The Automobile Club of Egypt

  I mumbled a few words under my breath and looked away. My mother stood up.

  “Excuse me. I’ve got things to do in the kitchen.”

  I sat in the chair near the door, as if to show that I could leave at any moment. Abd el-Barr cleared his throat.

  “Saleha, I want to tell you that I’m not a drug addict.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “The first time in my life was the day you saw me doing it. A friend of mine gave me the powder and told me that if I was down in the dumps or stressed, I should take it. It was the first and last time.”

  He continued talking quickly, as if delivering a prepared speech.

  “Please forgive me for getting upset with you, Saleha.”

  “Upset” seemed an understatement given his punches. I said nothing. I could hardly contain my fury.

  Abd el-Barr continued in a subdued voice, “Kamel came to my office to throw accusations at me, and I let him for your sake.”

  “It’s only natural that Kamel should be angry.”

  “I’ve come all the way to your home,” Abd el-Barr said with a smile, “and I have apologized.”

  “Even if I were to accept your apology,” I shouted, “we cannot live together!”

  “But things like this happen all the time in marriages!”

  “Our life together is finished.”

  Abd el-Barr suddenly got up and came over to me. I stood up and took a few steps away from him.

  “Saleha,” he said, “let’s not destroy our marriage.”

  “It’s fate.”

  “All right. Take a little time to think things over,” he said hoarsely.

  I almost felt sorry for him, but I answered him quickly in order to put an end to the matter, “I have decided that I want a divorce.”

  His expression changed suddenly, and he started shouting, “Who do you think you are?”

  “Please don’t be rude,” I shouted back.

  “My mistake,” he shouted even louder, “was in coming to see you. You don’t deserve to be treated with respect.”

  “Watch your words!”

  The last sentence was spoken by my mother. She had been listening to the conversation through the door and was now standing between us with a look of anger on her face.

  “As long as your daughter behaves like that,” he snapped, “there will be no divorce.”

  “You’ll divorce her whether you want to or not.”

  “I’ll go to court and get a ruling that she has to return to her husband.”

  My mother indicated the door and said, “I will not respond to you since you are in my home. Please be so kind as to leave.”

  My mother’s tone was so resolute that he got up and left, muttering angrily. I heard his footsteps recede into the distance, then the front door opening and closing. By the time my mother came back, I was beside myself.

  “Abd el-Barr just wants to demean me,” I shouted like someone crying for help.

  “There is not a man alive who can demean you,” she said as she put her arms around me. “God is great, and he will help you through this.”

  KAMEL

  When I was called in for questioning, my mind kept running over scenes from movies. Scenes in which investigators could catch an inconsistency in your story, by your nervous look, by a slip of paper you dropped or by a thread on your clothing from the crime scene. I was terrified because I was not a good liar. I went into the room trying to quash my terror. The investigating officer was in his forties and wearing a smart white suit. There was something false and cloying about the way he moved. He treated me condescendingly as he sat slumped in the armchair looking me over.

  “Name and position at the Automobile Club?” he asked.

  “My name is Kamel Gaafar,” I answered quickly. “I am a law student at the Fuad I University, and I work as a storeroom assistant under Monsieur George Comanus.”

  I wanted to make it clear to him that I was not one of the serving staff but had clerical duties and was a university student. I think that the message hit home because he sat up a little and smiled.

  “So sorry to disturb you over this, Kamel. But as a law student, you will understand. My instructions are to investigate all those who work in the Club. I will even be questioning Monsieur Comanus.”

  He asked me about the hours and nature of my work. He asked whether I had seen anything unusual recently. In spite of his formal smile and the superficial politeness, he fixed me with a searching and suspicious eye as I answered all his questions. I attempted to appear calm and natural.

  He lit a cigarette and gave me a friendly smile, saying, “You know, I did the same syllabus at the police academy as you’re doing at the College of Law. What year are you in?”

  “Second year.”

  “What subjects are you studying?”

  I reeled them off.

  He listened and then suddenly asked, “How do you suppose someone could take a photograph of His Majesty without anyone noticing?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Perhaps you can help with the power of your imagination. We have already found the camera, but the question remains who brought it into the Club and how.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Come on, try to come up with a scenario for how someone might have brought the camera in.”

  “Neither the staff nor the Club members are subjected to any form of search when they enter the Club. Anyone could bring in a camera.”

  “Correct. But how was it set up in the casino?”

  “Perhaps he waited until all the staff had gone home and then fixed it to the chandelier.”

  “How do you know that it was fixed to the chandelier?” he retorted while looking at me with an almost hostile stare.

  I was taken aback but managed to control myself as I answered him, “All the staff know that the camera was discovered fixed to the chandelier.”

  He smiled and nodded. I looked at him defiantly. Did he think that he could incriminate me with games like this?

  “Once more,” he said in a friendly manner, “please forgive me, but I am just carrying out my orders. Can I ask you to do something for me?”

  “Of course.”

  He wrote something on a small piece of paper, and as he handed it to me, he said, “Here’s my telephone number. If you come across any information that might help our investigation, would you call me immediately?”

