Classic Short Fiction: ‘Deducted from Official Budgetary Sources’
Deducted from Official Budgetary Sources
By Abdelhamid Gouda Al-Sahhar
Translated by Amr El-Zawawy
Hamada arrived at the Diwan early in the morning. One of the office boys saw him and gave a start of surprise, since Hamada usually arrived at ten in the morning, or even later, if he felt disposed to go to work at all. Hamada walked down the long corridor until he reached his office. He opened the door onto a posh room, elegantly arranged, floor covered in expensive carpets, and walls decorated with beautiful paintings. The office did not look like a governmental one, since it was far from simple, and the leather-and-velvet seats were redolent of powerful attorney. On the desk sat a huge, deluxe inkwell and expensive penholders, full of clean pens that had never been stained by ink. Not a single sheet of paper was placed on the desktop—not because Hamada Bey had never deferred today’s work to tomorrow— but because he did nothing save signing correspondences that were carried over to him by his civil servants. And those, he did not even read. “Mr Effendi, I trust you, and take your correspondence for granted!” he often said, to justify his laziness. He would even jot down the signature before he received an answer from the servant. His signature cost the government thirty pounds every month.
The dustbin had not been blessed with a piece of paper since the day Hamada had taken hold of that office and bought luxury furniture to fill it, following his extraordinary promotion. Hamada was no genius: he had never prepared a rough draft. Even when it came to his private letters, he would ask one of his civil servants to write them. Hamada kept the dustbin only to make sure the image of his office was complete.
Indeed, Hamada’s name was always there on all promotion lists. It even was the first, right there at the top. He knew full well how to be elevated quickly: to him, sincere effort was not alone enough to get a promotion. You had to be close to the top people: the closer you got, the quicker you got a promotion! This included marrying off one of the top people’s relatives, and partying with managers and providing all the amenities they needed! You have to attend their funerals, visit their ill acquaintances, and dance in their parties. Hamada did all this and licked the boots of his superiors, too. All other parasites extolled Hamada’s virtues and provided everything he needed to win the top director’s favor!
Everyone was at his beck and call. If he cracked a stale joke, they would all laugh. If he dropped a suggestion, they would all support it. If he got promoted, as often happened, they would all congratulate him.
Hamada stepped into his office, grabbed his seat, and flung himself on it. He felt a raging headache, and he pressed tightly against his temples. He remembered that there were aspirin tablets in the drawer. He took one and buzzed for the office boy to bring him a cup of water. Before long, the office boy returned with a glass. “Close the door as you leave,” Hamada ordered. “Yes, sir.”
Hamada gulped the aspirin and buried his head in his arms and slept. Hours passed, and then the heads of departments—Ali, Mahmoud, and Hussein—entered. The had actually been in their niches for four years, which was the official term for being promoted to a higher rank. They coveted promotions, so they kept Hamada’s company day and night. Their aim was that Hamada would speak well of them when in conversation with his stubborn father-in-law. They glimpsed Hamada dozing in his office, so they tiptoed and lined up in front of him. In unison, they intoned, “Good morning, Hamada Bey.” Hamada did not budge. Again, they raised their voices, “Good morning, Hamada Bey?” Nothing from Hamada. They now shouted in piercing tone, “GOOD MORNING, HAMADA BEY!”
Hamada lifted his head, still half-sleeping. He saw they were there salaaming and smiling broadly. He stretched and half-heartedly shook hands with them. He then returned to his luxurious leather seat. They all sat around him.
“How did you drive back home yesterday? I didn’t catch sight of a single car on the road,” Hussein said.
“You mean today? We left the club at three in the morning,” Mahmoud joked.
“I didn’t go home,” Hamada replied suavely. “I kept walking along the Nile Corniche until the first tram appeared, and I rode it to Khedive Ismael Square, where I had my breakfast and made for here.”
The friends laughed, then Mahmoud said: “How did you report back to your wife?” He straightened, twirling an imagined mustache.
“Don’t worry. I already told her I’ll be on assignment for two days.” Hamada chuckled.
“A gambling assignment, sly guy,” Hussein shot back while the others burst into laughter.
“How much were your winnings yesterday, Hamada Bey?” Mahmoud asked.
“Peanuts,” Hamada retorted.
“Come on! You robbed us clean. And it came early this month!” Ali said. Hussein grabbed the small table and examined it.
“What about finishing the game here?” Hussein suggested.
“No way!” Mahmoud shot back, flagging now.
“No bad idea,” Hamada said.
The phone buzzed. Reluctantly, Hamada picked up the phone. “Hello!” His face stiffened out of concern and he sat at the edge of his seat. “Good morning, Fifi. I’m very busy… No, I’m not lying. Believe me! I was on assignment…”
He turned his face to his friends and winked. “You want to see me now at Groppy? No, no. I’m very busy managing people’s affairs! All right, all right! I can’t put up with your anger. I’m coming right now!”
