The Automobile Club of Egypt

13

It proved to be very difficult for Abd el-Aziz Gaafar to obtain extra work at the Club. He had not the slightest experience in service, and it was out of the question for a man over fifty to be sent to the training school. Moreover, Alku, as a matter of principle, avoided hiring on the basis of a recommendation, as it wouldn’t do for an employee to have a divided allegiance or a false sense of security. Comanus was aware of all that and tried a different tack. He went to see Mr. Wright, who, despite his hauteur, actually treated him decently, because Comanus was, after all, Greek and not Egyptian. Comanus explained Abd el-Aziz’s difficult circumstances and how his salary hardly covered his family’s needs. A half-supercilious, half-sympathetic smile appeared on Mr. Wright’s face, as if he were listening to a child’s prattle.

“The Automobile Club cannot help everyone who is a bit hard up. We are not a charity.”

“But Abd el-Aziz is a trustworthy and hardworking man.”

“Well, that’s only thanks to you.”

“Sir?”

“An Egyptian only works in exchange for a reward or out of fear. There is no such thing as self-motivation in the Egyptian psyche. If an Egyptian manages to carry out his duties properly, it is only because a European manager has trained him well.”

“Mr. Wright. Do you consider me a friend?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well then, shouldn’t friends help each other out from time to time?”

“What are you driving at?”

“I would like Abd el-Aziz to work as an assistant to Suleyman the doorman.”

“Let me think it over.”

“Suleyman is over seventy and needs an assistant. I am just asking you to allow Abd el-Aziz to stand with Suleyman at the entrance. The Club will not have to pay him, but he could earn a little extra in tips.”

Wright thought it over for a few moments, puffed out a thick cloud of pipe smoke and said, “I’ll agree, on one condition.”

“What is that?”

“I don’t want to hear his name ever again. If I hear a single complaint about him, I’ll fire him, and you won’t be able to protect him.”

“I give you my word.”

Wright nodded in agreement. Comanus got up, thanked him warmly and shook his hand, but just as he was leaving, he turned and asked, “Do I need to tell Alku?”

Mr. Wright stared incredulously. “If the general manager of the Automobile Club has given his word, I don’t think you need to go and get the agreement of the head chamberlain,” he replied.

That was just the answer that Comanus wanted. It meant that Mr. Wright would take it upon himself to inform Alku, who would not dare to disagree. Comanus, delighted at having achieved his mission, went back to tell Abd el-Aziz, who was deeply grateful. The following day, he went out for the first time to stand in the doorway of the Club. He already knew Suleyman the doorman because he came from the village of Kom Ombo, which was near Daraw in Upper Egypt. Despite their acquaintance, however, Abd el-Aziz knew from experience that working together with people one knows, even a close relative, called for a different set of rules. Suleyman gave him a warm welcome and appeared happy to have him there. By the end of the day, it was clear to Abd el-Aziz that working the door did not require any special skills. Suleyman’s job was completely symbolic. He was a human salute. He would sit on a bench outside the door of the club, and as soon as a member’s car hove into view, he would jump up and shuffle over, opening the door with a bow and say with the utmost deference, “It’s an honor to have you here, Your Excellency.”

Then His Excellency would get out of the car in a state of such high-handedness that he would hardly notice Suleyman, yet despite this distracted and oblivious state, he would still stretch out his hand to tip Suleyman, who would bow, utter some words of gratitude and call for God’s blessing upon His Excellency and then shuffle along behind the man until he reached the lift.

That was how Suleyman welcomed the members, who at the start of the evening arrived in droves, and how he would see them off as they left. As soon as an esteemed Club member stepped out of the lift, he would hurry over, bowing as he went, and then rush ahead to open the car door and collect his tip, which was generally double the arrival gratuity, since by that time of night members were typically a little sloshed. As for those who were really drunk, Suleyman would help them along, and if they were being difficult, he would take charge of them firmly but politely, not letting them go until they had reached the safety of their cars. He did all that with infinite humility, even if the drunken Excellency was out of control, shouting, cursing and behaving irrationally. If the Club member was tottering about, Suleyman would hold him up with both arms, and even if he had to put the poor man’s arms over his shoulders and drag him along, he did it with such aplomb that the inebriated Club member’s dignity was not dented, allowing him to wake up the following morning without feeling humiliated or mistreated.

