“Don’t insult the clientele,” Set Amina interjected. “This man is a nobleman. I know him.”
“But you yourself told me he is a policeman!” El Kordi shot back in blind rage.
“Me!” shouted Set Amina. “You ingrate! And I received you in this house like my own son!”
“Calm down, good people!” said the policeman. “It’s a simple misunderstanding. Let’s clear it up.”
“It’s useless,” said El Kordi. “I’m ready to confess.”
“Confess what, Effendi?”
“I confess that I am the murderer of Arnaba.”
The policeman opened his eyes wide and his face assumed a rigid expression. For a moment Naila remained petrified at her lover’s confession, then broke into sobs. Impassive and smiling, Gohar watched the scene from where he was. Assuredly, El Kordi would never change. He had just put himself in a nasty situation for the simple pleasure of astonishing his pitiful audience.
10
THE TALL, broad-shouldered man stood in his stall like a mummy in a sarcophagus. It was a narrow shop, barely two feet wide and a foot deep; it was full of little bottles holding rare essences, pots of unguents, and vials containing elixirs against impotence and sterility. It gave off a heavy, clinging perfume scent that made the air unbreathable all the way to the end of the lane and beyond.
With skillfully measured gestures, the man uncorked a miniscule vial and offered it to a woman customer standing on the doorstep to smell.
“A single drop of this perfume and men will die for you,” he said.
“I don’t want to kill anyone,” the woman laughed. “I just want my husband to find me attractive.”
“Then I won’t sell it to you,” said the man. “I pity him. At the very least, he’d go mad.”
“What a black day! Why all the foolishness? I’ll buy it.”
“Very well, for you that will be only ten piasters.”
“Ten piasters! By Allah! You’re ruining me! I’m the one going mad. Well, here’s your money.”
She rummaged through the folds of her melaya, took out a handkerchief, untied it, and counted out the sum. The merchant gave her the vial.
“You’ll see,” he said. “You will be eternally grateful to me. Your husband will never be able to resist you. It will be impossible for him to go on living without this perfume.”
“He’ll just have to come to you to buy more.”
“By the Prophet! I won’t sell it to him.”
The woman left carrying her vial of perfume, and the man turned to Yeghen.
“It’s agreed,” he said. “The price suits me. I’ll take the merchandise.”
“I’ll bring it to you as soon as possible. I don’t know when. I expect it soon.”
“I hope it’s good quality.”
“The best,” said Yeghen. “You know I’m an expert. I’ll see you later.”
Leaving the perfume stall, Yeghen headed for the Mirror Café. He was a little anxious because the man seemed wary. It had not been easy to persuade him. The trick had become too well known among drug dealers; Yeghen had already tried it many times, and he always came out ahead. In fact, it was the simplest of swindles. It involved concluding a deal for a certain quantity of heroin, and then, when the time came, giving the buyer a packet containing sodium sulfate bought in a pharmacy. Since the transaction had to be done in all haste—given the circumstances—the buyer was prevented from appraising the goods. When he discovered the fraud, it was already too late. All he could do was curse the thief, without daring to complain to anyone.
It had been a long time since Yeghen had had recourse to this dishonest dealing. Not because of any scruples of conscience but because his bad reputation made him suspect to all the dealers in town. It was very difficult for him to find new victims. The man to whom he had finally addressed himself was one of the rare dealers he had never fleeced and with whom he had the best of relations. Still, the risk was great because the man was also a police informer. He could be setting a trap for him. But Yeghen was resolved to run this risk; he knew no other way to obtain the money that would allow Gohar to leave for Syria and escape the consequences of his crime.
