spoke up, “Your Excellency Alku, with all due respect. Administrative sanctions are meaningless to the staff. If there are no beatings, they’ll run amok, and we won’t be able to control them.”
“Your Excellency Alku,” Rikabi suddenly piped up, “the staff will neglect their work, and Your Excellency will hold us responsible.”
The three of them stopped speaking, as if realizing that they had gone too far. Alku inhaled and then blew out a thick puff of smoke.
“All right. Our little meeting is over. Get back to work.”
They fidgeted a little, but Alku shot them a look that brooked no defiance, and they headed back to the Automobile Club. Their frustration quickly turned into a sense of resentment toward Alku. They felt let down. He had stripped them of their power. Now how would they manage their subordinates? There was no longer any deterrent. Their staff would now become more obstreperous, neglecting their work, talking back. As it became clear that Alku would not change his mind, they had to change their modus operandi. Maître Shakir stopped upbraiding the waiters, Rikabi stopped swearing so much at his assistants and Yusuf Tarboosh no longer exchanged small talk with his staff in the casino. The three managers now barked out their instructions in a gruff way that left no room for discussion or comment. They avoided doing anything that could cause friction among the staff, knowing that they no longer had the high card. If their staff answered them back, they had no practical recourse. At the same time, the managers watched over them more closely than ever, just waiting for the right moment. They expected, and deep down they hoped, that the staff, in their breezy new attitude, would commit some serious mistakes that would upset the smooth operation of the Club. At that point, they would go off to see Alku again, saying, “Didn’t we tell you, Your Excellency Alku, that without the beatings everything would go to pot? Now you can see for yourself.”
Except that, contrary to all expectations, everyone worked so hard that they had nothing to complain of. The staff were punctual and carried out the most exacting instructions to the letter. Their performance improved so much that on three inspection visits, Alku too could not find the slightest fault. The Club was cleaner than ever, the men all immaculately turned out with ironed caftans, smoothly shaved faces and neatly trimmed fingernails. Everything was functioning so well that many Club members noticed the difference, some even making positive comments. Hassan Pasha Kamel, for example, gave Maître Shakir a generous tip, telling him, “Thank you, Shakir. Service at the Club has improved by leaps and bounds.”
Maître Shakir accepted the tip and the praise with a scowl, muttering a few words of thanks. The three managers were unnerved at being undermined in their belief that only the threat of a beating motivated the men. But it was undeniable that something fundamental had changed. The staff were more efficient and more obedient than ever. They bowed politely and carried out orders superbly, even having thrown off their abject submissiveness. The servile, ingratiating smiles disappeared, and instead they wore polite and friendly smiles exuding confidence, a sense of responsibility and pride. Even when receiving a tip, instead of being humbly grateful, they now thanked the members in a clear and forthright tone of voice, as if to say, “Your generosity is not charity but recognition of the value of our work, and we thank you for that.”
This new regime lasted for a month, a month that the staff would remember for its uniqueness, but it ended as suddenly as it had started. Perhaps it had been too good to last.
One morning, after they had finished cleaning the Club and had washed up and put on their caftans and were going to their stations, Maître Shakir suddenly appeared, out of breath. He had not used the lift but had dashed up the stairs like a man possessed. He ran from the restaurant to the bar and the casino, shouting ominously, “Come down to the first floor now!”
“Is everything all right?” they asked apprehensively. “Has something happened, God forbid?”
“Am I not making myself clear?” he growled. “I’ve told you, get to the first floor. Now!”
SALEHA
My mother put her arms around me and shut the door
gently. As we crossed the hallway, she whispered, “Calm down, Saleha, please.”
