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mercy, but there were some who were unforgiving and would insist that the servant be punished.

       Fourth: Royal protocol

      Dealing with royalty was also part of the servants’ syllabus, and only when a servant showed proficiency in it could he graduate and be given work. This particular mode of behavior was Turkish in character and carried out only in the presence of a member of the royal family. A servant must leave the royal presence bowing continuously as he backs out of the room, the crucial point being that he never turn his back on a royal highness. This piece of etiquette required alertness and concentration and could only be attempted after much practice, as the servant might have to walk backward at any moment and without care might trip on something, bump into someone standing behind him or knock something over. What an unseemly sight that would be!

      Alku told his students time and again that proficiency in leaving the royal presence demanded the eye of a hawk, the gait of a gazelle and the cunning of a fox. Anyone undertaking it must have the details of the room engraved in his mind, so he might picture the exact path backward to avoid this chair and walk around that table, steering a path through the empty spaces, away from clusters of guests, until he safely reached the door. Properly performed, this particular act was considered one of Alku’s crowning glories. From his youth, he had been able to navigate the largest and most crowded salons backward in a most brilliant and unrivaled manner, as skillfully as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

      When Alku was satisfied that a servant had perfected the royal protocol, he would assign him places of work. The rules stipulated that those with dark complexions would work in close proximity to their masters in jobs such as waiters and valets. Those with light-brown skin would be sent off to work in the kitchens or as guards or gardeners. It was considered that a servant with a coal-black complexion showed off the true gentility of his master. This might have been a notion inherited from the days of slavery, or maybe it was that a light complexion was too similar to that of the master and thus ran the risk of their appearing indistinguishable at a distance. After a servant had been allotted work, Alku continued to rule over everything he did. A servant was not allowed to keep tips. He had to hand the cash over immediately to his superior, who, at the end of the day, would put it in the tips box. A servant was not allowed to carry any money in his robe, the smallest coin in his pocket subjecting him to harsh punishment. Alku took half of the tips for himself and split the rest among the servants according to seniority. This system was called the “trunk” and was written in stone. Woe betide anyone who infringed it.

      The trunk did not include the head servants. Rikabi the chef, Maître Shakir, Bahr the barman and Yusuf Tarboosh the casino manager all earned large amounts directly through their positions. From their extra earnings, they handed Alku a portion, which was called the “bonus.”

      In exchange, Alku also provided them staff flats in the Abdin district. Bachelors lived three or four to a flat, and separate flats were provided for married servants with families. Alku oversaw all the minutiae of their lives. He knew everything about them, including the names of their children. Alku never overlooked a detail. He saw to their needs, married them off and often even involved himself in settling their marital disputes. If a wife was being mistreated by her husband, Alku would listen to both parties, pass fair judgment and see that it was carried out. He might then pay them a surprise visit to check on how they were generally getting on with each other. Alku’s word was absolute law, his decision final, brooking no exception or appeal. From time to time, the servants would grumble to one another about Alku’s severity, although the plaintive, emotional and miserable tone of their whispers spoke of pain tinged with pleasure, in the manner of a wife satisfied in the most wonderful way sexually who complains about her husband’s brusqueness, never letting on that she rather enjoys his rough ways.

      The supreme authority that Alku wielded over the servants would suddenly invert itself in the presence of foreigners. He could be standing like a crowned king among the servants, but the moment he saw a foreigner, he would rush over and bow, opening the door of the salon or lift with his own hands. He would show complete deference, even veneration, to any foreigner, which was most sincere, as he believed firmly in the superiority of the white race. He would always tell people, “The foreigner is always better and cleverer than we are, and whether you are Arab or Nubian, you must treat him with more respect.” His submissiveness to foreigners actually served to augment his prestige, as if he were declaring to the servants, “I am the servant of His Majesty the king and of foreigners, but to you I am lord and master.”

      It was almost five o’clock in the afternoon when a black Cadillac cruised down Qasr al-Nil Street and stopped in front of the Automobile Club. The driver jumped out, bowed, and opened the door and Alku stepped out regally. He was dressed in his valet’s suit of green broadcloth, a zouave-style waistcoat with bullion embroidery, gold epaulets, and across his whole chest were gold aiguillettes, which swung gently whenever he moved his arms. He was wearing an elegant tarboosh and holding a cigar from which he took a puff from time to time, exhaling thick smoke, which obscured his face, the aroma mingling with his French eau de cologne.

      Behind Alku scurried Hameed, his right-hand man, who carried out the punishments he decreed for the servants, which ranged from slaps on the feet to the lash in the case of major infringements. Hameed was a chubby black man in his twenties whose every movement made his corpulent frame shudder like a soft, blubbery mass unrestrained by bone or sinew. He had a fixed expression of sullenness and exuded a generally sour aura. His supercilious, repugnant gaze was ever watching for the slightest blunder. There were dark rumors. People said that Hameed was Alku’s illegitimate son by a belly dancer Alku had fallen in love with and that although Alku refused to acknowledge his paternity, he had secretly looked after him and paid for his upbringing, before finally taking him on as his closest associate at work. It was also said that one of the servants had abused Hameed as a child and that he had grown up to be a homosexual. For according to the Upper Egyptian folklore so ardently believed by the servants, a tapeworm had come to live in his dark, dank sphincter, feeding exclusively on the semen of the men who screwed Hameed, and that whenever the worm was hungry, it would gnaw so ferociously at him that he had to rush around looking for someone to sodomize him just to soothe the pain. This was how Hameed came to be a queer who craved hairy chests and strong thighs and who quivered like a woman at the sight of an erect penis. It was this lustful inclination that, in the opinion of the servants, explained his delight at humiliating men and the glee with which he administered a beating. Some of the servants swore by God Almighty that they had seen with their own eyes how, after a good flogging, he ran his hand over the weals on the servant’s naked back and bit his lower lip to suppress the waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

      Most likely these stories were merely calumnies invented by the servants, who enjoyed swapping them surreptitiously out of their dread of Hameed, whom they detested no end.

      The moment Alku set foot in the Club, everyone knew at once, the servants asking each other in terror where he was headed and what he wanted. Had he come on a routine inspection or to investigate something reported to him by one of his ubiquitous spies? These questions always remained unanswered. Alku’s inspections were one of the vicissitudes of fate from which no one felt safe. One never knew how far they would reach, and so when they occurred, the servants would always pray to God for protection. No matter how skillful or experienced a servant might be, as in a game of roulette, he could never predict when his number would come up. For Alku, good and evil were completely random matters. He might spend a whole day checking the rims of the lift doors for traces of dust as his gaze darted over to old Mur’i the lift attendant, who would stand there quaking. He might then take the lift and head to the bar where Bahr the barman would rush over to him and say in Nubian, “Good afternoon, Your Excellency. To what do we owe the honor?”

      Alku did not answer greetings from servants, except a wave of his hand or a slight nod if he was in a good mood. If in a foul mood, he would raise his eyebrows almost imperceptibly or just ignore the greeting completely. Alku walked into the empty bar with the servants scurrying behind him and gestured to Hameed to open the wooden drawer with the previous night’s receipts. Reaching into the drawer, Hameed gave them a fleeting glance before flinging the slips into the air and, in a voice choked with anger, crying out, “Your tabs are really floating now, Bahr!”

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