Beer in the Snooker Club

by Waguih Ghali

  ‘I know, Ram. They told me.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  I sat beside her. It was sex, the poor girl. I had been her only man and her body yearned for mine. I knew it. I knew, too, she would probably despise me later on. I told her so.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I want to live with you. I have been bored all my life. I am just afraid of Edna and that other thing.’

  ‘Edna is already married,’ I told her.

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘Yes, Didi, she is.’

  ‘And the other thing?’

  ‘What other thing?’

  ‘This political business. It’s very dangerous, Ram. I am terribly worried about you.’

  ‘I’ll give it up,’ I said.

  ‘I am terribly in love with you,’ she said.

  I stood and pulled her up. ‘If you love me, kiss me in front of them all.’ She closed her eyes and came into my arms. We kissed and then walked hand-in-hand towards the stairs.

  ‘Will you come home with me now?’

  ‘No, I can’t,’ I said. ‘I’ll … I have to go and tell this political organization I don’t belong to it any more. I shall come tomorrow and we shall spend the whole day together.’ I kissed her again and put her in her car. She waved and blew me a kiss before driving away.

  I walked to the Mirandi bar once more and went into the telephone booth. I dialled a number and a husky voice answered. ‘Hullo, hullo?’

  ‘Assam, you dirty dog,’ I said. ‘I haven’t had a good game of poker for months. What? Yes, yes, I have plenty. Good; bring them and meet me at Groppi’s.’

  And I went to Groppi’s.