The Yacoubian Building

Hamidu lowered his head in silence and Fawzi’s voice rose again.

“My father, Hagg Azzam, is a God-fearing man. He has divorced you and given you more than your rights, God recompense him. The deferred payment and the support money we have calculated as God’s Law requires, and there’s something extra as a gift from us. Your brother Hamidu has a check for twenty thousand pounds. The hospital bill is paid and we’ve taken all your things from the house and we’ll send them to you in Alexandria.”

A deep silence prevailed. Souad, broken now, was weeping quietly. Fawzi got up. At that moment, he appeared strong and decisive, as though everything in the world depended on whatever utterance he might make. He took two steps in the direction of the door. Then he turned as though remembering something and said, “Captain Hamidu. Get your sister to calm down; she’s a bit unbalanced. The whole thing’s over and done with and she’s got what she’s owed to the last cent. We started on a friendly basis and we’ve finished on a friendly basis. If you and your sister make problems or start talking, we know how to put you in your place. This country is ours, Hamidu. We have a long reach and we have all kinds of ways of dealing with people. Choose the kind you want.”

He walked slowly and deliberately away until he exited the room, the flaps of the door slapping behind him.

As a man will flick off with his fingers a few flecks of dust that have clung to the breast of his smart suit and continue on his way as though nothing had happened, so Hagg Azzam got rid of Souad Gaber and was able to erase his affection for her. It was the memory of her delectable, hot, supple body that kept coming back to him and he made a massive and painful effort to forget her, recalling deliberately her savage, hateful face during the final scene and imagining the problems and scandals that would have plagued him if he hadn’t got rid of her. He consoled himself with the thought that his marriage to her, while providing him with wonderful times, hadn’t cost him a great deal. He also thought that his experience with her might be replicable. Beautiful poor women were in good supply and wedlock was holy, not something anyone could be reproached for.

By means of such thoughts he had tried to wipe the image of Souad from his memory, sometimes succeeding and sometimes failing, and he had thrown himself into the maelstrom of his work in order to forget. With the opening of the Tasso automobile agency due in a few days he had set up an operations room in his office with his sons Fawzi and Quadri. As though going to war, he had overseen the preparations for the huge party at the Hotel Semiramis, personally inviting all the big shots in the city. All had come — present and former ministers, high ranking civil servants, and editors-in-chief of the main national newspapers, their friendship costing him dozens of cars that he gave away free or for a symbolic price. This was done with the agreement of the Japanese officials and sometimes at their suggestion.

The party went on to a late hour with the television broadcasting bits of it as paid advertisements and the newspapers giving it full coverage. A well-known economic columnist at al-Akhbar newspaper wrote a piece presenting the opening of the Tasso agency as a courageous, patriotic step, boldly undertaken by the authentically Egyptian businessman Hagg Azzam to break the monopoly by Western cars. The columnist urged all Egyptian businessmen to choose the same righteous, difficult path as Hagg Azzam for the sake of Egypt’s rebirth and the health of its economy. For two whole weeks the newspapers were filled with pictures of Hagg Azzam and statements by him. The picture that was published of the signing of the contract for the agency was exceptionally expressive in that it showed Hagg Azzam with his huge body, plebeian face, and darting, cunning glances and sitting next to him Mr. Yen Ki, chairman of Tasso’s board with his slight Japanese build, his straightforward look, and his serious, refined face — as though the difference between the two men epitomized the vast distance between what happens in Japan and what happens in Egypt.

From the first months the agency realized incredible sales exceeding all expectations, the profits pouring down on Hagg Azzam, who received his Lord’s grace with gratitude, paying out from them tens of thousands of pounds in charity. The Japanese side offered Azzam additional projects for service stations in Cairo and Alexandria and Hagg Azzam lived his most glorious days ever with only one thing to spoil them, something he had tried to ignore but in vain. El Fouli had hounded him for a meeting and Azzam kept putting him off till he could do so no longer. In the end, he agreed and went to meet El Fouli at the Sheraton, having prepared himself ahead of time for a difficult interview.

The hallway, dark in the middle of the day and crowded to overflowing, appeared more like the third-class car of a train to Upper Egypt than the reception area of a hospital: the women were standing, loaded with their sick children, the smell of sweat was stifling, the floor and walls were filthy, the few male nurses who were organizing entry to the examination room were abusing the women and shoving them, and there was endless fighting, screaming, and tumult. Hatim Rasheed and Abduh, along with Hidiya, arrived carrying the child, who never stopped crying. They stood for a while in the crowd and then Hatim went up to one of the nurses and asked to meet the director of the hospital. The nurse looked at him with annoyance and told him the director wasn’t there. Abduh almost got into a fight with him when the nurse told him that he had to wait his turn for the child to be seen. Hatim then went out to the nearest public telephone and called several numbers from the small notebook that he always kept in his pocket with the result that the hospital’s deputy director came out to them and received them warmly, apologizing for the absence of the director. The deputy director was a fat man with a pale complexion whose face gave an impression of good-heartedness and straightforwardness. He examined the child carefully, then said in an anxious voice, “Unfortunately, the case is advanced and critical. The boy is dehydrated and feverish.”

He wrote out some papers, which he gave to Abduh, who was a nervous wreck, smoking incessantly and railing at his wife. Then he took the child in his arms and ran with the nurse, to whom the doctor’s concern over the case had transmitted itself, and they put the child in the intensive care ward. Glucose tubes were put into his small arms, but his face was extremely pale, his eyes sunken, and his crying was getting softer. Everyone felt heavily despondent. In response to Abduh’s question, the nurse said, “The treatment will begin to show results after at least two hours. Our Lord is merciful.”

Silence reigned again and Hidiya started to cry quietly. Hatim took Abduh aside, thrust a bundle of banknotes into his pocket, and patted him on the shoulder saying, “Take these, Abduh, for the hospital charges and if you need anything, please call me. I have to go to the paper. I’ll call you to find out how you’re doing tonight.”

“I wish I’d met you a long time ago!”

“Why?”

“My life would have been completely different.”

“You’re still alive. Go ahead and change it.”

“Change what, Busayna? I’m sixty-five years old. ‘The End,’ you know.”

“Who says? You could live another twenty, thirty years. It’s God that decides how long people live.”

“That would be nice. One would really like to live another thirty years, at least.”

They laughed together, he in his husky voice, she in her repeated, melodious chirrups. They were lying naked on the bed and he was holding her in his arms enjoying the touch of her smooth, thick hair on his arm. They had freed themselves utterly from any feeling of the privacy of each other’s bodies and would spend hours completely naked. She would make him coffee and prepare his glasses of whisky and hors d’?uvres and from time to time they would sleep together. He might make love to her, but often they would just lie like that. He would turn off the light in the room and watch her face in the low, tremulous light that came from the street. At such moments she appeared unreal to him, a beautiful apparition, a night creature that with the first light of dawn would disappear as suddenly as it had come. They would talk, her voice in the darkness sounding deep, sweet, and warm. In a serious tone she said, staring at the ceiling, “When are we leaving?”

“Leaving for where?”

“You promised me we’d go somewhere together.”

Gazing at her face, he asked her, “You still hate this country?”