Aisha walked right over to him and then gave him two almighty slaps on the face, shouting, “May God punish you! What a miserable marriage! I was warned from the outset that you were tighter with money than Yazid’s dog!”
“Then why did you marry me? Were you forced into it?”
“I was young and stupid. The day I met you was the worst day of my life!”
Ali answered calmly, “Don’t worry your pretty face. If you want, we can end it and each go our separate ways.”
“Chance would be a fine thing. If you were a man, you’d divorce me.”
“Then give me back your wedding jewelry first!”
Aisha took a deep breath and then let out an audible snort as she waved her finger in the air in that recognizable gesture of insult as if to an imaginary audience, as she shouted, “What are you saying? What bloody jewelry, you useless man?”
“The bloody jewelry I provided upon our marriage. Give it back and I’ll divorce you.”
“I’d rather flush it down the drain, you miserable bastard.”
Aisha rushed off to the bedroom and came back with a velvet box containing the gold necklace that was her dowry. She shrieked as she threw it onto his lap, “Take it, you piece of filth! And I hope you’re happy with it!”
Ali grabbed the box, opened it and checked its contents, almost sniffing it, as if he were receiving goods for his shop. Then he gently shut it and carefully placed it beside him on the sofa, pondering ruefully aloud, “I dragged you up from nowhere. I wonder how it feels to have nothing again.”
Aisha was now working herself up into a froth of anger, and as she shrieked yelps of fury, she let her galabiyya slip to the floor, leaving her standing there completely naked. She started beating her fists against her thighs and declaring, “Just so you know— you were right, Mama! He is such an upstanding man that I hope God sends him downward to hell!”
“Oh, so now you want to keep me from going to heaven, you piece of vermin?”
She went for him. She clasped her hands together and brought them down on his chest. He pushed her away, jumped up and darted away from her reach. Clutching the jewelry box under his arm, he rushed out of the room with the sound of her curses ringing out after him.
6
Every night Bahr the barman would stand behind the bar in the dim light. Behind him were various bottles and shelves with downturned wineglasses. A man in his fifties, in his gleaming suit, white shirt and red bow tie, he looked for all the world like a born barman. Indeed, the few times that some of his customers saw him outside the bar, walking in the street and out of uniform, he seemed somehow out of place.
Bahr plied his profession with the precision and absorption of a concert pianist. He would take an order, bow and smile, and then prepare the drink. If a customer ordered a cocktail, he would make a performance out of its preparation. He would twirl around on one leg as he lovingly mixed the ingredients. He did this little dance as he shook the cocktail shaker and then poured the drink into the glass, serving it with another small bow, which he held for a few seconds as if waiting for applause. Patrons in the bar would look at him with amazement, and he was seldom denied a “Bravo. Well done, barman!”
Every day until one o’clock in the morning, Bahr would see to it that service in the bar was entirely up to scratch. He would scour all the corners of the bar, watching the staff like a hawk as they served drinks to the members. At the first sign of a mistake, his face would start to twitch in a way the staff noticed immediately. Then in the same code, a signal only the staff understood, he might scowl, raise his eyebrows, shake his head or gesture with his hands, and his men would put things to right. If he was gesturing hurriedly, they would speed up, and if he was indicating to the contrary, they would slow down. He might have been a conductor beating out the tempo with his baton. When it came to the customers, Bahr showed them utmost care and sensitivity. Drinkers could be fickle and their mood highly changeable, but Bahr knew exactly when a customer needed to talk and when he needed to be left in silence, when Bahr should offer a pleasant anecdote or keep his distance. He could uncannily tell from the very first moment if a customer was drinking to forget his sorrows or to celebrate or simply out of habit. He could discern with one glance whether the lady sitting with a customer was his wife or mistress, and he knew immediately whether a drink would further improve a customer’s good nature and generosity, or in the case of a foul-tempered man, only make him more aggressive. Bahr was never upset by the slights uttered by drunkards, as he knew that they were no longer in control of themselves, and in fact he would always tell his staff, “Never be offended by a drunk . . . You must look after a drunk!” If someone was completely out of control, Bahr would follow a strict professional protocol, refusing to serve the man any more or in a pinch giving him a glass of ice water with a drop of whiskey in it for a touch of color. Bahr would then help the drunk out by summoning his driver, or if none was waiting, Bahr would prevent the drunk from getting into his car, and then he would call a taxi, paying the fare in advance so that the club’s patron would not be fleeced.
Unlike most of the other staff, Bahr the barman showed no humility. He did not consider himself a servant. His work was on a different level than simple cleaning or carrying out orders. It cannot be denied that he too was subject to Alku’s authority along with the other staff, but he felt himself a professional. He was the master of a sophisticated craft, and his pride in this enabled him to uphold his dignity. He could put up with all sorts of drunken antics, but he would not countenance slights from sober customers. These he would answer with certain effective and safe acts of retribution— effective because they were a satisfying form of vengeance, safe because they could not be interpreted as anything other than acts of politeness. For example, Bahr might take a long time to respond to an order from an offensive customer, apologizing as he served him with obvious insincerity in his voice, thereby registering his resentment but providing no pretext for complaint.
Another way of getting even was to treat the customer with the utmost respect but call him by the wrong name, a method that caused even more chagrin if the customer was in the company of a lady who was not his wife! If the customer failed to notice that he was being wrongly addressed, Bahr would repeat himself until the customer corrected him, whereupon he would apologize profusely but too late since the message would have already been delivered— that the customer was a man of such insignificance in the Automobile Club that the barman did not even know his name.
The third method was to make a big show of welcoming the customer and bowing to him, but as soon as the customer looked at him, he would look back with an expression of disgust for a fleeting moment before carrying on with the unctuous welcome as if nothing were amiss.
Finally, there was a fourth method, which Bahr had only resorted to once. This had happened two years ago during a visit from Abd el-Al Pasha Hafiz, minister of justice, who was known for his sharp tongue and for the enjoyment he derived from humiliating anyone who worked for him, whether of high or low rank. Bahr tried as hard as he could to avoid any conflict, but in vain. The pasha treated him from the first with sneering arrogance. Bahr served him a chilled bottle of beer, and when Abd el-Al Pasha finished it, he called out in a voice so loud that everyone in the bar could hear him, “When I finish my drink, you are supposed to come and ask me if I would like another one. Am I supposed to do your job? You’re not a barman. You’re a bloody donkey!”
Bahr could not remember ever having felt as humiliated as he did that night. Suddenly, an idea came to him. He grabbed a bottle of beer and left the bar. He crossed the hallway, making sure that no one saw him, and still clutching the bottle, went into the toilets, returning quickly to the bar and putting the bottle back on the shelf behind the bar. When the Pasha ordered his third bottle of beer, Bahr served him and watched with some pleasure as the bloated Abd el-Al Pasha Hafiz, minister of justice,