I felt safe again the moment I went into my mother’s bedroom. I had missed that place so much and the smell of the perfume that filled it. I stopped crying, and my mother sat down next to me. She kissed me and started examining my wounds. I had a cut on my leg, and there were deep scratches all over my thigh. My face had swollen up around my mouth and forehead. My mother disappeared for a few minutes and came back carrying a tray with a bottle of antiseptic, cotton wool and a bowl of ice cubes. She cleaned the wounds and put cold compresses on my face and then made me a glass of tea. Unable to look her in the eye, I told her all about my problem with Abd el-Barr, Aisha’s advice, Abd el-Barr’s violence, the white powder and his attempt to break my hymen with his hand. I told her every last detail. My mother listened with a sad look on her face. Then she put both hands on her head.
“Oh God, that’s all we need. Haven’t we been through enough? God help us.”
She went out of the bedroom and left me alone. I was completely exhausted, and going over what had happened, I felt as if it was someone else’s experience. I do not know how long I sat there before my mother came back with Kamel following her, wiping the sleep from his eyes. I realized that she had told him. He muttered a greeting and then sat down, searching for the right words to say. He lit a cigarette.
“I had a feeling,” he said quietly, “that there was something not quite right about Abd el-Barr.”
We sat in silence again.
“Listen, daughter,” my mother said hoarsely. “A good wife has to stand by her husband in times of crisis. If it’s just a question of behaving badly, that can be fixed. But drugs are a different kettle of fish. You never know where you stand with a drug user. The husband of your cousin Asma was a cocaine user, and your own father did everything he could to make him divorce her.”
Kamel added, “A cocaine user is capable of anything and will end up either going crazy or to prison.”
“Oh, it’s just too dreadful,” my mother muttered. “God help us all.”
After a few more comments in the same vein, they both fell quiet, trying, it seemed, to work out what to do next.
Kamel got to his feet with a sad half smile. He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead.
“Try to get some sleep. Don’t worry. There’s a solution to every problem, God willing.”
He left the room, and my mother put her arms around me.
“Go and take a shower,” she said. “I’ll fetch you something to eat.”
After taking a hot shower and giving in to my mother’s nagging to eat something, I started to feel well again. After all the tension, the fear and pain, I was back home again. I could sleep in my own bed with a sense of complete security. My mother was in the next room, and Kamel and Mahmud were there. I slept well, and the next day I had a long talk with my mother as we sat drinking tea. I busied myself in the kitchen as if nothing had happened. I asked my mother all sorts of little things about the apartment, as if just spending a normal day at home as I had before. It was as if I had just woken up from a nightmare but forgotten the details. I was relishing the feeling, but I knew deep down that I could not just run away from everything. What had happened with Abd el-Barr would stick to me. I would be a woman who had failed in her marriage and come back to her father’s home. Kamel managed to get away from work and came home to eat lunch with us. He tried to put on a happy face and told me little stories that made me laugh. After lunch, I suddenly felt tired. I knew it would take me some days to get over my horrendous experience. I went to my bedroom and slept soundly and woke to the sound of Said’s voice. My mother must have telephoned him, and he had come from Tanta. After a while, I went to the sitting room and found him with my mother and Kamel. He looked uneasy and gave me a curt greeting.
“Saleha, what you have done?”
“What should she have done?” my mother said.
Said ignored her, and in the tone of one imparting words of wisdom, he said, “You should have stayed at home and sorted it out.”
“Do you have any idea what Abd el-Barr did?” I asked him calmly. He gave no answer.
“Said,” my mother said, “Abd el-Barr has been snorting cocaine.”
“How do you know?” he answered sharply.
“Saleha saw him with her own eyes.”
“And what does your daughter know about drugs?”
“There is no God but God! Do you think we would just make this up? We are telling you that Abd el-Barr has not consummated the marriage, he does cocaine and he beats your sister. What else do you want?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s still her husband.”
My mother could not contain herself any longer. Waving her hands around, she shouted furiously at him, “So you’re trying to say that your sister is in the wrong?”
“I’m saying it’s a mistake to encourage her to do what she is doing.”
Said looked at me and smiled nervously. “Come on, Saleha. Go and get dressed and I’ll take you home.”
