The Beggar, the Thief and the Dogs, Autumn Quail (34 page)

           

H
e stood there hiding behind the side of a cabin on the beach at Camp Cesare, stealing furtive looks at them. Riri was sitting under an umbrella with her arms folded, and little Ni'mat was bending over the sand a few yards away, eagerly digging a pit. It was a clear morning, and the sun covered the meager gathering of people scattered over the beach; it was a gentle, kindly sun, brightened by an invigorating breeze. He kept out of her sight, so much so that no one would have realized he had come. His heart melted as he looked at the little girl and he wanted to kiss her and then disappear forever. Her body was tiny but well formed, a woman's shape in miniature. Her tanned legs, her thighs, her long hair wet at the ends, her uncovered sides, her orange bathing costume, and her total involvement in what she was doing, it was all incredible and marvelous; and she was really happy. There she was, the fruit of boredom on his part and fear on the part of her mother; and yet, from these two reprehensible qualities, life had created an attractive being, overflowing with health and
happiness. The hidden power's will had decreed, and all obstacles had collapsed in the face of the eternal enigmatic awakening. This little girl was a sure sign of the idiocy of many fears, a token of nature showing us how it is possible to overcome corruption. Now, he thought, can't you imitate nature, just once? From your sorrows, losses, and defeats, can't you make a victory, even if it's just a modest one? It's nothing rare or new. The sea has kept its appearance for millions of years and seen countless examples of it, and so has the clear blue sky.

Finally he left his hiding place and moved toward the little girl without worrying about Riri, who was standing up to face him. He sank down on the sand beside the little girl. He was alarmed by the suddenness of it all, but even so he planted a long, warm kiss on her cheek. Then he muttered, “Farewell,” and left without turning back.

When lunchtime came, he did not feel like going home, and so he ate at 'Ala Kaifak. At three o'clock, he went to the cinema and then at six to another one. Afterwards he went back to 'Ala Kaifak to have dinner and drink some cognac. He sat there for a long time; the wine seeped into his head and made him feel drunk. He felt comforted by the view and by his own dreams.

Just before midnight, he saw someone coming toward the restaurant who attracted his attention like an electric shock. It was a tall, muscular, dark young man, wearing gray trousers and a white short-sleeved shirt and carrying a red rose between the fingers of his left hand. He came up close to the restaurant with a strong, graceful stride. There was a bold, piercing look in his eyes and they exchanged glances as he entered the place. He stared at Isa intently, and Isa realized that he recognized him. Then with something
akin to a smile the man averted his face with its elongated features, and went to the fruit juice corner.

It was he and no one else. From the war days. One night, he had arrested this young man, and until dawn he had attended the inquest himself in his official and party capacity. The young man had been bold and stubborn, and the inquest had not found him guilty. He had been sent to prison anyway and had stayed there till the ministry had resigned. What could he be doing now? Had he secured a senior position in the new regime? Or was he still a revolutionary? Why had he smiled? It was quite clear that he remembered him; should he expect some sudden act of violence? He decided to put the man out of his mind, but some irresistible impulse made him turn toward the fruit juice corner. He saw the man standing there facing toward the inside of the place; he was holding a glass of mango juice in his right hand and looking inquisitively in his direction. His eyes seemed to smile sarcastically. Isa looked outside again; he felt utterly depressed. It was as though, with that look, the past were pursuing him.

Before long he got up and left the place. He headed straight for the Corniche. It did not occur to him to go home; indeed it seemed to him that he no longer had any home at all. After walking a considerable way, he headed toward the square and sat on a bench under Saad Zaghlul's statue. Most of the benches were empty. The cold breeze blew gently around the wide square and toyed with the palm trees. The stars were shining in the enormous vault above him, and the night was as fixed as eternity itself. He had not yet succeeded in erasing the memory of the young man from his mind, but he resolved to devise a plan for the future. However, he had hardly buried himself
in his own dreams when he was aware of someone sitting by his side. He looked around with a suppressed feeling of annoyance and saw the defiant young man. He started in alarm, thinking that he must have followed him every step of the way and was planning to do him harm. He sprang up to defend himself but at the same time felt ashamed at the thought of slinking away. Just then, the young man spoke to him in a throaty voice. “Good evening, Ustaz
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Isa,” he said kindly, “or rather, good morning; it's a few minutes past midnight.”

Isa looked at him coldly in the gleam of a distant light. “Good morning,” he replied. “Who are you?”

“You remember me, of course!”

“I'm very sorry,” said Isa, feigning amazement, “who are you?”

The young man laughed as if to say, “You know, and so do I!” “Enemies are the very last people you forget!” he said.

“I don't understand what you're talking about.”

“Yes, you do! You remember the inquest that went on till morning. Then I was sent to prison. Even you used to put free people in prison. Unfortunately…”

“I don't know precisely what you're talking about,” Isa replied, retreating a little, “but I certainly remember the war days and the harsh circumstances which often forced us to do things we didn't like doing.”

“That's the traditional excuse. Never mind! What's past is past.”

Isa did not say a word, but looked straight ahead to make it clear that he wished to be left alone, in the hope that the other man would go away and leave him in peace. But he started talking again. “The world has changed,” the man said gently. “Don't think I'm being malicious. I would
never do a thing like that, I promise you. But I often feel sorry…”

“I don't need your sympathy,” Isa interrupted somewhat angrily.

“Don't get angry and misunderstand my reasons for intruding on you. I would like to discuss things seriously with you.”

“What?”

“The world around us!”

Isa realized that he was still drunk. “Nothing bothers me anymore,” he said.

“It's quite the opposite with me,” the young man replied. “Everything concerns me; I think about everything…”

“Then I hope the world turns out as you wish.”

“Isn't that better than sitting in the dark under Saad Zaghlul's statue?”

“That's fine as far as I'm concerned. Don't bother about me.”

“You haven't made up your mind to open your heart to me yet.”

“Why should I? Don't you see that the whole world's a bore?”

“I haven't got time to be bored.”

“What are you doing then?”

“I make a joke of the troubles I used to have, and look ahead with a smile. I smile in spite of everything; so much that you might think I was mad.”

“What makes you smile?”

“Incredible dreams,” the young man replied in a still more earnest tone. “Let's choose somewhere better to talk.”

“I'm sorry,” Isa replied quickly. “Actually I've already had two glasses of cognac and now I need some rest.”

“You want me to sit in the dark under Saad Zaghlul's statue,” the young man replied regretfully.

Isa did not say a word. The young man stood up to leave. “You don't want to talk to me,” he said. “I shouldn't pester you anymore.” He walked away in the direction of the city.

Isa watched him as he left. What an odd young man! I wonder what he's doing now, he thought. Had those troubles really taken pity on him? Why was he looking ahead with a smile? He kept watching the young man till he reached the edge of the square. He had not meant him any harm after all. Why didn't I encourage him to talk? Maybe I should ask him to help me overcome my boredom, even at this hour of the night. Our conversation might lead us into an adventure that would brighten up the night.

He saw the young man disappear in the direction of Safiyya Zaghlul Street. I could catch up with him, he thought, if I didn't waste any more time hesitating. He jumped to his feet in a sudden drunken spurt of enthusiasm and started after the young man with long strides, leaving the seat behind him sunk in solitude and darkness.

Translated from the Arabic by Roger Allen
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Revised by John Rodenbeck
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