Albert Cossery - Proud Beggars

“Tell me: Were you at Set Amina’s the day of the murder?”

Yeghen pretended to reflect.

“To tell you the truth, Excellency, I was sleeping.”

“Where were you when Arnaba was assassinated?”

“I just told you, Excellency, I was sleeping.”

Nour El Dine kept his composure; his face serious, he was silent for a moment. There was no doubt that Yeghen was playing dumb.

“I know for a fact that you were at the brothel on that day. Who did you meet there?”

“I was sleeping, Excellency.”

“No one came while you were asleep?”

“How should I know, Excellency, since I was asleep?”

“By Allah! Do you sleep all the time, you son of a bitch!”

“Excuse me, Inspector, but I didn’t know that sleeping was against the law.”

“Well, I’m going to wake you up.”

Nour El Dine was overwhelmed; the stupidity of such a defense went beyond his understanding. The wretch was sleeping! He must have taken drugs before coming. He knew Yeghen was capable of hanging on to this unshakable position until the end.

“I’ll give you five minutes to think it over. After that, I know how to make you talk.”

Yeghen was about to answer that he was sleeping, but he realized the inspector hadn’t asked him any questions, and he was silent. In five minutes the torture would begin. He set about thinking of frivolous things.

Nour El Dine looked at his watch, then sat back in his chair and waited. This interrogation was turning into a joke. It would only serve to further shake his own confidence in authority and justice. He was now convinced that Yeghen would not say anything; he would keep his secret even under torture. As this attitude did not tally with his character, it was rather disturbing. Nour El Dine was certain that Yeghen knew who the murderer was. So why was he keeping quiet? The murderer could not pay him to keep quiet; the crime had brought nothing to its perpetrator. It was not a question of honor either. Nour El Dine was sufficiently aware of Yeghen’s past to know that he never bothered about certain prejudices.

He asked, “You’re not afraid of a beating?”

“No,” answered Yeghen.

“That’s not possible.”

“Beatings are minor incidents in the life of a man like me, Inspector! Minor incidents.”

“You have no dignity.”

Yeghen laughed.

“You remind me of my mother,” he said. “My mother always tells me that my father was an honorable man and that I am the shame of the family.”

“You have no emotions? You feel nothing?”

“Yes, Excellency! At this moment I feel an immense astonishment.”

“What kind of astonishment?”

“I am astonished that a man like you spends his time playing such unsatisfying games.”

“How would you like me to spend my time?”

“Go for a walk,” Yeghen answered.

Nour El Dine became livid.

“I see there is nothing to be done,” he said. “You asked for it.”

The door opened, admitting two policemen who looked at Yeghen, then slowly approached him.

“You going to talk now?”

Yeghen didn’t answer. Nour El Dine signaled to the policemen. One of them went behind Yeghen while the other stood in front of him, ready to strike.

Yeghen watched this whole scene like an uninvolved spectator. He told himself only that he had been wrong to claim the inspector was not playing an enjoyable game. For them, this must be very enjoyable. After all, these men had their own amusements. He felt neither hatred nor disdain for them. He felt very calm and he closed his eyes.

The first punch nearly took off his head; he felt an atrocious pain that was immediately neutralized by a second blow, then by all those that followed. Then the pain grew and formed a compact, measureless block. Yeghen found himself plunged to the bottom of a black gulf filled with flashing lights. Sometimes Nour El Dine’s voice reached him, still asking, “You going to talk, you son of a bitch?”

Suddenly, in the tumult of his brain, he heard a distant noise. This noise reminded him of something and he tried to understand what it was. He was a long time trying. The canon blast at noon! It was noon and the canon had just boomed. He opened his eyes and shouted, “Gentlemen, it is noon!”

The policeman who was lifting his arm to knock him on the head stopped, amazed.

“So what?” he asked.

“Well then! I think that it’s time to eat,” said Yeghen in a weak voice. “I’m hungry.”

Nour El Dine buried his head in his hands; he wanted to scream.

“Throw him out,” he said. “I don’t want to see him anymore.”

The policemen grabbed Yeghen and took him away. Nour El Dine remained alone, prey to the most profound consternation. Then he remembered that it was noon and he stood up to go to lunch.

Leaving the police station, Nour El Dine thought that Gohar was no doubt the murderer. But what did that matter to him now? He had decided to hand in his resignation and to live henceforth as a beggar. A beggar, that was easy — but proud? Where would he find pride? There was nothing left in him but an infinite weariness, an immense need for peace — simply for peace.