“I can’t go back there,” I said imploringly.
“You will go back,” he raged, “whether you want to or not.”
“You can’t force her,” Kamel shouted, “to go and live with Abd el-Barr.”
“Abd el-Barr is a decent man.”
“A decent man who is a drug addict and a wife beater!”
“By law, he is allowed to teach his wife manners.”
“I will not allow any human being to beat my sister, and I will not let her live with a drug addict.”
“It’s a load of rubbish!”
“And you’re only interested in yourself,” Kamel answered, looking defiant.
Said said nothing for a few moments and then took a different tack.
“Kamel, Saleha is my sister, and I love her as much as you do. I don’t want any harm to come to her, but please consider my situation. Abd el-Barr is my partner in the factory, and we are supposed to sign the contract in six months’ time. If I lose Abd el-Barr, it will be difficult for me to find another business partner. I’m just on a salary now, but the factory is my big chance, and we’ll all benefit from it.”
“So what do you expect from Saleha?” Kamel asked.
“Just to put up with Abd el-Barr until we’ve signed the contract, and then we can do what we think is right.”
“You want our sister to go and live with a drug addict until things work out for you? You really are vile.”
“Shut your mouth,” screamed Said as he gave Kamel a shove. He was thrown off-balance but then grabbed him by the sleeve. I threw myself between them as my mother screamed, “Enough! Shame on you both!”
KAMEL
We are all responsible for what happened to Saleha. Said presented her with Abd el-Barr and nagged her until she married him. My mother and I failed in our duty to protect her. Saleha trusts our opinion, and had I stuck to my objection to the marriage, that would have been the end of the matter. Why did she suddenly agree to it? Maybe her acquiescence irritated me so much that I simply gave up. Maybe my job, studies and work for the organization had used up all my energy. It now fell to me to get her a divorce. I could hardly believe Said’s selfishness, handing his sister over to an impotent drug addict just to get his contract signed. I had made up my mind to go and see Abd el-Barr that Wednesday, my day off, but in the end I could not wait that long. So the following day, when I finished my shift in the storeroom, I made my way to his office in Tawfiqiya Square. He was taken aback to see me but gave me a warm welcome. He looked at me as if he knew what was on my mind.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asked in a friendly manner.
“Nothing, thanks.”
He made a gesture to his office boy to fetch some tea. I did not object. I did not want to waste my anger on trifles.
“Was it difficult to find my office?” he said, smiling.
“No. Everyone knows this street.”
“I have been renting
this office for the last ten years. It has the advantage of being large and quite comfortable. The other tenants in the building are decent, and it is downtown. Very easy to find.”
I made no comment.
“I would never be to able to find anything like it for such a low rent,” he carried on. “Guess how much I pay per month!”
“Abd el-Barr. Let us not ignore the reason for this visit.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you know.”
“If you’re talking about the matter with Saleha,” he smiled, “let’s not talk here. I have a few things to do, but if you can wait half an hour, I’ll invite you to lunch, and we can speak more freely.”
Realizing he was trying to avoid a scene, I raised my voice, “We need to talk now.”
The office boy put a glass of tea down in front of me and went out. Abd el-Barr came over and sat in the armchair opposite me.
“And just what do you want, Kamel?” he asked in an aggressive whisper.
“I want you to divorce Saleha.”
“You do know that she ran away from our home?”
“She ran away because you were beating her.”
“I hit her because she was behaving outrageously.”
“If anyone raises a hand against my sister, he has me to answer to.”
His eyes almost popped out of his head. He looked like he was about to say something but just sat there looking at the ground, and then he lit a cigarette, and I noticed his hand shaking.
“Listen, Abd el-Barr,” I said quietly. “Just as we entered into all of this in a decent way, let’s end it decently.”
“It was your brother who arranged this, not you.”
“It’s Saleha who is asking for a divorce.”
“So in your family, it’s women, not men, who make the decisions?”
“We all speak up for ourselves.”