The Automobile Club of Egypt

39

It happened during the busiest time of day, when the king was there and the Club was crowded. The bar was teeming with customers when Bahr shot a look at his assistant, Abdoun, and the two of them left the bar together. There was something resolute about their gait, as if they were leaving, never to return. In the kitchen, Samahy suddenly got up and walked out without requesting permission from Rikabi, who started calling after him, but he disappeared quickly without looking back.

“By your mother’s life,” Rikabi roared, “you’ll pay for this.”

The same thing took place in the restaurant. The waiters, Nouri, Banan and Fidali, to the customers’ astonishment, set down the plates they had been carrying on the nearest table and walked out of the restaurant. In the casino, Jaber and Bashir also walked out. They all stopped work at the exact same moment and, as if according to plan, all started walking away. They went down the stairs and assembled in the Club’s entrance. No explanation was forthcoming until Bahr went to Maître Shakir and told him that he and his colleagues were waiting for him in front of the telephone cabin. Bahr did not give Shakir a chance to reply or ask anything. He got to the end of his sentence, then turned and went back to join the others. What happened that night will forever remain unique in the annals of the Automobile Club: eight members of the staff stopped work without permission and assembled in protest in the Club’s entrance hall. Maître Shakir rushed over to them and said in hushed, but angry, tones, “What’s got into you? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Abdoun answered immediately, “We are not working, and we want to see Alku.”

Maître Shakir looked at him with incredulity and said, “You want to see Alku? Go to his office!”

“We are staying here,” said Bahr, “until Alku comes to see us.”

As if knowing that there was no point in discussing the matter, Shakir turned and said, “All right. You don’t want to work? Don’t work! But standing here will get you nowhere. His Majesty is upstairs, and the Club members will see you as they come and leave.”

No one answered. They stood their ground. Maître Shakir, in growing confusion, thought it over for a few moments and then said, “Go into one of the offices until Alku arrives.”

The offer was unexpected, and the men looked at each other hesitantly, but Bahr decided the matter by saying, “We are not moving until we see Alku.”

The group muttered support, and Maître Shakir did not argue further. He disappeared inside the telephone cabin for a few minutes, then came out and, without acknowledging the men still standing there, went directly up the stairs and rushed back to the restaurant. Club members coming in through the front door on their way to the lift looked with astonishment at the strikers standing there, immobile and silent, as if they themselves could not believe what they were doing. Were they really refusing to work and waiting to confront Alku? It seemed like a strange dream. They knew that Alku would arrive at any moment, and yet they felt no fear. They were holding their ground to a degree that astonished even them. Where did they get their courage? It was as if, the moment they got over their initial fear, it disappeared completely. At that moment, they felt different. They were not servants, and Alku was not their master. They were staff at the Club demanding their rights, and if they felt so inclined, they could refrain from working. Their self-assuredness manifested itself in a new attitude and tone of voice.

“Listen, men!” Samahy called out. “When Alku gets here, let me talk with him.”

They looked at him and smiled. There was a certain disparity between his skinny build and the audacity he was showing.

“I’ll be doing the talking,” Bahr said. “I know Alku better than you.”

Samahy looked resentful, but Bahr laughed and added, “Don’t get angry, Samahy. I’ll let you talk, but when I’ve finished.”

Samahy nodded, and after a short while, Alku appeared, striding across the threshold, followed by Hameed and Suleyman the doorman. The strikers stood where they were. They did not rush over to greet him as usual.

“Why have you left your posts?” he asked with a breathless scowl.

“Your Excellency,” said Bahr firmly, “we have been working for nothing for three months.”

“It’s the same for your colleagues.”

“We’ve got nothing to do with them,” replied Bahr. “We’re the ones standing here in front of you, and we won’t go back to work until we get what we’re owed.”

Alku looked them over as if unable to believe what was happening, and then in a strange, hoarse voice, he said, “Get back to work.”

“We will only go back to work,” said Bahr, “when you have returned our tips to us, because that’s what we’re owed.”

“Yes!” added Samahy, who could hold himself back no longer. “If you want us to go to work, pay us what we’re owed.”

That did it. Puny little Samahy, to whom Alku usually never addressed a word and whose name he could not bring himself to utter, was standing up to his master! Alku glowered and ground his teeth.

“For the last time,” he announced, “don’t be stupid and go back to work.”

His voice boomed terrifyingly, and then there was silence. He stared at the men, but they just stood there, immovable and unshakable.

“We have made it clear,” said Abdoun. “No pay, no work.”

“What’s come over you, you sons of dogs!” shrieked Hameed, shaking with rage. “Is that any way to speak to your master?”

“Let them be,” Alku said, turning to Hameed. “They can do what they want.”

He spoke that last sentence as if it had some hidden meaning, then turned slowly and walked out of the Club. After a few steps outside, he stopped with his back toward them and addressed someone out of sight. Suddenly, a whistle sounded, and soldiers ran into the Club. There was no way for the strikers to put up any resistance. The soldiers arrested them and violently dragged them out. The strikers shouted out in protest, but the soldiers kept slapping and kicking them until they got them into the police car waiting for them outside the door.