Proud Beggars (13 page)

He was filled with sudden amazement. It seemed he was thinking about the inspector without animosity or rancor, but rather with a slightly troubled joy, a sadistic pleasure. “Strange!” he said to himself. Until now his feelings for Nour El Dine were dictated by the same unvarying hatred that he felt for all those who personified power and injustice, whether immediately or remotely. Suddenly he had discovered an extraordinary fact: Nour El Dine wasn't simply a vile policeman, he was also a man prey to desires and torments that were linked, despite his foul job, with the infinite distress wherein the mass of humanity struggled. He thus acquired a new face, and it was this face that El Kordi thought of with disturbing emotion. He tried to remember one peculiar incident during his interrogation that had struck him as going beyond the bounds of simple police routine. What was it? Oh yes, the inspector had begun to speak to him in English, a language that they alone understood. For what reason? There was something truly ambiguous in that conversation in a foreign language, as if Nour El Dine, abandoning his interrogation, had wanted to create a bond of dubious intimacy between them. El Kordi recalled his delighted air, the suave tone of his voice—a confidential tone in complete contrast to his manners up till then—when he had spoken of his relations with young Naila. For a moment, he'd had the impression that the inspector had stepped out of his role of obtuse functionary to become a human being eager to please and to seduce. To seduce him: that was it! By heavens, now he understood everything. Nour El Dine, the police inspector, the dignified symbol of authority, was only a common pederast.

While speculating on the humorous value of his discovery, El Kordi crossed the bourgeois ministry quarter, entered a maze of populous alleys, and, without realizing it, found himself in front of Set Amina's house. Along the way he had paid no attention to the numerous social injustices that usually saddened his gaze with their monotonous repetition. The thought that the police inspector was a pederast gave him such great joy that he forgot all of his ill feelings toward the power of the rich. The fear he had experienced during these last days—without daring to admit it—was transformed into extravagant, childish optimism. Certainly no pederast was going to frighten him. He was now eager to meet Nour El Dine. As he knocked at the door of the brothel, a satisfied smile illuminated his face, which was usually deceptively reserved.

“El Kordi Effendi!” exclaimed Zayed. “By Allah! What are you doing here? The house is closed; we're no longer working.”

“This is a simple courtesy call,” answered El Kordi. “Let me in.”

“We're being watched closely. No one saw you?”

“No, no one saw me. Calm down, I made myself invisible.”

“All right, come in quickly. The police have their eye on us.”

El Kordi entered and watched as Zayed closed the door.

“How is it that you're not already in prison?”

“Now, now, El Kordi,” said Zayed in an extremely frightened tone. “None of those jokes, I beg you. They might hear you.”

“Who?”

Without answering, Zayed looked at him reproachfully and disappeared down the hall with alarming speed, as if he had just been bitten by a serpent.

El Kordi remained standing in the waiting room, rather satisfied with his bad joke. It seemed like years since he had been there, although nothing in the room had changed: the table and the wicker chairs were still in the same place. Even Set Amina seemed not to have moved since that fateful night when the police had invaded her house. El Kordi glimpsed her in the shadows, still sitting on the couch, one hand resting on her pale cheek, offering the spectacle of deepest desolation.

He approached her.

“Greetings, woman!” he said, bowing. “Your worries are over; I am here to defend you.”

She had clearly seen him enter and chat with Zayed, but she was playing the part of one still too prostrate to take an interest in the deceptive bustle of this world.

“It's you?” she said, looking at him as if he were a ghost. “You're crazy to come here. They forbade me to receive clients. You want my death?”

“I'm not here as a client, woman! I've come to see my fiancée.”

“His fiancée! Listen to him, would you!”

“But I mean it, exactly, my fiancée! Perhaps you didn't know, but in view of the circumstances, I'm informing you.”

Set Amina sighed and fell silent. She had been taught since childhood not to contradict madmen. This El Kordi had really lost his mind. As if she didn't have enough troubles.