At the Mirror Café, he found Gohar sitting with El Kordi; the two men weren’t speaking. Looking more dismal than ever, El Kordi seemed to be contemplating some terrible revenge. As for Gohar, he was sucking a hashish ball with tranquil happiness, his gaze lost among the crowd of drinkers who filled the meandering terrace; from time to time he took the glass placed before him and drank a mouthful of warm tea. Yeghen sat down with them without saying anything; he also had no desire to speak. He reflected on the swindle he had just set up; if everything went as planned he would soon have the money that he had promised Gohar for his trip. To save Gohar from prison, and perhaps even from the gallows, had become a kind of sacred mission for him. All these last days, he had thought only of how to help him. His astonishment at Gohar’s crime had remained as strong as ever; the mystery continued to intrigue him. How had Gohar come to that? What absurd chain of circumstances had driven him to commit the only act for which he was not at all made? Gohar was the least violent of men, so how to imagine that he had attacked an inoffensive little prostitute, the most pitiful of all creatures? Yeghen would have liked to ask Gohar for more ample details about the incredible scene that had unfolded between him and his victim, but a kind of modesty, or delicate discretion, held him back. Why did he need to know? Didn’t true friendship rise to the occasion without asking for explanations?
The radio suddenly burst out like a storm, sweeping over the terrace with a wave of deafening music. The squall shook Gohar; he seemed to notice Yeghen’s presence. A pale smile lit his face.
“You look exhausted,” he said. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” answered Yeghen. “I’m just tired. I haven’t slept in a bed for I don’t know how long.”
“You left your hotel?”
“Yes, Master! It was too dangerous; the police knew my address. And I didn’t have money to go elsewhere. No hotel will give me credit.”
“Can I do something for you? My room is at your disposal.”
“Thank you, Master! Tonight I have money. I intend to give myself a royal bed.”
“You think they won’t find you?”
“I need them to leave me alone for a few days, long enough to take care of some business that affects us both. Once that business is in order, I don’t care what they do to me. They have nothing on me.”
“Why don’t you let destiny follow its course?” said Gohar. “What are you afraid of?”
“What am I afraid of, Master! I am afraid of losing you! I’m sorry to be so selfish. I know you make light of what may happen to you. But think of me: I cannot bear the idea of losing you.”
“But if I leave for Syria, you’ll lose me just as much, my son!”
“No, Master! I only need to know that you are alive, though far from me, to not lose you.”
How could he tell him clearly that he feared the worst sentence for him: death. Gohar’s spirit would doubtless survive through the years; his memory would certainly remain, as durable as thousand-year-old rocks. But where would be the joy? What memory could render the sweetness of a word, the treasures of humanity contained in a fraternal gesture? No, Yeghen needed a living Gohar—even a Gohar who was far away; and all he would have to do to be eternally happy would be to picture him with certainty existing somewhere in the world.
El Kordi shook his head and seemed to thrust his imaginary torments far away. He looked at his two companions as if he had only just noticed them. A feverish light burned in his eyes.
“What are you talking about?” he asked anxiously. “Are you really going to Syria, Master? So you’re leaving us on our own! I beg you, take me with you. Yes, I want to go too. Let’s go right away. I have my coach; the horses are chafing at the bit. What are you waiting for, Master?”
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Yeghen. “I swe
ar, he’s delirious!”
“I think he had a fight with his mistress,” said Gohar. “It will pass in a moment. Don’t worry.”
“I know how to calm him down,” said Yeghen. “My dear El Kordi, listen to me. On my way I noticed a little cigarette-butt scavenger who is a real marvel. She can’t be far away.”
Yeghen leaned toward El Kordi and began to converse with him in a low voice. But suddenly he was struck dumb; he had just recognized someone in the crowd.
“Watch out!” he said. “Here comes the inspector who’s investigating the murder. Be especially discreet; don’t say anything.”
“I’ll say what I please,” said El Kordi. “I’m not afraid of anyone.”
Gohar looked as if he didn’t understand; he tranquilly took his glass and drank a mouthful of tea. El Kordi sat up in his chair and struck a very dignified pose. He looked as though he were preparing to enter a decisive battle.
Nour El Dine was near their table; he seemed not to have seen them.
“Peace be with you, Inspector,” said Yeghen with a sarcastic smile. “Please honor us with your company.”
Nour El Dine frowned; his features hardened. Assuredly, this encounter was catching him unawares. He was not alone: Samir accompanied him. For several seconds he seemed to hesitate, then he smiled affably.
“What a pleasant surprise,” he said. “I would be delighted to meet your friends. But it seems I have already had the pleasure of meeting this young man. Haven’t we already met?” he added, addressing El Kordi.