  I took the piece of paper and said, “I spend the whole day in the storeroom and don’t really know what happens in the Club. But if I learn anything useful, I will let you know straightaway.”

  “Thank you, Kamel. You may go.”

  “I notice,” I said as I stood up, “that you were not taking notes. But I would like eventually to sign the written transcript.”

  As he held out his hand, he smiled and told me, “This has not been an official interview, only a chat between friends. Don’t worry.”

  I was confirmed in my bad impression of him. Why at the end did he tell me not to worry? Did he suspect me of having fixed up the camera? It must have gone through his mind. An investigator needs to leave all possibilities open. I tried to assure myself that I was in a strong position and that he would not be able to lay anything at my feet. Going to the casino and attaching the camera had taken less than fifteen minutes. Not a soul had seen me going upstairs to the casino or leaving it. Labib the telephone operator had seen me standing in the entrance hall, but he would have been convinced that I had just arrived at the Club since I had asked what the hubbub on the roof was all about. Abdoun had managed to get the film out of the camera and was sure that no one had seen him. There was not a shred of evidence against me, but I was still plagued by fear. What I feared most was that one of my colleagues would be accused. If that were to happen, I would face a real dilemma. My conscience would not allow an innocent to suffer on my behalf, but on the other hand, were I to own up to it, I would bring down the whole organization with me. I had to hold myself
together. I could not change what had happened.

  I went out into the street. It was four o’clock. I had a whole hour until I had to meet the others. Hasan Mu’min had summoned me to an emergency meeting and warned me that I might be under surveillance. I decided to walk to the prince’s palace, to calm my nerves and have a chance to reflect. I took a circuitous route down small side streets, stopping every now and then. I would light a cigarette and look around me. I arrived a quarter of an hour early. I did not want to meet the prince on my own. I was exhausted and had neither the inclination nor the energy for small talk. So I kept my distance from the palace and continued walking until I reached the bank of the Nile, where I sat down on a marble bench. I could see myself attaching the camera, sitting with Mitsy, arguing with Abd el-Barr. I tried to find some explanation for this rush of events. It felt like I was in a movie, drawing near to its denouement. Was this all normal, or did I have a problem? Were the lives of the people strolling by full of similar problems? Why had I fallen into this vortex only after the death of my father? A few minutes before five, I walked around the palace, entering through the open garden gate and descending into the apartment where we held our meetings. I knocked on the door, and the prince opened it.

  “Please come in, Kamel,” he whispered with a nod.

  The others were already there. I greeted them and sat down at the far side of the room next to the window. The prince put on his gold-rimmed glasses and leafed through the papers in front of him on the table.

  “First of all, I should like to congratulate you upon the success of the operation. Thousands of copies of the photograph have been distributed in Cairo. Next week we will print a large number of copies for distribution in the provinces. They may have discovered the camera, but we got what we needed. Everywhere, people are going on about the scandalous photograph of the king.”

  The feeling of excitement was palpable in the room. Atiya added enthusiastically, “We have struck the corrupt tyrant a painful blow.”

  Odette continued in a serious tone, “This goes beyond the king’s personal corruption. We have exposed the reactionary capitalist regime that is subservient to the occupation.”

  Everyone muttered in enthusiastic agreement.

  “Have you followed the reactions in the press?” the prince asked.

  “There has been a total silence about the scandal,” Hasan Mu’min said quietly as he nodded affirmatively.

  “I thought the press would be braver,” the prince said with a smile.

  “There are some newspapers,” Hasan added, “that are tools of the palace and receive secret monthly subsidies, but there are also some independent newspapers which believe that publishing the photograph would be an act of lèse-majesté.

  “We don’t need them,” Atiya said. “All we have to do is distribute the photograph ourselves.”

  “I have to thank Abdoun and Kamel,” the prince said looking at me affectionately. “They carried out the operation to the letter.”

  Abdoun mumbled a few words of gratitude, and I added feebly, “I did my duty. Nothing more.”

  “The regime’s reaction will be violent,” the prince said. “As far as the head of the secret police is concerned, it’s a matter of life and death. If he doesn’t find the culprit, he’ll lose his position.”

  “They will intensify their efforts,” said Odette. “We have to proceed with the utmost caution. I would ask that we all review our security procedures before adjourning today.”

  “We must avoid any unnecessary telephone calls,” added the prince. “We don’t know who may be under surveillance. The security services may be eavesdropping. We shall continue meeting every Friday at seven in the morning. You’ll be informed in the case of any change.”

  The prince then turned to Abdoun and asked, “How are things at the Automobile Club?”

  Abdoun took a little time, as if gathering his thoughts.

  “Alku has punished the entire staff. He has suspended gratuities. The staff salary barely covers a family’s needs for a couple of days. With this, they’ll be going hungry very soon.”

  “Will they protest?” interjected Atiya.

  “We are weighing up the options,” said Abdoun, “but it’s a tricky situation. Alku has carte blanche from the general manager to punish the staff however he chooses. He has never been more powerful.”