“When is the wedding?” she asked in a lugubrious voice.

“Very soon. I've come to tell her the good news.”

“That's good. Sit down; first, I want to talk to you.”

El Kordi took a chair and sat near the couch facing the madam.

“What do you have to tell me?”

Set Amina seemed to come out of her lethargy and moved on her couch for the first time. At bottom, despite her fear of the police, El Kordi's visit had filled her with joy; she had finally found someone worth talking to, someone who could appreciate the true merits of her wounded soul's complaints. Her tragic situation predisposed her to confidences and she had no one to confide in. The girls were too stupid and too occupied with their insipid chatter to lend an attentive ear to her lamentations. She had tried to interest Zayed the servant in her sufferings, but he seemed so frightened of the police that he talked only about leaving. El Kordi had arrived just in time: another day or two and she would have died of suffocation.

“Well, my son! You've seen the misfortune that struck me! What did I do to God?”

“It's nothing,” said El Kordi.

“What! You think it's nothing. By Allah! Such a crime! And in my own house!”

“These things happen even in the best houses. Believe me, you're worrying about nothing.”

“May God hear you, my son! I feel as old as the world.”

“You, old!” El Kordi laughed. “Come on! I'll take care of you if you'd like me to.”

“Be quiet, you shameless child! I could be your mother.”

These vehement protests of an indignant woman were only show; El Kordi knew this and found it entertaining. He saw her squirming on the couch, aroused, he thought, by his lewd allusion. But the truth lay elsewhere; at the moment, Set Amina was far from being responsive to this kind of flirtation. One thing above all worried her: the conversation in a foreign language that had taken place that memorable night between El Kordi and the police inspector. She leaned forward, grabbed the young man's arm, and pulled him toward her.

“Look in my eyes and tell me the truth.”

“What do you want to know?” asked El Kordi, a little disturbed by this behavior. Did the poor woman seriously believe he wanted to sleep with her?

“Tell me. What was he saying to you in English?”

“Who, woman?”

“The police inspector. You spoke in English. I didn't understand, but I know it was English. I'm not stupid, I can recognize languages.”

“It was a conversation of a private nature,” said El Kordi. “It had nothing to do with the crime.”

“You're sure? He didn't talk about me?”

“Not one word. On my honor! Don't worry!”

“He predicted the worst misfortunes for me. What have I done to that man? Why is he blaming it on me? Do I look like a killer?”

“It's his business to frighten people. He tried to impress me too. But I assure you: it had no shred of importance.”

“I'd like to believe you.” She thought a minute, then with a curious smile said, “I thought that was it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It didn't take me long to know what kind of man he was. May Allah preserve me! He's a pederast.”

El Kordi fell back in his chair and broke out laughing.

“Really?”

“As if you didn't know,”' continued Set Amina. “And him making eyes at you! I saw it all. Next thing you know, he would have kissed you on the mouth.”

“I did suspect it a little,” El Kordi admitted.

So, nothing escaped the old procuress's vigilance; she had figured out Nour El Dine from the first. El Kordi was ashamed of his lack of perspicacity. What a pitiful figure he must have cut during that scene of base seduction! The way he let himself be fooled was unpardonable. And he thought that he made fun of authority!

“Since you are so close to him, try to soften him up a bit. Ask him not to give me such trouble.”

“What are you saying, woman? I am not friendly with him. On the contrary, I am preparing several nasty surprises for him. What do you take me for? I am not the young seducer you imagine.”

“Don't do that, my son! You want to ruin me! Look at this house, what sadness! And these girls who now spend their time sleeping. They're learning terrible habits. How am I going to give them back a taste for work?”

“I'll lend you a hand,” offered El Kordi. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

He stood up.

“And now I must leave you. Peace be with you! Is Naila in her bedroom?”

“Yes, where else? I tell you, all they do is sleep. They don't seem to have any idea of the fate that has befallen us. I'm the only one here who worries. Well, try not to be conspicuous when you leave; apparently there is a plainclothes policeman prowling around the house.”

