don’t have any positions, but there are many elsewhere in the government; I might be able to steer you in the right direction.”
There was nothing particularly encouraging about this remark, but Mahgub felt compelled to respond, “Thank you, bey. Thank you.”
Al-Ikhshidi gave him a very enigmatic look and said, “I hope you’ll be pragmatic, grasp how the world works, and learn that every favor has a price. I’m not asking for anything myself, because I’m simply a guide.”
“Don’t say that. I beg God’s forgiveness.”
Al-Ikhshidi smiled and replied, “If you catch my drift, there are capable people who can help individuals like you.”
Al-Ikhshidi was silent for some moments before he continued, “There’s Abd al-Aziz Bey Radwan, for example. Haven’t you heard of him?”
“Of course. I think he’s a well-known businessman.”
“So he is, and currently his word carries a lot of weight. His sphere of influence is the Ministry of the Interior.”
The young man asked anxiously, “Why would he help me?”
“The way is easy, but you ought to know his cut from his nominees is a guarantee of half of the salary for a period of two years.”
This price alarmed the devastated young man. He looked at his companion fearfully. Then after some hesitation, he asked, “Isn’t there someone less demanding?”
Like a waiter reciting a menu, al-Ikhshidi immediately replied, “The well-known musician Miss Dawlat.”
Astonishment showed on the young man’s pale face. The other man ignored his reaction and continued, “Her area of influence is the railways, Ministry of Defense, and some of the larger agencies.”
Al-Ikhshidi drew heavily on his cigarette and then added, “The prices are as follows: eighth level: thirty pounds; seventh: forty; sixth: one hundred … payable in advance.”
Mahgub sighed in despair. Then after reflecting briefly, he said, “I suppose Abd al-Aziz Bey Radwan’s condition is more realistic, since I don’t have even a millieme of the sum requested by the musician. I could relinquish half of my salary if I had one. How do I contact him?”
“You can’t now—not for a month and a half, when he returns from performing the pilgrimage.”
Damn him! Mahgub would starve to death before the man returned. In a faint voice, as though afraid of vexing his companion, he observed, “Waiting means starvation, but what can I do?”
Laughing for the first time, al-Ikhshidi said, “You’re not a toy boy and your mother’s not a flirtatious coquette. So what can I do?”
They were silent, and al-Ikhshidi would certainly have ended the meeting had something not occurred to him. He considered quickly and then assured himself that while Mahgub would probably benefit from the experience, he himself certainly would—if his plan succeeded. So he said, “There’s Mrs. Ikram Nayruz.”
“Founder of the Society for Blind Women?”
“Yes.”
“But she’s very wealthy—her fortune’s proverbial.”
“Yes, yes. The lady doesn’t ask for money but is fond of fame and praise. I could introduce you to her some time. Then it would be up to you, relying on your pen and
The Star.
Should you succeed in pleasing her, your future will be guaranteed. She has vast influence in many ministries and political parties.”
He was hoping to exploit the young man to do publicity for her after introducing him as one of his flunkies. So he said, “Mrs. Nayruz is hosting a benefit next Sunday at the Society for Blind Women. Attend the party, and I’ll introduce you to the lady. Write about the benefit and its patron, and we’ll see … we’ll wait and see.”
“Will I achieve my objective this way?”
“That depends on your pen! You’ll have to purchase a ticket for fifty piasters, since you’re not a card-carrying journalist. Hopefully you’ll realize later that this trivial sum has been of more utility than sixty pounds paid to Miss Dawlat. So get with it. Don’t
There was nothing particularly encouraging about this remark, but Mahgub felt compelled to respond, “Thank you, bey. Thank you.”
Al-Ikhshidi gave him a very enigmatic look and said, “I hope you’ll be pragmatic, grasp how the world works, and learn that every favor has a price. I’m not asking for anything myself, because I’m simply a guide.”
“Don’t say that. I beg God’s forgiveness.”
Al-Ikhshidi smiled and replied, “If you catch my drift, there are capable people who can help individuals like you.”
Al-Ikhshidi was silent for some moments before he continued, “There’s Abd al-Aziz Bey Radwan, for example. Haven’t you heard of him?”
“Of course. I think he’s a well-known businessman.”
“So he is, and currently his word carries a lot of weight. His sphere of influence is the Ministry of the Interior.”
The young man asked anxiously, “Why would he help me?”
“The way is easy, but you ought to know his cut from his nominees is a guarantee of half of the salary for a period of two years.”
This price alarmed the devastated young man. He looked at his companion fearfully. Then after some hesitation, he asked, “Isn’t there someone less demanding?”
Like a waiter reciting a menu, al-Ikhshidi immediately replied, “The well-known musician Miss Dawlat.”
Astonishment showed on the young man’s pale face. The other man ignored his reaction and continued, “Her area of influence is the railways, Ministry of Defense, and some of the larger agencies.”
Al-Ikhshidi drew heavily on his cigarette and then added, “The prices are as follows: eighth level: thirty pounds; seventh: forty; sixth: one hundred … payable in advance.”
Mahgub sighed in despair. Then after reflecting briefly, he said, “I suppose Abd al-Aziz Bey Radwan’s condition is more realistic, since I don’t have even a millieme of the sum requested by the musician. I could relinquish half of my salary if I had one. How do I contact him?”
“You can’t now—not for a month and a half, when he returns from performing the pilgrimage.”
Damn him! Mahgub would starve to death before the man returned. In a faint voice, as though afraid of vexing his companion, he observed, “Waiting means starvation, but what can I do?”
Laughing for the first time, al-Ikhshidi said, “You’re not a toy boy and your mother’s not a flirtatious coquette. So what can I do?”
They were silent, and al-Ikhshidi would certainly have ended the meeting had something not occurred to him. He considered quickly and then assured himself that while Mahgub would probably benefit from the experience, he himself certainly would—if his plan succeeded. So he said, “There’s Mrs. Ikram Nayruz.”
“Founder of the Society for Blind Women?”
“Yes.”
“But she’s very wealthy—her fortune’s proverbial.”
“Yes, yes. The lady doesn’t ask for money but is fond of fame and praise. I could introduce you to her some time. Then it would be up to you, relying on your pen and
The Star.
Should you succeed in pleasing her, your future will be guaranteed. She has vast influence in many ministries and political parties.”
He was hoping to exploit the young man to do publicity for her after introducing him as one of his flunkies. So he said, “Mrs. Nayruz is hosting a benefit next Sunday at the Society for Blind Women. Attend the party, and I’ll introduce you to the lady. Write about the benefit and its patron, and we’ll see … we’ll wait and see.”
“Will I achieve my objective this way?”
“That depends on your pen! You’ll have to purchase a ticket for fifty piasters, since you’re not a card-carrying journalist. Hopefully you’ll realize later that this trivial sum has been of more utility than sixty pounds paid to Miss Dawlat. So get with it. Don’t
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