Abd el-Aziz had spent a few days observing Suleyman at work, when one day they were sitting together on the bench, and he seized the opportunity to speak, “I’m going to ask Comanus to find me a different job.”

“Why, Abd el-Aziz? Has something upset you?” Suleyman asked worriedly, but Abd el-Aziz smiled and tried to reassure him.

“Not at all. But you can do this job perfectly well on your own. You don’t need anyone to help you.”

Suleyman insisted that he did in fact need Abd el-Aziz’s help and that between the two of them they would earn more than enough tips, for God provides man’s sustenance. After some further discussion, they agreed upon a new modus operandi. When Suleyman rushed over to welcome a member, Abd el-Aziz would follow him and stand a little behind him, following Suleyman’s lead. He would bow to His Excellency and mutter the same words of welcome. Abd el-Aziz carried on this way for a few days, but not a single member acknowledged him. They continued dealing with Suleyman and ignored the new man completely. He was taken aback by this, and though Suleyman insisted that this was natural at the start because members did not yet know him, this treatment continued for a whole week, leading Suleyman to suggest at last that they change places. Abd el-Aziz would now rush over to the car and open the door, bowing in welcome as Suleyman stood behind him. What was strange was that most of the members continued to ignore Abd el-Aziz. They walked right past him bowing, focusing their attention on Suleyman and giving him the tip. Just why did the Club members continue to ignore Abd el-Aziz?

It might have been because of his appearance. Perhaps because of his height and his proud look. Perhaps it was because he did not give the necessary impression of being a servant, as his face did not exude the wheedling and docility by which servants got their tips. When Abd el-Aziz bowed to a Club member, he looked as if he was acting, as if he thought himself an equal and was only feigning subservience. The plan had failed, so Abd el-Aziz stopped greeting the members and went back to standing behind Suleyman. At the end of the week, Suleyman surprised him by handing him two pounds. Abd el-Aziz refused to take it, but Suleyman pushed the money into his pocket and said, “This is your money. Don’t offend me by refusing it.”

“My money? How did I earn it? I haven’t done a thing.”

Suleyman laughed and continued, “I don’t do anything either. We just run to open and close doors for people.”

Abd el-Aziz objected, but Suleyman told him firmly, “It’s to feed your children, Abd el-Aziz. You get a third and I get two-thirds.”

Thus, when Abd el-Aziz finished his work in the storeroom, he would go and sit next to Suleyman. They would chat and drink tea, and whenever Suleyman went to greet a member, Abd el-Aziz would stand behind him, and then, at the end of the week, he would take his share of the tips. It was a tidy sum, and Suleyman always treated him fairly. There was nothing about Suleyman that Abd el-Aziz could complain about, but deep inside something was vexing him. He felt a constant sense of hurt, which he would try to suppress by chatting with Suleyman and having a few laughs. But he remained distressed. He felt degraded. He had lost his dignity. Every time he thought that he could not sink any lower, he discovered that he had to. Having lost all that he had ever owned, he had left Daraw and come to Cairo. Before he got the job in the storeroom, he had been convinced that there was virtue to manual labor, but now he had become a servant. Could he describe what he was doing in any other way? He was a servant who opened doors, bowed and stood in the street hustling for tips, little better than a beggar. What an end for a son of the illustrious Gaafar lineage. For years he had given charity to the poor of Daraw, but now he himself had joined the ranks of the needy. He consoled himself that he would not be a servant for long, that in a few months his son Said would graduate from technical college and that in two years’ time his son Kamel would get his law degree. When that happened, he would be able to depend on some help from them and go back to working in the storeroom only or perhaps even retire with dignity.

Abd el-Aziz worked the door for three weeks, during which time Alku made a number of visits. It was always the same: the moment Alku’s black Cadillac appeared in the distance, Suleyman would jump up. He would scurry over as fast as possible to open the car door, with Abd el-Aziz directly behind him. Alku would ease himself regally out of the car, ignoring Abd el-Aziz, giving Suleyman a fleeting and glowering glance and grunting something that passed for a greeting. One time, feeling magnanimous, he actually said something to Suleyman. It was so indistinct, but it might have been something like “Good evening” or “How are you, Suleyman.” This gave Suleyman a rush of joy. Alku hardly ever spoke with the servants except to give orders or to dress them down, so any word spoken with any other intent was met like a good omen. Alku’s presence never filled Abd el-Aziz with dread, as it did all the other serving staff. Abd el-Aziz would bow respectfully while telling himself, “Why should I be afraid of him? He has no reason to be angry with me.”