Hamada hang up and made for the door. “Where to?” Mahmoud asked.
“To her,” he shot back.
“What about our appointment tonight?”
Leaving the office, Hamada said, “And other nights, too.”
Addressing his friends, Hussein said: “What a lucky man! He married the top manager’s daughter and got promoted to the 4th class in just a few years. Then he got hold of the most luxurious office in the building—it’s plusher than the manager’s! Our offices are still dingy. As 3rd class clerks, we’ll have worked in them for two years now, when they’re not fit to serve as kitchens! He’s got pretty girls, power, and he’s lazy. His mother must’ve been a saint!”
They all dispersed, while Hamada had just stepped outside. He saw the official car, so he got into it without waiting for the driver. He drove very fast until he reached a crossroads, where he did not slow down. Another car was coming in the opposite direction. They almost collided, but Hamada swerved past it so that his car veered and bounced into a nearby wall, where it was smashed.
The top manager got wind of this. He ordered an interrogation committee be formed, headed by Mahmoud and two other members, Hussein and Ali. The solemn committee convened in Hamada’s office. Mahmoud locked the door. Smiling, he said: “The party’s still going on! Get out the deck of cards, Hamada!”
“What about the interrogation committee?”
“Not now!”
“But let’s finish it off first.”
“It won’t take more than a few minutes. Leave it for now,” Mahmoud interrupted.
So, the company sat there playing cards. Time flew. Hussein looked at the clock and said: “Half an hour before the manager leaves. He requested the committee’s decision be submitted to him today, right?”
“Get a sheet of paper,” Mahmoud said.
“How on earth are we going to draft decisions without interrogating Hamada? His talk might run counter to our decision,” Hussein put in.
“Let Hamada write down his affidavit. He should say that his car veered because of a kid crossing the road. Then I’ll draft the decision, and you Hussein should make up the driver’s affidavit. Stress the fact that he is guilty of contributory negligence, because he left the car unattended. I will request he be severely punished!”
Mahmoud picked up a pen and paper and wrote the following:
“THE DECISIONS OF THE INTERROGATION COMMITTEE
“Having compiled the witnesses’ affidavits and interrogated H.E. Hamada Effendi Hammouda, the Committee learned that H.E. Hamada Effendi was urgently assigned an outside task that, if unfulfilled, would cause fiduciary damage. Thus, he headed for the official vehicle to ride in it. However, upon arriving, he failed to find the driver. Having permission to drive official vehicles, he found himself obliged to drive it out of commitment to his assigned task. He drove it at a moderate speed, which all witnesses confirmed. On his way, he failed to dodge a child crossing the road, and had to change directions, so that the car bounced into a wall and was damaged.
“The Committee hereby considers the accident unforeseen and sees as appropriate the following punitive actions:
“1. The driver be punished according to laws and regulations, so that he refrains from repeating the same behavior;
“2. The fees for repairing the vehicle be deducted from official budgetary sources.
“This is a tentative decision liable to higher approval.
“The signature of the committee’s chair
“The signature of the committee’s members…”
The committee was dismissed, and everyone was satisfied. They all praised God for allowing them this golden opportunity to serve the top manager by acquitting Hamada, his son-in-law. And they were all eagerly awaiting future promotions!
Abdelhamid Gouda Al-Sahhar was born in Cairo on April 25, 1913, and he passed away there on January 22, 1974. He was appointed Editor-in-Chief of Al-Cinema magazine in 1973. He held a Bachelor’s degree in Commerce from Fouad I University (now Cairo University) in 1937. Like most of his contemporaries, he began his literary career by writing short stories. He then specialized in Islamic novels and books. The present short story is translated from his collection Being a Civil Servant, published in 1944.
Amr El-Zawawy is Professor of Linguistics and Translation, Faculty of Education, Alexandria University, Alexandria, Egypt. He has also practiced written and simultaneous translation for more than 20 years now. He contributed important articles to different international scholarly journals, including but not limited to Babel (John Benjamins), Journal of Psycholinguistics, California Linguistic Notes and Advances in Language and Literary Studies. He published a number of books and translations, including Studies in Contrastive Linguistics and Stylistics (Novika, USA), Exploring the Cognitive Processes of Simultaneous Interpreting (Lexington Books, USA), Seminal Studies in Linguistics and Translation (Cambridge Scholars, UK), and Selections from Arabic Poetry (Kindle, Amazon).
Other stories in the Classic Short Fiction series, curated by Amr El-Zawawy:
Ibrahim Al-Mazni’s ‘Eve and the Viper’
Muhammed Taymour’s ‘The Eid Whistle’
Muhammad Taymour’s ‘A Boy Who Became a Man’
Marouan Abboud’s ‘Among the Problems of the Village’
Mahmud Taymour’s ‘The Grand Funeral’
Ibrahim Abdelkader Al-Mazni’s ‘Mimi’