The Automobile Club of Egypt by Alaa Al Aswany
News of this incident spread among the staff, and they felt a sense of consternation. How could you throw the widow of your colleague out onto the street? How could Hameed give her a thump and threaten her with prison for simply requesting a pension so that she could feed her children? It was the same as had happened with the family of the late Abd el-Malek. The children of the late Abd el-Aziz also would have been reduced to begging had Comanus not have been kindhearted enough to take on Kamel and his brother Mahmud at the Club. The staff were well aware that what had happened with the families of their late colleagues could happen to their own families at any time. Should they die, fall ill or be incapacitated, their own children might end up having to beg in the streets, and if they came to the Club to request assistance, Mr. Wright would also refuse to meet them, and Hameed might thump them and have them thrown out.
The staff now started exchanging angry whispers:
“How much would it cost the Automobile Club to pay pensions to the families of the deceased?”
“Nothing! Peanuts compared to the Club budget.”
“They have losses of hundreds of pounds every night in the casino, but there’s nothing when it comes to the families of the deceased!”
“It’s just plain wrong!”
Their resentments increased to the point where they could no longer remain silent. They decided to do something about it, and to speak to one of the department heads. After thinking it over and discussing it among themselves, they went off to see Maître Shakir, who, vile as he might be, did have a shred of decency, unlike Rikabi the chef. They felt they could talk to Shakir, and they knew that, moreover, he was on good terms with both the management and the membership. After the usual formalities and questions about one another’s health, they came straight to the point, “Surely you can’t be happy about what has happened with the children of the late Abd el-Malek and Mur’i.”
Maître Shakir said nothing, eyeing them cautiously.
“We have to have a pension, Shakir,” they said variously. “How can we work for years in the Club and then when we die our children are left to rot?”
Shakir let them fire out their questions. Then he asked them calmly, “How can I help you?”
“Go and see Mr. Wright and tell him.”
“He’ll just tell me that the bylaws don’t allow it.”
“Then tell them to change the bylaws. They’re not written in stone!”
Shakir thought it over a little and then told them, “My advice is to forget the whole thing. Mr. Wright will never change the bylaws.”
“It’s an injustice. A sin. They’ll have to answer to God.”
“You’ll have to live with it. If Alku gets wind of what you’ve been saying, it’ll be a catastrophe for you all.”
They tried to continue the conversation, but Maître Shakir cut them off and left them standing there. After a little further discussion, they decided to go see Hagg Yusuf Tarboosh. He had just finished saying his afternoon prayers. He shook hands with them one by one, his hand still wet from his ablutions. They repeated what they had told Maître Shakir. He bit his lip and shook his head, and as if fearful of being overheard, he spoke quietly, “By God, if it was up to me, I would have given you all pensions, but my hands are tied.”
They stood there looking so crestfallen that Hagg Yusuf added in a conciliatory tone, “Why don’t you put a little aside every month?”
“And how are we supposed to do that?” they countered. “Where do we get the money from, Uncle Yusuf? It’s not like we’re rolling in it.”
Tarboosh gave them a look of irritation and retorted, “You seem to have forgotten yourselves. You don’t know how lucky you are. Praise God and avoid the devil!”
They did not stay and argue with Yusuf but went back to inform their colleagues on the results of their efforts. Their bitterness was turning more and more to indignation, until Suleyman the doorman surprised them with his idea. Suleyman was in his seventies, the oldest member of the staff, and all his teeth were gone. He could hardly drag himself along due to the pains in his joints. For all that, he came up with something completely unprecedented in the history of the Automobile Club.
Alku had come for an afternoon inspection tour. He had climbed out of his car as usual and made his way to the entrance with Hameed scurrying along behind him. Suleyman had walked over to him and bowed, but just as Alku walked past him, he suddenly grabbed the sleeve of his embroidered jacket. Alku jerked his hand away and looked at Suleyman in disbelief, but the latter just called out in a tremulous voice, “Master Alku! The families of Abd el-Malek and Mur’i are begging you!”