Deep down, Abd el-Aziz felt that he did not really belong at the Automobile Club. Circumstances had obliged him to work there temporarily. He considered himself more like a passenger on a train. No matter how irritating the other passengers, he had to put up with them because he would eventually reach his destination and leave them behind forever. Not only that, but he felt that Comanus afforded him some protection because Alku, for all his arrogant posturing, went to pieces when dealing with foreigners.

Did Alku perceive this lack of fear in Abd el-Aziz? Did he feel that Abd el-Aziz had greeted him in a manner that however respectful was devoid of submissiveness? Could he see something in Abd el-Aziz’s face that gave away his sense of dignity? Or might Alku have held a grudge over Comanus’s having gone above him to Mr. Wright to get Abd el-Aziz the job on the door? Perhaps Alku was just in a particularly foul mood that evening.

These questions remain unanswered even though there are a hundred ways of recounting the event. It was midnight. Alku’s car was met with the usual hubbub. Suleyman rushed over, followed by Abd el-Aziz. As the car door opened, Abd el-Aziz had the odd feeling that the air had become heavy. He felt as if the usual rhythm of life had been interrupted, replaced by something strange and oppressive. Alku stepped out of the car, but instead of casting a cursory glance at them and continuing into the Club, as he always did, he just stood there with fat, trembling Hameed at his side, staring at Suleyman and Abd el-Aziz. There was a tense silence. Alku started scrutinizing Abd el-Aziz as if he were looking at some strange creature for the first time, and then, gesturing toward him, he called out incredulously, “Who is this guy?”

The question came out of nowhere. It broke Alku’s accustomed silence toward the servants and was a clear declaration of war. Alku knew very well who Abd el-Aziz was. He had seen him numerous times before, so why was he now pretending not to know him? Why such an angry, incredulous tone of voice? Abd el-Aziz felt a sharp pain in his head, his hands turned cold and his breathing became labored.

Suleyman was perplexed and stood there saying nothing, which led Alku to thunder at him, “Who is this guy? Answer me, Suleyman.”

Overcome with fear, Suleyman could only stutter out his answer, “Your Excellency, Alku. He is your servant Abd el-Aziz Gaafar, the assistant of Monsieur Comanus in the storeroom. He also assists me at the door to earn a little extra because he is going through some hard times and has a family to support.”

Alku continued staring Abd el-Aziz up and down as if he heard nothing of what Suleyman said. His anger was building, perhaps because Abd el-Aziz was not quaking with fear and had not rushed forward to pay obeisance or perhaps because Suleyman appeared so sympathetic to Abd el-Aziz, a sentiment that Alku knew could lead to insubordination. Alku gave a loud grunt, and Hameed, like a well-trained hunting dog, picked up on the signal immediately. He went right over to Abd el-Aziz, fixed him with a glower and asked in his high-pitched unctuous voice, “Have you got the key to the storeroom, you piece of scum?”

Abd el-Aziz was startled. He felt his mouth go dry at being spoken to in this way by someone who was young enough to be his son. He said nothing. Hameed took the humiliation one step further, “Are you deaf? I asked you if you’ve got the key to the storeroom!”

“Yes,” replied Abd el-Aziz, trying to control his anger. Hameed continued to stare contemptuously and said, “Then run and get your master, Alku, a box of Havana cigars.”

Abd el-Aziz remained silent. He turned quickly and started toward the storeroom. He knew where the cigars were kept and wanted to fetch them to stop the insults from being piled on him, but before he could take a single step, Hameed shouted at him, “You do know what Havana cigars are, don’t you, you donkey?”

Abd el-Aziz turned around and answered firmly, “I am not a donkey. I am a human being like you.”

Hameed grunted and relaxed, as if he had finally made the point. Standing right next to Abd el-Aziz, he shouted in his face, “You are a donkey, and I’m going to teach you some manners.”