On Monday morning, precisely at 10.00 o’clock, I received a call from Vanessa, the secretary of the bank manager who is my boss. ‘He wants to see you,’ she said. A summon to the bank manager’s office could be interpreted as either bad or good news.
‘I’d hurry if I were you,’ she added. ‘He’s not in a good mood.’
‘Is it because I came late this morning?’
‘I don’t think so. He has not seen the attendance register yet.’
I hadn’t had time to drink my first cup of coffee at the office. It was very hot and I needed it.
The manager’s office was at the top of the building. It was in the penthouse. Where else would these old birds nest? Why should I be scared of him, a man hitting sixty, hitting it with the full force of a head-on collision? He is less educated than I am. I hold an MBA. Secretly I had hoped that one day I would take his place. Vanessa who had asked me to hurry, now asked me to wait.
‘Any chance of a cup of coffee while waiting?’ I said. She acted as if she had heard nothing at all and kept me waiting for a good ten minutes. With nothing to do I passed the time looking at her fine legs. If I were to become the bank manager, she will be my secretary, I thought. Here is some motivation for you. These fine legs may one day welcome you home.
The manager had a face that seemed incapable of smiling or frowning. His serenity was a mask as he was capable of vulgar outbursts. Deities do not ask you to sit in their presence, but somehow, out of fear or because he had signaled it to me, I found myself taking a seat.
‘You are in charge of the savings accounts at this branch, am I correct?’ he said. I told him that he was indeed correct. I had started four years ago when there were two hundred accounts. Today I manage three hundred and fifty accounts. It was a good achievement and he acknowledged it.
‘But is there a way to encourage people to save more?’ he said.
‘I am working on it, sir,’ I said. By a subtle gesture of his index finger he was asking me to elaborate.
‘By keeping the customer satisfied,’ I said as if letting out a guarded secret.
‘No, no,’ he said, ‘satisfaction alone will not induce the customer to save more.’
‘Also by giving the customer a higher interest rate.’
‘Come, come Mr Hussein,’ he said, ‘you are not in a schoolmaster’s office to give such basic answers. Let me ask you a direct question. Do you know your customers?’
‘Of course, I know them,’ I said. ‘They see the cashier for withdrawals and deposits, but if there is anything more they come to me.’
‘I meant do you know your super savers. Do you keep a track of their savings? Do you encourage them to save or intend to use them as example to inspire others?’
‘Of course, I do,’ I said.
‘Then let’s have it. Who is your star saver?’
‘With your permission, sir. If you allow me to go back to my office, I will bring a list of my super savers.’
‘I am only after one name,’ he said. ‘Surely you can remember one name.’
‘One name?’
‘Is there an echo here?’ he said. ‘Yes, one name.’
‘My mind has gone blank.’
‘Then allow me to put one name in your blank mind.’
He mentioned a name. Her account number was 291260.
‘Of course, I know this account,’ I said. ‘I just forgot the name.’
‘She started saving with us when she started her undergraduate course. Now she has graduated with a first class degree in English Literature from Oxford. She has also managed to save one million dirhams.’
‘From her scholarship?’ I wanted to ask, but hesitated.
‘We must acknowledge her achievement,’ he continued. ‘On your behalf I have taken the initiative to invite her to a small party where we’ll give her a gift, take her photo if she’s agreeable and use her in our next marketing campaign.’
The rest of the day was heavy until the afternoon came and the party started. I was in shock. Someone else was running the show. Someone said the star guest had arrived. Account number 291260 was dressed in a pink Armani suit, beneath her abaya, of course. She had the kind of smile that seemed to broadcast sunny weather. She is a fake, I thought. Was she beautiful? Out of resentment I tried to find faults in her looks. Perhaps her nose is too big. But, put in her face, it worked just fine. I asked her about Oxford. She denied going there except on a short visit as part of some academic arrangement.
‘No. I’m proud to be educated in my country. And had I gone to Oxford I wouldn’t have saved this much.’ Then I asked her about her secret to saving success.
‘I am just a cul-de-sac for money,’ she said. ‘Money comes in and there is no way for it to go out.’
‘But you must be a big spender. You’re wearing an Armani suit.’
‘I bought it from a charity shop in London.’
It was time for a slice of cake and a soft drink. She insisted on a very thin slice and opted for tea. She was delighted with the gift, a Mont Blanc fountain pen. When it came for the publicity photo she was agreeable and threw her head back like a model. I was beginning to like her.
‘You are obviously very good with money,’ I said. ‘Have you thought of a banking career?’
She looked at me in disbelief. ‘With this bank?’
‘Why not?’
‘But I thought you are reducing your staff.’
I paused to think before allowing her cold-steel words to sink in my heart.
