Hagg Azzam sat next to him in the car, but throughout the journey they exchanged no more than a few compliments, after which Azzam busied himself with telling his prayer beads and saying prayers. He knew that the Big Man lived on the Mariyut Canal, but he’d never imagined that his house would look the way it did — a vast palace, reminiscent of the royal palaces he’d seen as a child, set on a high hill which made it look like an impregnable citadel, and surrounded by not less than fifty acres of land, all of it under cultivation.
To cover the distance between the outer gate and the door of the palace, it took the car about half an hour, during which it traveled along a long highway amid gardens and trees. Three times it came to a halt in front of a security barrier where it was inspected by security men. They were enormous and dressed in three-piece suits with matching ties. Large pistols hung from their belts and in their hands they held electrically operated batons that whistled and which they carefully examined the car with, proceeding thereafter to scrutinize Hagg Azzam’s identity card, comparing its details with the permit that the secretary presented to them. This happened three times and annoyed Hagg Azzam so much that on the last occasion he came close to objecting. However, he suppressed his anger and kept silent and eventually the car mounted a broad, winding driveway that took it to the door of the palace. There the security procedures were repeated with the same care and thoroughness, and this time they opened and went through Hagg Azzam’s briefcase and then asked him to go through a metal detector. The annoyance showed clearly on his face and the secretary came up to him and said rudely, “The security procedures are essential.”
The secretary then asked him to wait in the lobby and disappeared. Hagg Azzam remained waiting for a while, during which he looked at the marble columns, the Persian designs on the luxurious carpets, and the giant crystal chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling. Slowly he started to feel annoyed and insulted and thought that they must be using this long wait and the exaggerated security procedures deliberately to humiliate him. “They treat me with contempt at the same time that they rob me of my money. They want to get a quarter of the profits on a platter and don’t utter a word of thanks, the impudent thugs!” Azzam’s resentment grew, his face darkened, and he felt a strong urge to pull out of the meeting; he felt like summoning the secretary then and there, and telling him that he was leaving, come what may, but in his heart he knew that that was impossible; even if they left him waiting the whole morning, he wouldn’t dare say a word in protest. He was swimming with the big fish now and one mistake could be the end of him. It was his responsibility to prepare his gambit and draw on all his experience so as to ensure that the Big Man felt sorry for him and to convince him to reduce the percentage to less than a quarter. That was the utmost he could do and any stupidity he might commit he would pay for dearly and immediately.
Finally he heard footsteps behind him and was seized by such terror that he found himself bereft of the strength to turn around. One of the guards appeared and made a sign to him to follow him. They walked down a long corridor, their footsteps ringing on the polished marble floor, and ended up in a spacious hall, with, facing the door, a large oak desk and a large conference table around which ten chairs were lined up. The guard signaled to Azzam to sit and said insolently as he departed, “Wait here till the Basha calls you.”
Azzam was perturbed by the use of the word “call.” Did that mean that perhaps the Big Man was not actually there? Why hadn’t he contacted him to cancel the appointment and save him all this trouble and why had they left him waiting so long? Suddenly, he heard a voice echoing loudly throughout the hall saying, “Welcome, Azzam!”
Seized by terror, he leaped to his feet and looked around, searching for the source of the voice, which uttered a gentle laugh and continued, “Don’t be scared! I’m somewhere else, but I’m calling you and I can see you. Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get to the point. Why did you ask to meet me?”
The Hagg pulled his wits together and made an effort to raise his voice and say the things that he’d prepared over the past two weeks, but he was so rattled that the ideas evaporated in his head. After a few moments he was just able to get out, “I’m at your service, sir, and Your Excellency’s to command. Your graciousness overwhelms me and your goodness embraces the whole nation. May Our Lord keep you for us and preserve you for Egypt! I live in expectation that Your Excellency will regard my case with mercy, sir. I have many responsibilities and I’ve got households to support, God knows. Twenty-five percent’s a great burden for me, sir, really.”
The Big Man said nothing, so Azzam was encouraged and he went on, “I am covetous of your Excellency’s generosity. For the sake of the Prophet, don’t send me away brokenhearted! If Your Excellency could lower the percentage to an eighth, for example, I’d be most grateful.”
Another moment of silence passed. Then the voice of the Big Man rang out irritably, “Listen, Azzam. I don’t have time to waste on you. That’s the set rate and it’s the same for everyone. We go into any big business like your agency as partners for a quarter of the profits. We get that percentage in return for our work. We protect you from the tax office, the insurance office, the safety standards office, the audit office, and a thousand other offices that could bring your project to a halt and destroy you in a flash. And anyway, you especially should thank God that we’re willing to work with you at all, because you’re in a dirty trade.”
“Dirty?”
Azzam repeated the word in a loud voice and a murmur of denial escaped from him that provoked the Big Man even more, for his voice rose warningly as he said, “Are you really an idiot or are you just pretending to be one? Your basic profit comes from a dirty trade that has nothing to do with the Japanese agency. Bottom line is, you deal in hard drugs and we know all about it. Sit at the desk and open the file with your name on it. You’ll find copies of the reports on your activities — investigations by National Security, the Narcotics Squad, and Central Criminal Investigations. We have everything. We’re the ones who have put a hold on them and we’re the ones who can activate them at a moment’s notice to destroy you. Sit down, Azzam, and don’t be silly — read the file. Study it and learn it well, and at the end, you’ll find a copy of our partnership contract. If you feel like signing it, sign it. It’s up to you.”
The Big Man let out a derisive laugh and the voice was cut off.
Abduh greeted him with distaste. He shook hands with him coldly without rising, then averted his face and occupied himself with his waterpipe. Hatim smiled and said affectionately, “What kind of a way to greet someone is this? At least order me some tea!”
Without looking at him Abduh clapped his hands and ordered a glass of tea from the waiter. Hatim began the conversation by saying, “My condolences, Abduh. You believe in Our Lord and His power. But does grieving over your son have to stop you from seeing me?”
Abduh suddenly exploded, “Stop it, Hatim Bey! God forgive us, my son died because of me.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning Our Lord punished me for sinning with you.”
“So everyone whose son dies is being punished by God?”
“Yes. Our Lord, Glorious and Mighty, ‘delays but does not forget.’ I offended greatly with you and I deserve to be punished.”
“Who made you believe that? Your wife Hidiya?”
“What business is it of yours if it was Hidiya or anyone else? I’m telling you it’s over between us. Each one goes his own way. I don’t see you and you don’t see me ever again.”
His voice was agitated and strangled and he was shouting and waving his hands as though to push himself past the point of no return. Hatim said nothing for a while, then started to talk calmly with a changed plan in mind.
“Okay, old chap. We’re agreed. You’ve left the roof and the kiosk and you want to end our relationship, and I agree. But where are you going to find the money for yourself and your wife?”
“God provides.”
“Of course God provides. But it’s my duty to help you, even if our relationship is over. Despite your ill treatment, Abduh, I still care about you… Listen. I’ve found you a great job so you’ll remember me kindly.”
Abduh remained silent and seemed to be hesitating. He took a long draw on the waterpipe as though to hide his confusion.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what the job is?… I’ve recommended you for the post of doorkeeper at the French Cultural Center in El Mounira. It’s a decent and easy job and the pay is five hundred pounds a month.”
Abduh remained silent, neither accepting nor objecting. Hatim, sensing his success, went on, “You deserve the best, Abduh. Here.”
He took a pen and a checkbook from his purse, put on his glasses, wrote a check, and said, smiling, “This is a