“In a way,” answered El Kordi with haughty stiffness. “I am truly flattered that you remember me, Excellency!”
“How could I forget you! I never forget an intelligent man. Our conversation the other day left me with a high opinion of you. I’ve often thought about that day. But we’ll talk about it later. Let me first present my young nephew. He’s a law student with a great future.”
Samir nodded his head slightly, but he didn’t hold out his hand to shake. He seemed to be making an enormous effort to control his nerves. He was ashamed because he suspected that these men were well aware of Nour El Dine’s inversion. He was struggling between his desire to leave right away and to stay to show them his contempt.
“And this is Gohar Effendi,” said Yeghen. “Excellency, how is it that you don’t know Gohar Effendi already! That is a serious gap in your life!”
“I would be happy to fill that gap,” said Nour El Dine, shaking his hand.
“Well, please sit down,” said Yeghen, who seemed strangely happy about this meeting. He fussed around the table offering chairs.
Nour El Dine sat down; Samir hesitated for a moment, then sat down in turn, crossed his legs, and gave the inspector a look of pure hatred. With what joy he would have killed him!
“May I offer you something?” asked Nour El Dine. Without waiting for an answer, he called the waiter and ordered tea for everyone. His intention was to appear magnanimous.
“It’s such an honor. Really, Excellency, you spoil us!”
“It’s nothing,” said Nour El Dine. “I’m only doing my duty.” Then, in another tone, he added unexpectedly, “I’ve learned you have changed hotels. Is that so?”
“Yes,” answered Yeghen. “I’ve found a better one. Do you know, Excellency, the hotel I was at didn’t have bathrooms? It was impossible for me to stay there any longer. I hope you will understand.”
“May I know where your new residence is located?”
“But of course. I’ve nothing to hide. I’m now staying at the Semiramis. It’s a first-class hotel! I think I will be happy there. Have you ever stayed at the Semiramis? I highly recommend it. It is really an extraordinary place. They say that life begins to have meaning the moment you enter there. Pardon me, Excellency, but I was made for luxury.”
“I see you are as cynical as ever,” said Nour El Dine with a forced smile. “It doesn’t matter. I enjoy listening to you more and more.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Excellency!”
Only Yeghen saw what was truly droll about the situation. This police inspector seated at the same table with the killer he was after, offering him tea and behaving in such a courteous manner, was such a phenomenal thing that he even forgot the danger Gohar was facing. He could not stop grinning, thinking only of enjoying a good joke.
He could not resist the pleasure of provoking Nour El Dine.
“Well, Inspector, how is the investigation progressing?”
“I’m not dissatisfied,” said Nour El Dine. “The end may be near. Don’t forget, patience is the indispensable virtue of our profession. By the way, have you thought about what I asked you the other day? I feel kindly toward you. I’d be sorry if you had problems.”
“I’ve thought about it. I would love to help you, believe me. But really, this affair is beyond my scope.”
“Oh well, too bad. Forget it. Besides, this isn’t the place to discuss these things. I plan to talk with you very soon in a more appropriate place. Tonight I’ve been out walking with my young nephew. One must relax from time to time, right? We’re among friends here; let’s enjoy ourselves. Save serious things for later.”
“Careful, Inspector,” said El Kordi, coming out of his silence. “You did say we are among friends? Then we can say everything?”
“Of course,” said Nour El Dine. “But I wonder what more you have to say. Haven’t you already said everything? A disturbing story came to my attention. It seems that you boasted before witnesses of being Arnaba’s murderer. Is that true?”
“That’s true, you’re not mistaken,” said El Kordi. “I don’t deny anything. Why don’t you arrest me?”
“I didn’t know anything about this,” said Yeghen. “My compliments, dear El Kordi.”
“I won’t arrest you,” continued Nour El Dine, “because I know you’re not the killer. You simply wanted to brag. Why? I have no idea. I am just surprised that a man like you, with a good education, who speaks foreign languages, would indulge in such eccentricities. I cannot understand your mentality. Can you explain his conduct to me, Gohar Effendi? I believe you witnessed this ridiculous scene.”