  “That’s not a punishment, my lad,” Atiya retorted. “It’s a crime. How can people be obliged to work for next to nothing?”

  “The tips are not part of our salary, officially,” replied Abdoun. “And what’s more, none of us has an employment contract.”

  The prince took a sip of coffee and asked, “Let’s all think about this. When we distribute the photograph in the provinces, will it exacerbate conditions for the staff at the Club?”

  There was silence for a few moments, and then Odette spoke up, “On the contrary, distributing the photograph in the provinces will confirm that the staff had no part in what has happened.”

  “They will still be held responsible,” said Abdoun, “because the photograph was taken in the Club.”

  “Yes, I know,” replied Odette. “But if the photograph is distributed in the provinces, it will mean that the conspiracy is bigger than the staff of the Club.”

  “What I fear,” said the prince in a serious tone, “is that the staff will buckle under the pressure.”

  “Even if they do,” responded Abdoun, “they don’t have any information to give. No one saw Comrade Kamel attaching the camera, and no one saw me taking out the film.”

  The prince nodded, and shuffling his papers, he said, “We now need to go over our plans in exact detail. Any error now could bring us all down.”

  This last sentence aroused the fear of those around the table, and they listened carefully.

  “The photograph has to be distributed at exactly the same time in all the provinces. If any of our comrades, in any of the provinces, are late, they will be exposing themselves to arrest.”

  “I have made this clear to all the comrades,” Hasan Mu’min assured him.

  “Please go over the instructions with them again.”

  “When will it take place?” I asked the prince.

  He thought a moment and answered, “In practical terms, we have a number of tasks: we have to print a large number of copies of the photograph, and we have to make sure the printers are secure and decide on the distribution point in each province. All that will take time. We will not be able to do it for a least two weeks.”

  The meeting went on for two hours, and at the end, Odette reviewed the security precautions with us. I rushed home to al-Sadd Street, which was thronged with people as usual. I climbed the stairs to our apartment and rang the bell rather than using my key because I knew that my mother would still be awake, and I wanted to see her opening the door. Just seeing her and giving her a hug would make me feel better. It was the same feeling I used to have when I came back from school to find her standing at the door as if she had been waiting there ever since saying good-bye in the morning. My mother implored me to eat a meal, but I refused, so she made some sandwiches and put them on my desk. I took a shower and made my ablutions, then said the evening prayers and sat down to study. I was so absorbed in my books that I did not notice the passage of time. Suddenly, I thought I heard a voice coming from the street. It was after two in the morning. I tried to ignore it and concentrate on my reading. After a few moments, I heard the voice again but more clearly. Someone was calling my name. I got up and went over to the open window and looked. There was Mitsy standing in the street in a blue coat with her curls falling over her face.

  “Mitsy? What’s happened?”

  She made a gesture with her hand and shouted in a voice that reverberated strangely in the quiet of the night, “Kamel, can you come down? I need to speak to you urgently.”

  35

  Fawzy primped for the evening. He combed his hair meticulously and plastered it with hair cream. He da
bbed half a bottle of eau de cologne all over his body and squeezed the bulging muscles of his chest and arms into a tight T-shirt that made him look like a pale-skinned giant walking alongside the black giant who was Mahmud Gaafar. They took the Lambretta, Fawzy in front and Mahmud riding pillion, all the way to the sugar factory in Garden City. It was seven in the evening, and the street was quiet and almost empty. Fawzy seemed as self-assured as if he’d done this quite often, but Mahmud was typically uneasy and distracted. He had been of more than two minds about coming along, but Fawzy had nagged him to come. Now, he was afraid. This was different from his times with Rosa and Dagmar. Madame Tafida al-Sarsawy had asked him bluntly to sleep with her.

  “I’ll pay you what Dagmar does,” she had said.

  He could not understand how these women knew about his activities. They must get together somewhere and exchange secrets. When he telephoned Tafida to tell her that he was coming over, she was overjoyed. He’d also told her that he would be bringing Fawzy along. At that, she fell silent for a moment and then said, “He’s most welcome. He can come with you, but then he must make his excuses and leave us.”

  Mahmud, feeling embarrassed, said, “Fawzy is a friend of mine, and he would like to spend time with you, madame.”

  “Well, he’s most welcome,” she answered quickly. “What matters is that you and I do what we talked about.”

  Mahmud was again taken aback by her forthrightness. What a dreadful woman! The closer they came to her building, the greater his anxiety. There was no telling how she’d react to Fawzy. Whenever he tried to imagine the situation, he just became more unnerved. Before they went into the building, Mahmud suddenly stopped and implored Fawzy, “For my sake, let’s skip this. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  Fawzy snorted in disbelief.

  “It’s child’s play,” he said. “Get a grip on yourself, man!”

  Mahmud knitted his brow and held his hands up.

  “How am I going to tell her that you’ll be filling in for me?”

  Fawzy grabbed Mahmud by his enormous arm and dragged him forward, telling him, “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”