“Begging me for what?” Alku roared.
“For a pension from the Club.”
“We don’t have pensions.”
“How are they supposed to live, Master Alku?”
“What’s it got to do with you, Suleyman? Mind your own business.”
“How is it not my business?” Suleyman was starting to get angry. “We are all one big family.”
This was more than Alku could stand. He made a gesture to Hameed and shouted to some of the servants standing in the entrance hall, “Grab hold of him!”
Such a call usually ended up with the offender being immediately restrained, but this time the servants stood their ground. They made no movement, seemingly refusing to carry out the order. Suleyman was their senior and held an elevated status in their eyes. Moreover, he was not a well man and could hardly walk. Hameed could not possibly beat him as he had the others. One of the servants walked over to Hameed, with an ingratiating smile on his face. He was about to ask Hameed to overlook the matter, but before he could utter a word, Hameed’s flabby body started quaking with anger, and he roared thunderously, “I said grab hold of him! Are you deaf!”
There was nothing they could do. Two of the servants went over to Suleyman and grabbed him by the arms. Hameed’s eyes bulged as he walked over to him and started slapping him. Suleyman put up no resistance and looked confused. The blows rained down on the old man’s face as the servants tried to hide their dismay, averting their gaze and trying to hold their breath lest some sound betray their feelings of disapproval or sympathy. They waited until the punishment was over and Alku, with Hameed following him, had gone into the Club, before rushing over to Suleyman, who stood rooted to the spot with a sad smile on his face. They kissed him on the head and tried to comfort him.
“Never mind, Uncle Suleyman.”
“Alku will get his punishment from God.”
“He’ll answer for this one day.”
Uncle Suleyman dragged himself over to the bench. He listened to their words of consolation with a grateful yet absent look. He did not seem able to take in what had happened. It seemed incredible that he could be set upon like that at his age, and his look of startled bewilderment remained until he finished his shift and went home. The following day, after evening prayers, when Abdoun went to the café, he noticed Suleyman at the table by the window. Some of the staff had brought him there to take his mind off things before his next shift. Abdoun went over to him and shouted angrily, “How dare anyone lift up his hand against you!”
Suleyman looked down and muttered a few words of thanks to Abdoun, who then looked at the men sitting with him and asked, “So who’s going to be next?”
They became flustered and retorted:
“Shut up, Abdoun. You’re all we need now.”
“Yes. Here’s another misfortune for you to crow over!”
“Alku had Abd el-Aziz beaten up,” Abdoun responded. “And he just lay down and died. Abd el-Malek’s and Mur’i’s children have nothing to eat. And now, to round it off, Uncle Suleyman, the oldest among us, has been smacked about like a child. All that and you sit there doing nothing. What are you afraid of? What worse could happen?”
No one said anything, so Abdoun continued, “As long as you stay terrified of Alku, you’ll live like dogs.”
“Abdoun, we’re not sitting here doing nothing.
“Of course they won’t,” Abdoun smiled. “Shakir, Tarboosh and Rikabi—they’re all in on it with Alku. They won’t take our side against him. You seem to have forgotten how it works here in the Club—the big guys share the bonus with Alku. He lets them fleece us, and they pay him off.”
The other staff knew deep down that Abdoun was speaking the truth. They were about to ask him what they should do, but then they remembered that his way of thinking was fraught with danger. So they sat there saying nothing. Abdoun sat there downcast too for a while. Then he looked up at them and said, “Listen. We need to get what we deserve. I’m going to go and see Alku.”
“Go and see him?”
“Yes. I’ll go and see him and demand that he put an end to the beatings. I’ll tell him that we are not animals or children to be beaten.”
They looked at him incredulously, and one of them said, “You’re certifiable.”
