The Automobile Club of Egypt

37

It was after midnight when the two friends left Tafida al-Sarsawy’s apartment on the Lambretta. They disappeared at top speed, saying nothing, as if stunned into silence by what had just happened. After a while, Fawzy started humming a song by Abd el-Wahab, and Mahmud noticed that he was not heading home to the Sayyida Zeinab district.

“Where are you going?” he shouted.

“Somewhere nice,” Fawzy shouted back, laughing the laugh of someone in a good mood. Fawzy headed to the citadel district, then turned right into a narrow alley and parked the Lambretta. The friends went into an ancient building and climbed a narrow, winding staircase to the roof. Mahmud had never been to this smoking den before. The customers were seated on wooden benches against the wall. In the middle of the roof terrace, there was a large metal drum with lumps of glowing charcoal, and the serving boys were rushing to and fro carrying water pipes and small braziers. The customers seemed to know Fawzy, as did the proprietor, who got up and greeted him with a big hug. In the brash voice he used when trying to seem important, Fawzy asked the proprietor, “How are you, boss? It’s been ages!”

The two friends took a seat in a corner, and one of the serving boys scurried over with a water pipe and some glowing pieces of charcoal. Fawzy took a lump of hashish out of his pocket and bit off small pieces from it, placing a small lump on each of the prepared tobacco bowls. He lit the first one and took a deep drag, making the water gurgle in the pipe. Then he handed the mouthpiece to the serving boy, who drew in deeply and exhaled a cloud of smoke from his mouth and nostrils. Then Fawzy turned to Mahmud.

“We have to distract ourselves after what happened with that Tafida woman.”

Mahmud preferred the delightful rush he got from wine to the heavy-headedness and dullness he got from hashish, but he took a few short drags on the water pipe anyway. Handing it back to the boy, who finished off what was left and then started fitting another bowl of tobacco and hashish to the pipe, Mahmud sat back on the bench and asked Fawzy, “And just what were you doing with Madame Tafida? I was sitting there embarrassed as hell.”

Fawzy guffawed and said, “Listen to me. You’ve got to be rough with women like that.”

Mahmud nodded but remained unconvinced. Fawzy reached into his shirt pocket and unfolded two pound notes.

“My high and mighty attitude got us double what you get with all your politeness!”

Mahmud sat there with a vacant smile, saying nothing. Yet again, Fawzy had managed to outdo him. Yet again, he had shown him that he knew more about life and people. Mahmud had been expecting Tafida to blow her top at any second and tell them to leave, but to his amazement, while Fawzy’s vulgar moves upset her at first, in the end, she gave in to him. After Fawzy had been to bed with her, she came out looking less wrinkled and much more relaxed. Fawzy had taken her in his arms one last time and nibbled her ear, at which she let out a girly shriek most unbecoming in someone of her age. Fawzy told her, “Tafida, I’ll be back on Wednesday.”

She nodded, looking at him dreamily as he placed his hand behind her neck and pulled her toward him, as if to head-butt her.

“I’ll make sure you’re satisfied like tonight.”

That was how Fawzy instigated a new type of relationship with women. Mahmud might have frenetic sex with his two lady friends, but he still treated them with some respect. He thought of Rosa as a good friend, and even with Dagmar, for all her sharpness and severity, he was gentle and tried not to hurt her feelings. When she told him that her daughter had given birth to a baby girl in Germany, he congratulated her and asked her to write the baby’s name down on a piece of paper so that he could learn how to pronounce it. Mahmud, it could not be denied, was selling sexual favors, but he did so with polite gentility. Fawzy’s coarse behavior with his mistress was naked machismo, but perhaps he needed to be that way. He had acted outrageously with Tafida; it was as if he did not want her to forget that she was paying for sex. Unlike Mahmud, Fawzy was offering sex-with-humiliation. He had made Tafida look at herself. He had shattered any illusions she might have had. While caressing her body, he gave her gentle goading slaps whose subtext was, “You can’t fool me into thinking you are anything but a cheap frustrated old hag who’ll pay anyone to go to bed with her. That’s how it is. If there is any pretending or lying, I’ll be the one doing it.”

