Albert Cossery - The Jokers

“May I see her?”

“She would be enchanted,” Urfy said. Come on.

He waited for Heykal to join him, then left the classroom with him and walked down the corridor that led to the madwoman’s room.

The door was open and a faint light shone within. Urfy paused on the threshold, worried. He didn’t see his mother anywhere in the room. It was a sort of cell, with a high window that was boarded up tight — to prevent the crazy old woman from attracting the attention of snooping neighbors. It contained a little iron bed, a chest of drawers, and a small sofa covered in jute; on the floor was a straw mat. An oil lamp, set on the chest of drawers, was the source of the meager light.

“Mother!” Urfy called.

There was no response, but Urfy sensed movement in the corner between the bed and the wall. He drew near, followed by Heykal. The old lady was crouched on the ground, seemingly busy patching some rags that were spread over her knees. She showed no surprise at their arrival; it was as if they’d always been there. But her dim eyes brightened at the sight of Heykal, animating her wasted face.

“I waited for you, my prince!” she said. “I dreamed of you all last night. You were on a white horse and you were slaying a dreadful dragon. But after each of your blows the dragon was reborn: it wouldn’t die. And you, prince, you laughed and laughed…And I knew why you laughed. Deep down, you didn’t want to kill the dragon; the dragon entertained you too much for you to want it dead.”

“Mother,” said Urfy. “Get up, and go lie down on your bed.”

But not until Heykal leaned over and held out his hand to help her would she move. She gripped his hand and rose to her feet as nimbly as a young girl, agile and full of grace. Her cotton dress revealed how skinny she was, and she was as light as a feather. She reached up to arrange the thin white threads of her hair, and, grown strangely coquettish all of a sudden, stretched out languorously on the bed — a pose that was both naive and shockingly shameless — like a courtesan awaiting the tributes of her admirers.

Now Heykal pulled the bouquet of jasmine from the inside pocket of his jacket and offered it to her. She took it and lifted it to her nostrils, breathing the perfume of the flowers with the elegance of a woman in the habit of receiving such attentions.

“Prince, you spoil me!” she simpered. “You’ll ruin yourself, for an old woman like me!”

“It’s nothing, a trifle compared to the happiness you give me,” responded Heykal.

“Happiness — me?! Prince, you’re mocking my old age!”

“You know that I would never dare to do that.”

“But I can tell that you’re a man with a taste for mockery.”

“Under far different circumstances, perhaps. Here, my heart overflows with gratitude.”

“Your heart is big, prince. It requires vast spaces. What do you see in this miserable hole! There are marvels outside. Why do you come to waste your time here?”

She waved the jasmine in the air like a fan, and the rank room began to smell sweet. Heykal sat at her feet, at the end of the bed. He seemed to be unaware of Urfy’s presence and was watching the old woman with peaceful joy.

“There’s nothing out there that you could possibly be missing,” he said. “You must believe me.”

Suddenly she shut her eyes — she seemed to have fallen into a state of intense meditation. With her head thrown back on the pillow, she pressed the bouquet of jasmine hard against her nostrils as if she was breathing in the scent of the world outside, the world of the living, and trying to remember it.

Urfy struggled against a feeling of unreality. He was standing behind Heykal, and over his shoulder he could see his mother stretched out on her bed like a corpse. He didn’t dare intervene in what seemed to him to be a gift from heaven. By what miracle was Heykal able to carry on such a conversation with his mother? He spoke to her naturally, as if she was sane, and the old lady responded in the same way, as if the sheer magic of his presence had made her disordered mind begin to function. Right then Urfy began to wonder if his mother was really crazy or if she had been playing a part. But he banished the question from his mind; what was most important for now was to see her emerging from the darkness to regain her dignity and good humor.

The old lady opened her eyes, lowered the bouquet, and asked, a little anxiously:

“How is humanity these days, prince? I remember it as being nasty.”

She seemed to be asking about a foreign country she had once visited in her youth but to which she’d never returned.

“It still is,” responded Heykal. “But human foolishness remains entertaining enough.”

“There’s no hatred in you. I could tell in my dream the other night. I didn’t see a single spark of meanness in your eyes when you were fighting the dragon. And yet he wanted to devour you, prince. I would never have gotten over it. Be careful.”

“I won’t let myself be eaten up. I’m not the type. I know how to defend myself, even without hatred. Don’t worry about me.”

She gripped his hand and brought it to her lips, like a woman crushed by her lover’s departure for a pointless war.

“Yes, defend yourself. And come back victorious!”

Heykal contemplated her, touched to previously unsuspected depths of his being by this emaciated but smooth face, unwrinkled even by age. He knew no face so transparent, so utterly without blemish. Even the face of the little girl in the tearoom now seemed to bear a stigma of impurity. Her animation had been founded on guile and will, born of unflinching determination to seduce a cunning adversary — already she displayed the tools of her femininity. But the peace of this moment was something else entirely. Saved! Yes, he was saved from the oppressive hypocrisy of men. Only opposite this madwoman, who had forgotten the torments of vanity and lucre, could he feel at peace with the world. For him she had become the incarnation of a human being free of rancor or ambition.

He could see that the old woman was also observing him with an expression of happiness, as if she couldn’t believe the marvelous peace she was feeling.

“We understand each other, don’t we, prince?”

“Yes,” said Heykal. “But it’s our secret and we mustn’t tell anyone.”

Then she leaped from the bed and began to skip and spin around in the narrow space between the bed and the dresser. Her dress flared away from her feeble body, revealing her skinny brown-spotted legs, as she began a melancholy chant that was nonetheless full of spirit and youth, and her voice was that of a young girl happily playing in the garden of her childhood.

Heykal didn’t make a move to stop this spontaneous outbreak of dancing. He was happy watching her, delighted; the scene seemed as beautiful to him as a supernatural vision.

Urfy blanched; for a moment, he’d wanted to intervene, to interrupt the charm of this wild dance that was leading his mother back into madness. But as he observed Heykal, something shifted. He understood that madness and its ways held nothing terrifying. He could live as easily with his mother as with any human being. Madness makes no difference. He seized onto this as if it were his salvation, and, looking at his mother, he began to smile.

The old lady abruptly stopped spinning. Gasping, she curled up on her bed, her features ecstatic.

“Little one,” she said, addressing her son. “Buy me a new dress. A dress with sequins. I want to look good the next time the prince comes to visit. He gives me flowers, and I receive them like a beggar. I must be beautiful.”

She reached out and grasped the bouquet of jasmine. Her head fell back on the pillow and she slept deeply.