“If Alku had Uncle Suleyman beaten over just a word he uttered,” another added, “then what do you think he’ll do to you?”
“We’ll see,” Abdoun smiled. “I’ve made my decision. Alku has gone to Upper Egypt, but he’ll be back in two days’ time. The moment he gets back, I’m going to go and see him.”
There was some agitated muttering, and someone asked, “Is anyone going with you?”
“If anyone wants to come along with me,” Abdoun announced, “then he is most welcome. If no one wants to, then I’ll go and see Alku on my own.”
KAMEL
The air in the small room was thick with cigarette smoke and lit by a weak lightbulb dangling from a wire in the ceiling. Around the paper-strewn tabletop sat some people, among whom I was surprised to see Hasan Mu’min. I stood there like a rabbit in the headlights and said nothing. He stood up and embraced me.
“I’m aware that Hasan Mu’min is an acquaintance of yours,” Prince Shamel said. “Let me introduce you to the others.”
They all stood up as they shook hands with me. The prince introduced me first to a pretty, petite woman with short hair, called Odette, then to Abdoun, the barman I already knew from the Club, though we had never spoken. Then there was a bald man in his fifties with a paunch, whom the prince proudly presented to me, “Mr. Atiya Abd el-Aziz, the greatest trade union leader in Egypt.”
I shook his hand respectfully, noting that his grip was strong for someone of his advanced age. The prince added, “It’s Atiya who organized the last textile workers’ strike in Mahalla.”
Atiya seemed to be chuffed at the prince’s words and whispered something I did not catch. There was also a skinny man with completely white hair who looked like a retired civil servant. The prince introduced him to me, “Mr. Awni,” the prince said before gesturing for everyone to be seated. I sat in the only empty seat.
“First of all,” the prince said, “I must explain who we are and what we are doing.”
I looked at him, and he stopped for a moment, appearing to be searching for the right words.
“We are a joint working party of Wafdists and Communists. Odette, Abdoun and Atiya are from the Egyptian Communist Party. Mr. Awni and Hasan Mu’min are from the Wafd. I am an independent and their colleague in the working party.”
Odette gave me a look and then added cheerfully, “His Royal Highness is being far too modest. In actuality, he is the working party coordinator.”
The prince smiled and continued, “The Wafd is the Egyptian nationalist party, but in recent years it has been hijacked by feudal landowners controlled by the palace and the English, and they have ignored the rights of the masses in order to cling to their class privileges. That’s why the Wafdist Vanguard has been established, to represent the true heart of the party against the occupation and against feudalism. After much thought and discussion, the Wafdist Vanguard decided to form a joint cell with the Communists, and we are united around one demand, which is the evacuation of Egypt by the British and the independence of Egypt. After we gain our independence, there will of course be different views as to the state we wish to build. But for now, we are working toward two aims: first, to denounce the king’s corruption and treachery, and second, to make the occupation so costly for the British that they will leave.”
After a short pause, the prince went on, “Do you agree to join us, Kamel? To be brutally frank, I should let you know that participating in this organization is a crime under Egyptian law that can lead to life imprisonment.”
“I’d be honored to join you, sir,” I said with some emotion. The prince gave me a searching look.
“Kamel,” interjected Hasan Mu’min, “is one of the bravest men I know. He distributed our pamphlet under the eyes of the police. He is a true nationalist with nerves of steel.”
“I know,” said the prince. “I’ve had a full report on him.”
“I hope all the details were correct,” I joked.
“Before admitting a new member, we carry out a thorough check to make sure that he is not a stooge of the security services. In your case, there was no problem because Hasan Mu’min seconded your candidacy. But I insisted on getting to know you myself so that I could sound out your character. I am happy to say it is sound indeed.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said quickly.
“We should all like to thank His Royal Highness,” added Hasan Mu’min, “for his efforts in the service of the nationalist cause.”
