The Yacoubian Building

by Alaa Al Aswany

  It had happened one night a few months ago that drunkenness got the better of Hatim and an implacable urge to have sex had swept over him. He left his apartment and wandered the downtown area. It was ten o’clock (the hour when the police privates change guard, one known to every Downtown homosexual as the hour at which they rush to meet their lovers among them) and Hatim was looking over the simple conscripts as they prepared to quit their shift when he saw Abd Rabbuh (who looked a lot like Idris). He got him into the car, gave him money, and kept fondling him until he succeeded in seducing him.

  Later Abd Rabbuh made many violent attempts to put an end to his relationship with Hatim, who was well aware from his long experience in homosexual love that the active homosexual who is just starting out, such as Abd Rabbuh, is usually possessed by a terrible sense of sin that soon develops into bitterness and black hatred for the passive homosexual who seduces him. He was also aware that the homosexual experience when repeated and the savoring of its sensual pleasures turn bit by bit into genuine desire on the part of the active partner, however much he may hate it and shy away from it at the beginning. As a result, Hatim and Abduh’s relationship swung from attempts at separation to reunions.

  Yesterday Abduh had left Chez Nous to escape from Hatim, but Hatim had caught up with him and insisted until he went with him to the apartment, where they had drunk a whole bottle of strong French wine together before making love—and now here was Hatim the next morning lying stretched out in the bathtub, surrendering himself to the jets of hot water spurting from the showerhead which felt to his body like armies of delicious ants, while he recalled, smiling, his passionate night with Abduh, whose body, its lust inflamed by the wine, had been wrung by numerous, successive spasms. Hatim stood up to dry himself in front of the mirror and clean his private parts with care, applying scented cream, then wrapped himself in a rose cashmere dressing gown, left the bathroom for the bedroom, and settled down to watch Abduh as he slept—his dark brown face, his thick lips, his snub Negroid nose, and the heavy eyebrows that gave his face its stern cast. He bent over him and kissed him and Abduh awoke and opened his eyes slowly.

  “Good morning! Bonjour!” whispered Hatim gently, smiling at Abduh, who sat up a little and leaned against the back of the bed, revealing his broad, dark chest covered with a forest of thick hair. Hatim pursued him with kisses, but Abduh pushed his face away with his hand, then looked downward and said bitterly as though breaking into a lament, “Hatim Bey, I’m in a real mess. Any day now the officer will refer me for punishment.”

  “Abduh! Do we have to start talking about the officer again? I told you not to worry. I’ve found someone who can put in a good word for you with him, a very important general in the Ministry.”

  “By the time you talk to him, I’ll have been flung in prison. My wife and little boy back in the village live off what I earn, Excellency. I wish I could get out of the army right away—if I go to prison, my family will be done for.”

  Hatim gazed at him tenderly and smiled. Then he got up slowly, went over to his small purse, took out a hundred-pound note, and thrust it toward him, saying, “Here. Send this to your wife and son, and if they ask for anything from me, I’ll take care of it for you. Tomorrow I’ll meet my relative the general and we’ll put in a word for you with the officer. Just please, for my sake, don’t upset yourself, Abduh.”

  Abduh looked down and whispered words of thanks. Hatim moved up to him until their bodies were completely joined and said to himself in French as he approached Abduh’s thick lips, “Quelle belle journée!”

  To: Taha Muhammad el Shazli, Citizen

  Yacoubian Building

  34, Talaat Harb Street

  Cairo

  Greetings:

  With reference to your complaint presented to the Presidency of the Republic concerning your rejection by the acceptance examination at the Police Academy: We have to inform you that the matter has been reviewed with the director of the Police Academy and it is evident to us that the complaint is unfounded. We wish you success.

  Please accept the assurance of our highest respect, General Hassan Bazaraa

  Director, Public Complaints Administration

  Presidency of the Republic

  The neighbors were used to hearing the sounds of Zaki el Dessouki and his sister Dawlat quarreling. It happened a lot and no longer aroused their surprise or curiosity. This time, however, the quarrel was different—more like a terrible explosion. Screams, ugly insults, and the loud sounds of hand-to-hand fighting reached the residents, who opened their doors and came out to reconnoiter. Some murmured nervously, preparing to intervene. Dawlat shouted in an angry voice, “You lost my diamond ring, you shit?”

  “Talk decently, Dawlat!”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t give it to one of your prostitute friends!”

  “I’m telling you, talk decently!”

  “I am still decent, in spite of you! It’s you that’s the laughingstock everyone despises! Get out of my house, you son of a bitch, you junkie!”

  “This is my apartment,” shouted Zaki Bey in an exhausted voice.

  “Not so, sweetheart. It’s the house of my father, the respected basha, which you have defiled with your filth!”

  Sounds of slaps and a battle followed, the door of the apartment opened, and Dawlat pushed Zaki outside, shouting, “Get out! I don’t ever want to see your miserable face again!”

  Zaki Bey came out and, catching sight of the throng of neighbors, turned around and said, “As you wish, Dawlat. I’m going.”