Fawzy felt nothing but contempt for Tafida and did everything he could to show it. When he was servicing her, his face took on an aggressive and vengeful look. Oddly though, Tafida rather liked this treatment and his roughness, but the way she simply let Fawzy toss her around like a rag doll was mystifying, as she was neither a sophisticated woman nor a battered wife. Her sharp features and hostile expressions made her look like a shrew, but Fawzy managed to tame her, and each harsh word or coarse gesture made her only more submissive. But why did Tafida, otherwise so dignified and standoffish, not reject Fawzy’s humiliating treatment and instead became only fonder of Fawzy? Was it that being over seventy, she would seek out pleasure at any price? Or did the humiliation absolve her somehow in her mind from guilt? Tafida, after all, was an Egyptian, not a foreigner like Mahmud’s two mistresses. As such, she was the product of an Eastern culture which condemned extramarital relations. Much as she might yearn to give herself over to sexual pleasure, deep down she must have felt a measure of shame. And so, perhaps Fawzy’s humiliations were the punishment she inflicted upon herself, a way to scourge her of sin. Whatever the reason, Fawzy’s relationship with Tafida was so crude that Mahmud could neither understand nor approve of it, even if Fawzy insisted on dragging him along to Tafida’s apartment. His presence encouraged Fawzy’s braggadocio, turning his actions into a theatrical event performed for an audience of one. Tafida, wearing a silk dressing gown over her nightdress, would open the door for the two boys. She would first shake hands with Mahmud, then give Fawzy a hug, and attempting to make her voice sound gentle and seductive, she would ask him, “How are you, my darling?”

At which point, Fawzy would retort coldly, “What are you doing still up? It’s bad for you to stay up so late.”

She would ignore his impudence and sit next to him, snuggling up and whispering, “I’ve missed you.”

The sight of Tafida prancing about like a teenager, with her thinning dyed hair and makeup plastered over her crumbling face, her forced coquettishness and her abortive attempts at being soft and gentle, all of this simply provoked Fawzy. He would move to caress her, for example, but then instead grab her by the nape of her neck and pull her dyed hair until she screamed. Then he would guffaw and say, “Get up and get to work. Mahmud and I are hungry.”

“I’ve got kebab and kufta for you,” Tafida would say as she scuttled off to the kitchen, with Fawzy shouting after her, “Don’t forget the wine!”

Tafida would come back with a tray of kebabs and a bottle of French wine, and Mahmud would jump up to help her set the table while Fawzy just sat there smoking.

Fawzy never thanked her or complimented her on anything she did. He never made a comment unless it was to criticize. He would inspect the table laid with heaps of food and then look cross. “You’ve forgotten the tahina.”

Or he might test the baguette with his fingers and then throw it down on the table with disgust, complaining, “This bread’s stale.”

Tafida would rush to fix the mistake. Fawzy would eat with gusto and drink glass after glass of wine. Then he would get up and go to the bathroom, where Tafida had laid out towels and perfumed soap for him, as well as a brush and comb so he could groom his curly hair. He would take a bath and reappear wearing a dressing gown over his naked body. Tafida would be sitting there waiting, her face flushed, her breathing quick with excitement. Fawzy would sit down and put his arm around her without uttering a word. Then he would lean forward over the table, smoking a spliff as he drank more wine. During that lust-laden silence, Mahmud could not bring himself to say anything. He would just look straight ahead with a fixed smile, embarrassed at being there. Fawzy would carry on as if he were on his own, disregarding Mahmud. He would take a big drag on the spliff, hold the smoke in for maximum effect, then cough, take a glug of wine, wipe his hands across his broad hairy chest, belch loudly — a sign of manliness — and turn to Tafida, who was sitting there on tenterhooks. He would make no show of friendliness nor smile or whisper sweet nothings, instead simply dragging her by the hand into the bedroom when it was time.