The prince smiled and tried to shrug off the praise. Then Atiya continued, “When we bear in mind that the other members of the royal family have thrown their lot in with the occupation as servants of the English, Prince Shamel’s example is even more praiseworthy.”
“All right!” The prince laughed. “We can’t spend the whole meeting patting each other on the back! We have a lot to get through.”
The prince put on his spectacles, arranged the papers in front of him and started reading. At that moment I felt I was seeing his true self, which, until then, had been masked by his eccentric jolliness. This was the real Prince Shamel, a serious man with an alert and resolute expression. In a semiofficial tone of voice, the prince expounded on the jobs already completed. He spoke of pamphlets and strikes and the statement that would need to be issued on the cabinet reshuffle. I was having difficulty keeping up, still in a state of shock. My mind wandered away from the current discussion, and I started wondering how this group had come into existence and how Hasan Mu’min had come to know Prince Shamel.
Then, I recalled what Hasan had said at our last meeting, “We are now working with a broad coalition.” I also remembered the prince telling me that my participation in the resistance was no mere coincidence. He had known everything all along. Returning to the proceedings, I heard Odette’s gravelly voice. “Comrade Abdoun. Please update us on the situation at the Automobile Club.”
Abdoun’s face turned somber as he leaned forward and started speaking as if delivering a report, “The king spends his evenings in the Club. He never misses a night. He is addicted to gambling. This week, he won a fortune from Fuad Pasha Hindawi. Rumor has it that Fuad Pasha lost so as to win a seat in the cabinet in the upcoming reshuffle.”
“Have you heard anything about the reshuffle?” Odette asked.
“The staff in the casino heard the king telling Fuad Pasha to get his levée suit pressed.”
The prince seemed intrigued by this and added, “This means that he’ll appoint him. Just as I expected, this government’s days are numbered.”
“We’ll need to mention this,” Atiya said, “in the statement we’re drafting.”
“The new government will be just like the old one,” Odette said. “It’ll be a minority government made up of stooges of the English. Our struggle is not with the government but with the corrupt king who is subservient to the occupation and acts against the people.”
“That’s correct,” the prince added. “Our statement needs to point
“I’ll finish editing it and show it to you next time.”
The prince nodded and looked down at his papers, when Abdoun spoke up, “If I may, there is something that I should like to bring to our attention.”
“Please be brief,” the prince said. “We have a lot to get through on the agenda.”
“I am going to see Alku,” Abdoun said, “to demand that he put an end to corporal punishment.”
“And do you think,” asked Odette, “that Alku will agree?”
“I don’t expect so.”
“Then why are you going to see him?”
“Mainly to break down the barrier of fear and show my colleagues that it is possible to stand up to him.”
“Indeed,” added Atiya, “the most important thing is to break down the barrier of fear.”
“Alku will get the greatest shock of his life,” the prince laughed. “He has never imagined that one of his subordinates might stand up to him.”
“Your late father,” Abdoun said, looking at me, “was the first man who showed some guts in dealing with Alku.”
I felt embarrassed at his having mentioned my father. I nodded and smiled as if thanking him. Abdoun then turned back to the prince.
“I’m going to go see Alku tomorrow at midnight.”
“Call me afterward, so I will know that you are all right.”
“Excuse me,” interrupted Odette, “but I object.”
There was silence as everyone looked expectantly at Odette. She adjusted her spectacles and took a drag on her cigarette.
“We need to define the purpose of every step we take. Let me remind you of what our purpose has been from the start. We are in agreement that the king’s love of gambling has turned the Automobile Club into the seat of Egypt’s government. We are in agreement that we should expose the king’s sordid dealings and his subservience to the English. We have all stated that a revolution is needed to destroy the old order completely so that we can build the Egypt that we want. Abdoun managed to infiltrate the Automobile Club so as to provide us intelligence. You are all aware that we are planning an important operation inside the Club. Thus, we should not be distracted or draw unnecessary attention to ourselves.”