  Dawlat slammed the door and the sound of the bolt was heard as she locked it. The neighbors went up to Zaki Bey and said that what had happened just now was quite inappropriate and that whatever differences there might be, it was shameful for respectable people such as Zaki Bey and his sister to fight like that. Zaki Bey nodded, smiling sadly as he withdrew, and before entering the elevator told the neighbors in a conciliatory, apologetic tone, “Sorry to have disturbed you, everyone. It’s just a misunderstanding. God willing, everything will get sorted out.”

  The numerous, oft-repeated stories about the politician Kamal el Fouli assert that he grew up in an extremely poor family from Shibin el Kom, in the governorate of El Minoufiya. Despite his poverty he was extremely intelligent and ambitious, obtaining a general secondary certificate in 1955 with one of the top placements in the nation, and he plunged into politics the moment he joined the Faculty of Law. Kamal el Fouli became a member of each of the regime’s political structures in succession—the Liberation Organization and the National Union, followed by the Socialist Union and the Vanguard Organization, then the Center Platform, the Egypt Party, and, finally, the Patriotic Party. Throughout these shifts, he was always the most enthusiastic and loudest voice in support of the principles of the governing party. During Nasser’s era he gave lectures and wrote works on the necessity for and historical inevitability of the socialist transformation. And when the state switched to capitalism, he became one of the greatest supporters of privatization and the free economy, mounting from beneath the parliament dome a fierce and celebrated campaign against the public sector and totalitarian ideas in general. He was one of the few Egyptian politicians who had managed to keep a seat in parliament for more than thirty consecutive years.

  While it’s true that Egyptian elections are always fixed in favor of the ruling party, it is also true that Kamal el Fouli is endowed with a real talent for politics that would necessarily have enabled him to assume the highest positions of state even in a democratic society. This same authentic talent, however, like so many talents in Egypt, has been diverted, distorted, and adulterated by lying, hypocrisy, and intrigue till the name of Kamal el Fouli has come to represent in the minds of Egyptians the very essence of corruption and hypocrisy.

  He has risen through the party hierarchy to become secretary of the Patriotic Party and the primary arbiter of elections for the whole of Egypt, for he nominates or rejects whomever he wis
hes to or from the party’s list and personally supervises the fixing of elections from Alexandria to Aswan. He takes large bribes from the candidates to guarantee that the elections are fixed in their favor while at the same time covering up his corruption with all sorts of tricks, such as swapping favors and financial privileges that divert millions to leading politicians.

  El Fouli also keeps secret security reports and documents proving the malfeasances of officials so that he can use them to blackmail or if need be destroy them. At political meetings, whether in the People’s Assembly or the Patriotic Party, everyone shuts up when Kamal el Fouli speaks. Indeed a single stern look from him is enough to strike terror into the heart of any official. There are numerous celebrated incidents related about him in this context in which he made mincemeat of leading officials in public because they said something that he didn’t like, an example being the ruthless campaign that he led a few years ago (on behalf of leading officials) against Dr. El Ghamrawi, governor of the Bank of Egypt, which led in the end to the latter’s resignation. A more recent example occurred last year and affected the minister of religious endowments, who enjoyed a certain popularity that made him imagine that he was powerful and influential. Under the influence of this mistaken impression, the minister got up at a meeting of the Political Bureau of the Patriotic Party and made a violent attack on political corruption, demanding that party posts be cleansed of deviant elements and profiteers. Kamal el Fouli made a sign to the minister to bring his speech to a close, but the minister continued, ignoring him. At this point El Fouli interrupted him mockingly and, turning dramatically to those present, said, “Well, well! Whatever’s got into you, my dear minister? Given that Your Excellency is so concerned about fighting corruption, you might want to begin with yourself, sport. You borrowed ten million pounds from the Development Bank and for the last five years you’ve refused to pay the installments. By the way, the officials at the Bank intend to bring a case and make an example of you”—at which, the minister turned pale and sat down in silence amid the wisecracks and laughter of those present.

  Hagg Azzam was well aware of all this and so as soon as he decided to put himself forward as a candidate in the elections for the People’s Assembly he sought an appointment with Kamal el Fouli, who kept him waiting for a few weeks, then finally gave him one at the office of his son, the lawyer Yasser el Fouli, on Shihab Street in El Mohandiseen. After Friday prayers, Hagg Azzam and his son Fawzi went to the appointment. The office was empty except for security staff, Kamal el Fouli, and his son. Azzam and El Fouli embraced and exchanged prayers, compliments, and jokes, and one might have been forgiven for thinking the two were old friends who loved, understood, and respected each other.

  After a long conversation ranging over a number of topics by way of preparation, Azzam broached the subject. He spoke of how he loved the people and of his desire to serve them, quoting more than one of the Prophet’s noble hadiths concerning the rewards waiting for those who strive to meet the needs of the Muslims, Kamal el Fouli nodding in agreement. Finally Azzam came to the critical point. He said, “This is why I have sought God’s guidance, placed my trust in Him, and decided, God willing, to put myself forward as a candidate in the coming elections for my constituency, Kasr el Nil. I hope that the Patriotic Party will agree to nominate me and I’m yours to command, Kamal Bey, for anything you may need.”