There was a silence. All eyes turned to Gohar. Even Samir stared at him attentively, his features tensed in an expression of feverish expectation.
Gohar said nothing. He could no longer feel the hashish ball in his mouth; it had completely dissolved. He swallowed his saliva two or three times and savored the last bitter taste of the drug. People and things around him were taking on a richer, more glistening hue and their slightest details became perceptible. Laughter and voices were changing into a single murmur, secret and insidious, like a sensual woman’s sighs at the moment of ecstasy. His eyes rested on Nour El Dine and he was amazed by a feeling of strange goodwill that came over him in the face of his tormentor. Through some extraordinary acuity of perception, he discovered in this aggressive-looking tormentor a tortured, disturbed being, more weak than dangerous. What a sad look! What moral suffering hidden behind this façade of authority! Gohar’s instinct told him he had nothing to fear from this man and, even odder, that this man needed his help and pity.
“The inspector is waiting,” said Yeghen. “Come on, Master, give us your thoughts.”
“Well,” Gohar began, “I think I can explain my young friend’s behavior. El Kordi is a man with a very noble soul. He hates injustice and would do anything to fight it. He would like to reform the world, but he doesn’t know how to begin. I think this crime revolted him. He wanted to take responsibility for it and to offer himself as a martyr for the cause he defends. I am glad you didn’t take his confession seriously, Inspector. You must pardon his extravagant behavior. He acted on a very honorable impulse.”
“Master, this is intolerable!” cried El Kordi. “Let me explain it to you. I know I’m not the killer, but what does it matter if it’s me or someone else? The important thing for you, Inspector, is to arrest someone, right? So I offered myself. You should be grateful to me.”
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br /> “Absurd!” said Nour El Dine. “Completely absurd! That’s not it at all. I want to arrest the guilty person and no one else.”
“Why?” asked Yeghen. “Why only arrest the guilty one? You disappoint me. You allow yourself to be influenced by trifling considerations.”
“Why?” repeated Nour El Dine. “But it’s as clear as daylight! Why should I arrest an innocent man?”
“The innocent or the guilty,” said Gohar. “It must be difficult to choose.”
“But I don’t choose,” said Nour El Dine. “I base my conviction on certain precise, irrefutable facts. I only arrest a man when I am convinced of his guilt. All of you here are educated men and yet you seem to have no idea of the law.”
“It isn’t the law that interests us, but man,” said Yeghen. “What interests us is to know why a man like you spends his time arresting his fellow men, instead of enjoying his short life. I find that occupation very unhealthy.”
“But I’m just defending society against criminals,” said Nour El Dine. “What sort of men are you? You’ve lost touch with reality!”
“Your reality is a reality made of prejudice,” said Gohar. “It is a nightmare invented by man.”
“There aren’t two realities,” said Nour El Dine.
“Yes, there are,” said Gohar. “First, there is the reality born of deception, and in which you are struggling like a fish caught in a net.”
“And what is the other?”
“The other is a smiling reality reflecting the simplicity of life. For life is simple, Inspector. What does a man need to live? A little bread is enough.”
“A little hashish too, Master!” said Yeghen.
“So be it, my son! A little hashish too.”
“But that is the repudiation of all progress!” exclaimed Nour El Dine.
“You must choose,” said Gohar. “Progress or peace. We have chosen peace.”
“So, Excellency, we leave progress to you,” said Yeghen. “Enjoy it! We wish you much happiness.”
Nour El Dine opened his mouth to answer, but no words emerged from his stricken throat. He was fascinated by the character of Gohar. This man had spoken of peace like an easy thing that one could choose. Peace! Nour El Dine knew nothing at all of Gohar’s prior existence, but it seemed to him that this man was not only what he appeared to be, that is, a failed intellectual reduced to poverty. His ascetic face, his refined speech, the nobility of his attitude—all denoted a sharp and penetrating intelligence. How could such a man have fallen so low on the social ladder? And, especially, why did he give the impression of enjoying it and taking pride in it? Had he by some chance discovered peace in the depths of this extreme deprivation?
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