Albert Cossery - The Jokers

Young Karim was no novice; he’d had ample experience, and there was almost no chance of the business going wrong. The little prostitute, whom he’d brought home after planting the bogus beggar at the intersection, certainly wasn’t about to make a scene; she wasn’t the type. At worst, she might get angry — but Karim didn’t care about that, since he had no intention of seeing her ever again. In fact, the disappointment with which her pathetic comedy was almost certain to end didn’t concern him in the least; the denouement would be what it was. He just wanted to get rid of her as quickly as possible. The slowness and care with which she was getting dressed was beginning to exasperate him. He was in a hurry; he couldn’t wait for her to be gone and leave him alone at last. The girl no longer amused him. Other, more interesting things — they happen all the time — must be occurring on the surface of the earth, and to appreciate them properly he had to be either by himself or in the company of friends who would be able to understand. Inconceivable to share such delicate pleasures with a woman! Women were completely impervious to his kind of worldly humor; they could never fully appreciate the inherent absurdity, for example, of a government minister’s speech, while they took seriously the buffoonery of the tyrants in power. No doubt this one was just as dim as all the others; aside from the sweet nothings that enliven love play, Karim had nothing to say to her.

While she dressed, he continued to gaze at her with that patronizing smile of a bored monarch, as if conferring a favor upon her. The girl was putting on her shoes, her face bowed, her neck humble. Karim was annoyed by her silence. He detected a reproach. Did she suspect something? At last she slipped into her dress and was done.

The moment of truth had arrived. With the nobility of a great and generous man who hates to bring up the topic of money, Karim said:

“Zouzou, my dear! Before you leave, reach into my jacket pocket and take what you want.”

The girl stood motionless, visibly disconcerted by this invitation; for a moment her eyes scanned the room — in search of the jacket, perhaps — but then she lowered her gaze, as if suddenly overcome by shame. She was a very young girl, with the face of a child and a touchingly sweet look. From her humble manner you could easily tell that she was new to her profession. Her cotton-print dress, modest bearing, and discreet makeup made her look more like a schoolgirl than a courtesan. Her story was sad. On the previous evening, she’d been fleeing the governor’s henchmen when Karim accosted her, then invited her — according to his usual princely custom — to spend the night in his apartment (a grandiose word that Karim would have used for an empty lot if it were so privileged as to claim him for a resident). The girl had allowed herself to be seduced; what other choice did she have?

She remained silent, irresolute — a heartbreaking sight! A few steps away Karim’s jacket hung from the back of a chair; unfortunately, its pockets were empty, or almost. Any money she’d find there wouldn’t feed a bird, not even if it was starving. Karim eyed the girl, his uncertainty growing by the second. What was she going to do? Go over to the chair and rifle through the pockets of his jacket? The little slut! Would she dare to take him at his word? Hadn’t he treated her like a princess? Wasn’t she satisfied by the passion he’d displayed during their endless night of love? Karim recalled his heated declarations; hadn’t he gone so far as to propose marriage? Honestly, he’d neglected nothing in his efforts to seduce her. Would she tarnish his reputation and, with one petty gesture, ruin a love affair that had begun so well? How stupid!

The silence was unbearable. Karim was about to open his mouth to try to rescue the situation, when at last the girl spoke:

“Oh! No thanks. This has been just fine.”

The bet was won; now Karim could insist without risk. Stretching his arms and letting his head fall on the pillow, he yawned splendidly.

“Oh yes, I insist. Go on, take what you want. Otherwise I’ll be mad.”

“Another time,” said the girl. “I don’t need anything just now.”

The refusal appeared to disturb Karim; he waxed sentimental.

“Zouzou, you’re hurting my feelings. I thought we were more than strangers. Everything I have is yours. Don’t you love me anymore?”

“I didn’t mean to cause offense,” the girl said — she seemed to realize the wrong she’d done to the young man. “It’s impossible for me to take your money. You’ve been so kind.”

“And all because I love you — that’s why,” Karim responded; the girl’s words had made him quite sure of the efficacy of his method. “But I won’t make you take anything. Do as you please. This is your home now, too; we’re like man and wife.”

She smiled sadly, perhaps at the enormity of the lie, perhaps because she sensed the impossibility of ever being his wife. Without a word, she grabbed her handbag from the table and prepared to leave. Only then did Karim realize just how young she was, and how devastating her forlorn look and timid smile could be.

They’d had their long night of love, but this was the first time he’d really looked at her — not through the veil of desire but as a human being, hunted and defenseless. What he saw was so painful that he forgot about the whole decadent-monarch act; the dancers with lascivious hips disappeared; all that remained in the room was a depressing, and very real, spectacle. There was no doubt: the girl had brought tragedy with her. Karim hadn’t expected such a cruel twist of fate; now what had taken place seemed monstrous. How pathetic, he thought, to see myself falling prey to remorse! He tried not to succumb to such weakness, but the pity went straight to his gut. He was overcome with a need to do something for the girl. To help her in some way, not let her leave like this. How? Propping himself up on his elbow, he looked hopefully at his jacket, as if he might discover a hidden treasure in its pockets; in his confusion, he was counting on a miracle. He thought about what apart from money he might offer her, at least as a token of goodwill. Finally, he had it! It was so simple: he’d ask her name. Zouzou was what Karim called all his conquests — not only because it was convenient but also so as not to retain any precise memories of them. With this girl it would be different. He almost wept to think of her leaving him without telling him her name. All of a sudden, that knowledge took on a mysterious importance.

With infinite sweetness, he inquired:

“What’s your name?”

She hesitated before responding. Clearly this sudden sign of interest touched her.

“My name’s Amar,” she said.

“Well, Amar, I’m delighted to have met you. Come see me often. I’m counting on you.”

“May I, really?” she said with a glimmer of happiness in her eyes. “I wouldn’t be disturbing you?”

“Not at all. On the contrary. This is your home. Didn’t I say that?”

“That makes me very happy. I’ll go now.”

He thought he should get up, walk over, and kiss her, but then he was reluctant to prolong things further. The girl broke his heart; anything more, and he might get depressed. He stayed put.

“So long then,” he said, still lying down.

Before she left, she thanked him with rare civility for the night she’d spent under his roof. To hear her you would have thought she’d been showered with kindness and respect. Perplexed, Karim imagined that she’d guessed his game and that her friendly words were steeped in vicious mockery. But that wasn’t likely; this girl exuded candor and honesty. Karim was ashamed of having taken advantage of her innocence; once again, he felt overcome by regret. In the end, it was she who had the upper hand. He realized that now.