Albert Cossery - Proud Beggars

“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?

From the police reports, Nour El Dine knew that Gohar held some sort of a job at Set Amina’s bordello. He had not attached much importance to this, thinking it was a matter of an old servant to whom Set Amina charitably gave some small tasks. He had not imagined a man like this. Now that he was seeing him, he had completely changed his opinion on the subject, and he even wondered if he might be the killer.

“What is peace?” he asked Gohar, looking at him with a strange fixedness.

“Peace is what you’re searching for,” answered Gohar.

“By Allah! How do you know what I’m searching for? What I’m searching for is a killer!”

“Let me say I’m amazed, Excellency” said Yeghen. “I still wonder why you didn’t believe El Kordi’s confession. I would be curious to know your reasons.”

“They are very simple,” said Nour El Dine. “I had already met this young man. El Kordi couldn’t be the killer. He talks too much; he allows himself to divulge too much of his thought. He totally lacks hypocrisy. He is an idealist. It seems to me that the man who committed this crime is a more subtle, enigmatic individual.”

“My word, then you believe in psychology!” exclaimed Yeghen. “I would never have thought that of you, Inspector. Ah, you never cease to amaze me!”

“I must admit that this is my first investigation into a crime of this sort. The absence of material incentives and the lack of signs of rape oblige me to conclude that it was a motiveless crime.”

“A motiveless crime,” said Yeghen. “Why, you have a highly perspicacious mind, Excellency! Excuse me for having taken you for a brutal, narrow-minded person until now.”

“My dear Yeghen, you were wrong to assume that the inspector was narrow-minded,” said Gohar. “He has analyzed the situation very well. All the same, I would like to call his attention to something.”

“What’s that?” asked Nour El Dine.

“Does a crime without motive fall within the scope of the law? Isn’t it of the same nature as an earthquake, for example?”

“An earthquake doesn’t think,” said Nour El Dine. “It is a calamity that just happens.”

“But man has become a calamity for his fellow man,” answered Gohar. “Man has become worse than an earthquake. At any rate, he does more damage. Inspector, don’t you agree that the horrors caused by man long ago exceeded those of nature’s cataclysms?”

“I can’t stop an earthquake,” said Nour El Dine with comic stubbornness.

“And the bomb!” said Yeghen. “Can you stop the bomb, Excellency?”

“That madness again!” said Nour El Dine in a resigned tone. “No, Yeghen Effendi, I cannot stop the bomb.”

“So they pay you to do nothing,” said Yeghen. “What do I care if you catch a poor murderer? Ah, but if you could stop the bomb!”

Samir had remained outside the conversation; all this time he had preserved his attitude of cold disdain. He seemed visibly disgusted by the whole gathering. His curiosity, however, was fully aroused. Though he despised them, they were, nevertheless, new beings for him; he had never met their like. He had the impression that these men were spouting idiocies, but that they were doing it purposely to provoke Nour El Dine. They seemed to be heartily enjoying themselves. Samir looked at El Kordi, and without understanding why, he realized that this man at least knew. He seemed to regard Nour El Dine with a hatred almost equal to his own. Had the inspector already made a pass at him? Samir turned his head away; the annoyance he was feeling turned to anger.

He stood up.

“What, are you going?” Nour El Dine asked him.

“Forgive me, sir, but I must go. My honorable father doesn’t allow me to stay out late.”

“Give my regards to all the family,” said Nour El Dine.

“I won’t forget,” said Samir in a courteous but acerbic tone.

Head high, he turned his back and crossed the terrace.

“I beg you to excuse my young friend,” said Nour El Dine. “He is extremely timid.”

“He is charming,” said Yeghen. “Really charming. But it is time for me to go too. I regret cutting short such a profitable conversation, Excellency. The truth is that I am falling asleep.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Inspector,” said Gohar, standing up. “We’ll meet again, I hope.”

“May I accompany you a little way?” said Nour El Dine.

“With pleasure,” answered Gohar. “I am your humble servant.”

Yeghen had already disappeared. El Kordi remained alone; he seemed not to have noticed that the others had gone.

Yeghen stifled a cry and stopped. A terrible doubt had just arisen in him, waking him from his torpor. He suddenly had a burning sensation throughout his body, but it was not the cold. The cold couldn’t penetrate to the regions of his anguish. He waited a moment, then feverishly plunged his hand into his pocket and withdrew a small coin. With his numb fingers he touched it, squeezed it for a long time to feel its substance and hardness, but that seemed insufficient to him. A dire foreboding was still preventing him from breathing. As quickly as possible, he had to assure himself that the coin was not fake, but how to go about it in this darkness? He had to see it in full light.

There was a streetlamp at the end of the alley; Yeghen headed for the light, suffering from an inexpressible fear. The cruelty of fate now appeared to him in all its horror. If the money were fake, there went his night’s sleep. His dream of a night of repose in a hotel room, far from the cold and the fatigue of useless walking, now depended on this single coin.

Yeghen was sleepy; he dreamed of a higher order of sleep, one with the unfathomable taste of nothingness. The light was still ten yards away; Yeghen could wait no longer and stopped to look at the coin. Trembling, he opened his hand; he brought it to eye level and, at the same time, uttered a horror-struck cry. The coin had fallen. His hand was trembling so much that he had not felt it slip. Yeghen almost threw himself on the ground, actively searching with his hands and eyes; he saw nothing, felt nothing. He felt dizzy and his brain began to rave. The streetlamp was too far away; the light it produced reached only to the edge of where he needed to search. Yeghen grew wild with impotent rage. He cursed himself for having taken the coin out of his pocket. Then he attacked the government. These two-piaster coins were really too tiny; couldn’t the government make them bigger? “Government of pimps!” How dare it make such small coins! Just to save money. It was shameful and absurd.

In his madness, Yeghen imagined carrying the streetlamp to the place of disaster. He felt capable of anything to recover his coin. Suddenly he thought of matches and jumped. All of his suffering had immobilized him as if from shock. The box of matches was in his pants pocket; he took it out, lit a match, leaned down, and moved the flame around him. The first examination showed nothing, the coin was still lost. Yeghen lit another match, took several steps sideways, his nose almost to the ground. Soon his heart jumped with joy; the coin was there before him, clean and brilliant like a diamond. He grabbed it, hastily stuffed it in his pocket, then stood flabbergasted, exhausted by the effort. The match that he had forgotten to extinguish burned his fingers.