Albert Cossery - Proud Beggars

“I told you the other day. I have decided to do everything possible to get money. So I went to the European quarter to try to rob a jeweler on Avenue Fouad.”

“And did you succeed?”

“It’s not as easy as I thought,” El Kordi said bitterly. “I don’t think anyone could do it.”

Deep down, he was no longer thinking of the display window filled with inaccessible jewels but of his unsuccessful adventure with the young lady. She had wanted to take a cab. The insolent creature! For an instant, he was about to tell this story to Gohar, but he held back; he didn’t want Gohar to take him for a bogus revolutionary.

“Why do you need so much money?”

“It’s not for me, Master — I can live cheaply. But Naila is sick and I want to get her out of this damnable place. And besides, there are all the others.”

“What others? Do you have a family to support?”

“No, I don’t have a family. But I’m thinking of the oppressed, miserable people. Master, I can’t understand it. How can you remain insensitive to the machinations of those bastards who exploit the people? How can you deny that oppression exists?”

Gohar raised his voice to answer.

“I have never denied the existence of bastards, my son!”

“But you accept them. You do nothing to oppose them.”

“My silence is not acceptance. I oppose them more effectively than you.”

“How?”

“By noncooperation,” said Gohar. “I simply refuse to collaborate with this immense charade.”

“But an entire people cannot afford to have this negative attitude. They must work for a living. How can they not collaborate?”

“Let them all become beggars. Am I not a beggar? Once we have a country where the population is composed entirely of beggars, then you’ll see what will become of this arrogant domination. It will crumble into dust. Believe me.”

It was the first time El Kordi had heard Gohar speak in this tone of bitter violence. So Gohar had his own ideas about the way to overthrow this hateful power! Why had he never voiced them?

“But we are already a nation of beggars,” he said. “It seems to me that there is little more to do.”

“On the contrary. There is still much to do. There are still a lot of men like you who continue to collaborate.”

“You are wrong, Master! I hardly do anything. My presence at the ministry is almost a kind of sabotage.”

Gohar kept silent; he was unhappy with himself. The pomposity with which he had spoken reminded him too much of his university pedantry. What need had he to defend himself? Deny the existence of bastards? He who had abandoned everything, comfort and honors, so as no longer to have to mingle with such swine? What did El Kordi think? That he alone knew that the poor people were ruled by a band of shameless thieves? Even a child knew that.

However, he smiled at the young man.

“You know there’s a policeman here,” he said, intending to tease him. “At this moment he’s busy fornicating with little Akila.”

“By Allah!” said El Kordi. “I must be very careful from now on.”

He suddenly stood up, as if the place had become extremely unsafe.

“I’m sorry about the newspapers, Master! I’ll bring them to you tomorrow without fail.”

“Thank you, my son! They can wait.”

“Here, take this one. I’ve finished reading it.” And he gave Gohar the Greek paper.

Set Amina, who had been watching El Kordi all this time, suspecting him of some plot, sighed as she saw him approach.

“Is Naila in her room?”

“Yes, she’s with a customer. Let her work. Do you all want to ruin me?”

“You won’t be ruined today. Besides, here she is.”

Naila returned to the waiting room, followed by a client who left after a brief goodbye. Paying no attention to El Kordi, she leaned toward Set Amina and gave her a sum of money that the madam stuffed in her blouse.

“Let’s go to your room, my darling!” said El Kordi. “I have to talk to you.”

“Leave me alone,” Naila answered without looking at him. “I’m here to work, not to listen to your nonsense.”

“Go with him, child,” said Set Amina. “This man is crazy. I don’t want a scandal.”

“No, Aunt. I’m not going. I don’t know this man anymore.”

She sat down on the couch and pressed close against Set Amina, as if to seek her protection.

El Kordi did not understand this sudden indifference. Why was she sulking? He took a chair and sat down facing his mistress.

“You shouldn’t work,” he said. “I told you to rest.”

“Are you going to feed me?”

This reproach seemed trivial and unjust. As if it were a question of food!

“I’m being hunted by the police and you talk to me about food!” he said despairingly.

“Shh!” said Set Amina. “Don’t speak of the devil! He’s nearby!”

The plainclothes policeman returned, clasping Akila by the waist and puffing up his chest as if he were the only virile man in the neighborhood. He whispered words of love in her ear and smiled at everyone in the room, as if to apologize for the pleasure he had just enjoyed.

El Kordi calmly turned toward him and said in a worldly tone, “If there is a policeman here, I would love to make his acquaintance.”

The so-called provincial merchant took the blow without losing his joviality. Nevertheless, he played the honest man terrified by the proximity of the police.

“A policeman here! On my honor, it’s a black day!”

“It seems that the policeman is you ,” El Kordi said, pointing his finger at him.

The man turned pale.

“You are wrong, Effendi! I am an honorable merchant.”

“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.

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.