As Mahgub considered his outfit and pale, withered face, blood rushed to his cheeks. Soon, however, he was able to tap into his brashness and insolence. Then he replied calmly, “As we stand here, I feel I’m a man wandering through a herd of cattle!”
He had barely finished his statement when he found himself face to face with Hamdis Bey. His heart pounded violently. He favored his relative with a glance that he wholeheartedly attempted to cleanse of fear and anxiety. He wondered how the man would address him. What would he say? What would he do?
Hamdis Bey recognized him, smiled, and held out his hand, saying, “How are you, Mahgub?”
They shook hands and parted without incident. Astonishment overwhelmed him. Tahiya must have kept the affair to herself! He had never thought that possible. He realized that Ahmad Badir was asking him a second time, “Do you know Hamdis Bey?”
He answered proudly, “Of course, naturally. He’s my mother’s paternal uncle’s son.”
“Why haven’t you ever told us about this distinguished relative?”
As though still buoyed by his delightful salvation, Mahgub replied in the same tone, “Tuzz!”
They descended the steps to the garden, and his eyes kept searching for Salim al-Ikhshidi. When would he introduce him to the lady? Was there any benefit to be hoped for? He passed clusters of women and men and examined an elite group of celebrities, some of whom were reserved while others were quite vivacious. A strange-looking individual attracted his attention. The gentleman had a huge, ill-proportioned body and a potbelly. He seemed animate matter that had yet to be molded into anything. He walked with his legs splayed apart as though disabled. All the same, he appeared to be esteemed, loved, and honored. He chatted with the high and mighty with an easy familiarity, teasing them and nonchalantly raising his voice while conversing with them or guffawing loudly. Mahgub was amazed and asked, “Since you know everything about everyone, who’s that?”
Ahmad Badir laughed and said, “How could you not know him? Azuz Darim was once a respected government official. Then he was forced to resign on a morals charge. So he worked in the private sector. He knew influential people and was returned to government service, prospering there without relinquishing his private enterprise.”
“How can he do both?”
“His business is his elegant apartment, which contains a gaming table and superbly endowed young women.”
Mahgub thought for a time, feeling depressed and disturbed. How could he excel in such a society? These people surpassed him in his own cynical principles, even without having to reason through them. They were just as irresponsible and daring as he was. So what was the use? Wouldn’t it be better for him to become a reformer like Ma’mun Radwan or Ali Taha? His reflections were interrupted by the appearance of a young man as handsome as the full moon. He was slender, extraordinarily good looking, smooth-complexioned, possessed of fascinating eyes, attractive features, and gleaming hair. He moved like a gazelle, exuding charm that was both feminine and masculine at once.
Mahgub could not keep himself from stammering, “My God! How handsome he is! Do you know him?”
Smiling, Ahmad Badir said, “Ahmad Midhat. He’s universally celebrated. They quite rightly call him ‘The Star of the East.’ ”
“A government official?”
“Bank of Egypt. He graduated from law school last year. His salary is thirty pounds.”
“Thirty pounds! Who is his sponsor?”
Badir laughed. “Idiot, he’s his own sponsor.”
The bell rang to call the guests, who were scattered throughout the garden, back to the recital hall. They all returned to take their seats in a calm and orderly fashion. The curtain soon rose to reveal a troupe of upper-class maidens in ravishing pharaonic costumes. They danced together a fascinating tableau that was sensitively expressed and that stole everyone’s heart. Even Ahmad Badir sang softly a line from Sayyid Darwish’s song, “Don’t let anyone disparage Egyptian women.” The audience applauded enthusiastically and appreciatively for the dancers.
When the beauty pageant was announced next, a tremor of desire and interest traveled through the audience. Onlookers were pervaded by an amazing delight. The panel of judges appeared on the stage. The pageant was the most enjoyable part of the soirée; in fact it was the only segment that aroused universal interest. After scrutinizing the judges carefully, Ahmad Badir smiled ironically and extracted from his pocket a card on which a word or two was written. He folded it till it looked like a twig and slipped it into Mahgub’s pocket, saying, “Keep this card till the winner is announced. When you unfold it, you’ll find the name of the beauty queen.”
Mahgub asked with astonishment, “How do you know?”
“Hush! Pay attention!”
Everyone’s eyes were directed to one place as the first contestant was called. She rose on the stage’s firmament like a luminous star; she was that brilliant and elegant. She paraded past in a gown of white silk, smiling quietly and graciously, although she failed to disguise her anxiety.
Ahmad Badir remarked regretfully, “In Europe, the contestants are nude! We’re satisfied with judging the trappings.”
As ironic as ever, Mahgub inquired, “Why don’t they choose judges who have inside experience?”
Everyone stared and some held binoculars. Others jotted down their observations in notebooks. The presentation and scrutiny continued without anyone being troubled by weariness or boredom. Faces as beautiful as the moon passed by in succession. Then the panel of judges disappeared for their consultation. A hubbub ensued as debate grew animated and many wagers were placed. The panel soon returned and announced the winner’s name: Miss Huda Haydar. Everyone applauded, her father the loudest of all. Mahgub drew the card from his pocket, unfolded it, and found that the winner’s name — Huda Haydar — was clearly inscribed on it. With an astonished expression on his face he asked his companion, “What’s the meaning of this?”
Ahmad Badir smiled — proud of his prognostication and his behind-the-scenes knowledge. He wanted to leave his friend in the dark, but Mahgub gave him such a hard time he felt compelled to silence him. So he said in a voice that was in no way exultant, “I learned this by accident. I saw the winner at the foot of the Great Pyramid two days ago with the journalists who are on the panel of judges. Does it astonish you?”
Mahgub Abd al-Da’im hated to be truly astonished. So he reined himself in and commented sullenly, “Of course not; nothing astonishes me. The appointment of government officials is rigged, the award of contracts is rigged, and elections themselves are rigged; so why shouldn’t the choice of a beauty queen also be rigged?”
The party was almost over when Mahgub remembered why he had come. He saw Mr. Salim al-Ikhshidi heading toward one of the doors. So he said goodbye to his friend and chased after al-Ikhshidi. The gentleman had forgotten all about him. They shook hands and walked together into the next room, which was large and magnificently furnished. Mrs. Nayruz was presiding over a small group of friends. Mahgub summoned his daring to keep from feeling awkward. Together with his patron he approached the distinguished lady. Al-Ikhshidi bent humbly over her hand and introduced him to her in his calm, resolute voice: “Mr. Mahgub Abd al-Da’im, representing The Star! A university graduate, he admires the astounding renaissance Your Excellency has orchestrated.”
Mahgub bowed to her, and she extended her hand, saying, “I’m proud of the new generation.” Then she concluded in French, “The vase is full of dirty water and must be cleansed and refilled.”