The little show that Fawzy put on for Tafida made Mahmud cringe, and he could neither talk nor eat with any appetite. He would have to wait at least an hour for Fawzy to reemerge from the bedroom. He disliked sitting there with nothing to do, but he knew he could not get up and leave. Sometimes, Tafida’s lovemaking screams would reach his ears and make him angry for some reason he could not understand. He would go out onto the balcony to look at the cars and pedestrians down below. The time would pass slowly, but finally, Fawzy would appear again, showered and with his clothes back on.

“Come on, Mahmud. We’ll be off now!” he would announce proudly.

Fawzy got his two pounds. Then he started choosing items he wanted from her apartment. If he liked something, instead of stealing it, he would place it on the table in the sitting room. After getting his two pounds and carefully putting the banknotes away in his wallet, just as his father did with his earnings from the grocery, Fawzy would pick up the item he had chosen and state casually, “Tafida, I’m taking this.”

She did not dare to say a word. She would nod and smile and then cast a long glance at the item, as if to say farewell. Fawzy’s plunder included: a perfume bottle, an electric razor, a pocket torch and a bottle of whiskey. Fawzy was earning eight pounds a month from Tafida, not to mention his booty, but he kept all the money for himself rather than sharing it with Mahmud.

“Fawzy! Where’s the money you get from Tafida?” Mahmud would ask angrily.

“In a safe place.”

“Whatever I get from Rosa and Dagmar, I share it with you immediately, but you stash away your take. You’re just selfish, Fawzy.”

“Mr. Mahmud! What a thing to say!” Fawzy said quietly as he looked at his friend. “I’m like your brother, and what’s mine is yours. I’ve put the money in a post office account. You never know what might happen. If we need something, we’ve always got a reserve.”

Mahmud was not convinced and felt hurt, but he said nothing more about it and changed the subject. He was not capable of arguing with Fawzy long enough to resolve any matter. Fawzy was his teacher, one who guided and protected him. A soldier could not reproach his commanding officer! The most you could do was offer a comment, but if the officer disagreed, that would be the end of the matter. Mahmud needed Fawzy, and besides, he enjoyed his company. The two of them were living large. Nights out, money, girls. Every pleasure you could think of. The only thing that ruined Mahmud’s happiness was having to go to Tafida’s apartment with Fawzy. Every week, Fawzy would nag him until he gave in and went along.

The previous time, Mahmud had refused and tried to put his foot down, saying, “Fawzy, I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re just going there to sleep with her, so why do I have to go?”

“Listen. I want you there. What do you have to lose? You eat and drink for free. What’s the problem?”

“I don’t need it.”

“So, when your friend needs you, you give up on him. Is that what you call being a man?”

“I’d never give up on you, but I’m not going to Tafida’s.”

Fawzy tried to get him to change his mind, but whenever Mahmud recalled his embarrassment at sitting in the sitting room while Fawzy was banging away at Tafida, he just became angrier. After much haranguing, Fawzy was still having no luck, so he threw his last card down on the table. “All right, Mahmud. You don’t need to come to Tafida’s ever again. But please, just come tonight, for the last time. Tafida’s got a surprise for us.”

“What surprise?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise!”

Mahmud still appeared hesitant, but Fawzy promised him that it would be worth his while. Tafida had gone to great lengths to try to prepare them a nice surprise, and it would be wrong for Mahmud to cancel. So he should go this time. When the two friends went to Tafida’s apartment that evening, the visit proceeded along the usual lines. Tafida offered them a bottle of wine, stuffed vegetables and vine leaves and two roast chickens, one of which Fawzy ate all by himself. Then Fawzy went off to the bathroom and came back wearing the dressing gown over his naked body.

“How are you?” he asked Tafida playfully.

“I’m ready.”

“Then get on with it.”

Tafida jumped up from her armchair and went into another room as Fawzy smiled mysteriously at Mahmud. After a while, Tafida appeared again in the middle of the hallway.

“Ready?” she called out mischievously.

“You can come in now!” Fawzy replied theatrically.

Mahmud started to feel worried that something strange was about to happen. He turned to ask Fawzy what was going on, but the lights suddenly went off, and they were plunged into total darkness.