“Don't worry. I'll be careful,” promised El Kordi.

Naila's bedroom was like all the other bedrooms where the girls carried on their work of prostitution, but each time El Kordi crossed the threshold, he felt a vague uneasiness, a kind of superstitious fright. This painful sensation was due, in large part, to the medicinal odor that permeated the musty atmosphere of the room. He could never take his mind off the medicines that were hidden in the mirrored armoire so as not to frighten the customers. It was only through them that he was aware of his mistress's disease; they were the only visible sign of a suffering whose inward depth went beyond his understanding. Never having been sick, El Kordi had the tendency to judge the suffering of others by the outward signs of their illness. Since the tuberculosis that gnawed away at Naila didn't manifest itself by any visible wound, he felt only pity for her, tinged with skepticism. At bottom, this odor put him in an awkward position; it suddenly reminded him that he was in a sick person's room. It was very disagreeable. He had come there animated by sensual desires, with the intention of making love and not of feeling pity.

Now, however, he felt a sudden pang, and he was overcome with immense tenderness at the sight of the young girl stretched out on the bed. She was lying with her eyes closed, breathing unevenly, her pale face imprinted with extraordinary sadness. In his confusion, El Kordi had trouble recognizing her; for a moment he forgot the demands of his sensuality and thought only of saving from an abject death this creature that blind destiny had thrown in his path.

He approached her bed.

“My darling!”

Naila opened her eyes and looked at him with astonishment.

“It's you!”

“Yes, my darling. How are you?”

“What's it to you? Since when have you been worried about my health?”

She'd already taken the offensive; as usual, she wanted to complain of her loneliness and prove to him that he couldn't do anything for her.

“I couldn't come earlier. You don't understand: the house is surrounded by police.”

“So the police frighten you now. I thought you would go through flames for me.”

“That's true, my darling! But it's not just the police. The truth is, I was busy with a lot of things. I must get you out of here as fast as possible. I've decided you cannot continue this life.”

“You've decided! Well, let me tell you that it's my life, and that I don't want any other.”

“Please understand: I want to see you happy.”

“Hah! How do you plan to make me happy? With your lousy ministry pay you couldn't make a starving cat happy.”

“I'm going to make a lot of money very soon,” said El Kordi with boyish enthusiasm. “I'm onto a colossal affair. Trust me.”

He didn't believe a word he was saying, but that wasn't the point. The point was to appease Naila's anger with appropriate, inconsequential lies. Anyway, deep down she wanted nothing better than to believe him; no matter how she tried to resist, she always abandoned herself to the beautiful words her lover lavished on her. This whimsical love that she had inspired in El Kordi filled her with pride. He was so different from all the other men she had met in Set Amina's house. And although he was as poor as a beggar, his social standing was far above hers. For one mustn't forget that El Kordi was a civil servant and belonged to a superior social class. Beaten down by the wretchedness of her condition, Naila could only explain the young man's strange passion by his strong physical desire for her. She had thought at first that the sickness with which she was tainted would alienate him, but contrary to her expectations, she was amazed to find him more ardent, more passionate than ever. The young man's morbid attitude puzzled her. She didn't know that El Kordi considered her the scapegoat of a social system that he abhorred, and that, sick or not, in his eyes she personified the image of a disinherited world.

He understood from her silence that her grand hysterical scene was over; he sat down on the bed, leaned over her, and began to caress her. She let him caress her hands, then her face, then her body. She seemed happy and relaxed; her eyes shone with a feverish luster. But this moment of abandon did not last long. She tore herself violently from her lover's grasp and suddenly broke into sobs.

“What's wrong, my darling?”

“It's horrible! I can't forget her. Poor Arnaba.”

“Calm down,” said El Kordi. “Don't think about it anymore. You're not going to bring her back by crying. We can't do anything about it.”