  El Fouli made a show of thinking deeply, even though he had been expecting Azzam to say this.

  El Fouli made contradictory impressions on people who saw him. There were his intelligence, quick-wittedness, and overwhelming presence on the one side and on the other his corpulent body, his sagging belly, his always slightly loosened neck tie, the hideous, mismatched colors of his clothes, his crudely dyed hair, his coarse, fat face, his lying, vicious, impertinent looks, and his plebeian manner of speaking, when he would stretch his arms out in front of him, waggling his fingers and shaking his shoulders and belly as he talked, like a woman of the lower classes. All the preceding gave him a somewhat comic appearance, as though he were putting on a turn for the amusement of the bystanders. It also left one with an unpleasant feeling of vulgarity.

  El Fouli asked his helpers for pen and paper. Then he started to draw and for a few moments was so absorbed in his task that Hagg Azzam thought that something was wrong. El Fouli soon finished, however, and turned the piece of paper toward Azzam, who was astonished to see that the drawing represented a large rabbit. He said nothing for a moment, then asked him in an amicable way, “I don’t understand what you mean, Your Excellency.”

  El Fouli answered quickly, “You want to guarantee your success in the elections, and you’re asking what’s needed. I’ve drawn you a picture of what’s needed.”

  “A whole ‘rabbit’? A million pounds, Kamal Bey? That’s a huge amount!”

  Azzam had been expecting the amount but preferred to bargain, just in case. El Fouli said, “Listen, Hagg, as God is my witness…

  (Here all present repeated, “There is no god but God.”)

  “…in constituencies smaller than Kasr el Nil I take a million and a half, two million, and my son Yasser is standing here in front of you and he can tell you. But I love you, I swear to God, Hagg, and I really want you with us in the Assembly. Plus, I don’t take all that for myself. I’m just the postman—I take from you and deliver to others, and a nod’s as good as a wink.”

  Hagg Azzam put on a show of uneasiness for a moment, then asked, “You mean, if I pay that sum, Kamal Bey, I’ll be sure of winning the elections, God willing?”

  “Shame on you, Hagg! You’re talking to Kamal el Fouli! Thirty years’ experience in parliament! There’s not a candidate in Egypt can win without our say-so, God willing!”

  “I hear there are some big fish intending to nominate themselves for Kasr el Nil.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If we come to an understanding, God willing, you’ll win in Kasr el Nil even if the devil himself stands against you. Just leave it to me, Hagg.”

  El Fouli then laughed and leaning back and rubbing his big belly said complacently, “People are naïve when they get the idea that we fix elections. Nothing of the kind. It just comes down to the fact that we’ve studied the Egyptian people well. Our Lord created the Egyptians to accept government authority. No Egyptian can go against his government. Some peoples are excitable and rebellious by nature, but the Egyptian keeps his head down his whole life long so he can eat. It says so in the history books. The Egyptians are the easiest people in the world to rule. The moment you take power, they submit to you and grovel to you and you can do what you want with them. Any party in Egypt, when it makes elections and is in power, is bound to win, because the Egyptian is bound to support the government. It’s just the way God made him.”

  Azzam pretended to be confused and unconvinced by El Fouli’s words. Then he asked him about the payment details and the other said simply, “Listen up, Hagg. If it’s in cash, I’ll take it. If it’s a check, make it out to ‘Yasser el Fouli, Lawyer’ and make a contract with him for any case, as though you were hiring him for it. You understand, of course, that these are mere formalities.”

  Hagg Azzam was silent for a moment. Then he took out his checkbook and said as he undid his gold pen, “Fine. Let’s do it. I’ll write a check for half. Then when I win, God willing, I’ll pay the rest.”

  “No way, sugar! Shame on you—you’ll get me upset if you go on like that. Keep that kind of stuff for school kids. The way I do things is pay first, take later. Pay the whole amount and I’ll congratulate you on getting into the Assembly and read the Fatiha with you right now!”

  It had been Azzam’s last ploy, and when it failed, he surrendered. He wrote out the check for a million pounds, examined it carefully as was his custom, and then handed it to El Fouli, who took it and gave it to his son. Then El Fouli grinned all over his face and said gaily, “Congratulations, Hagg! Come on, let’s read the Fatiha. May the Lord be generous to us and grant us success!
You’ll find the contract ready with Yasser.”

  The four of them—El Fouli, Azzam, and their two sons—closed their eyes, held their hands before their breasts in supplication, and set to reciting the Fatiha under their breath.

  Hagg Azzam paid the money to El Fouli and imagined the elections had been decided in his favor, but that was not the case. There was fierce competition in the Kasr el Nil constituency among a number of businessmen, each of whom wanted to win the Workers’ seat in the People’s Assembly. Hagg Azzam’s strongest competitor was Hagg Abu Himeida, owner of the famous Approval and Light clothing store chain. Just as the two poles repel one another in nature, so the sharp dislike between the two Haggs derived in essence from their many points of similiarity. Thus Abu Himeida, like Azzam, had originally been a simple laborer in Port Said. Then in less than twenty years his wealth increased vastly till he became one of Egypt’s millionaires.