Albert Cossery - The Jokers

The two men watched for a moment, then left the room in silence.

Urfy was afraid to speak; never in his life had he been so happy. An enormous burden seemed to slide off his shoulders, leaving him free and invulnerable. He no longer stooped but held his head high as he followed Heykal to the front door.

Before parting they shook hands. They stood in the deserted, badly lit street in front of the basement door.

“You have a precious gift,” said Heykal. “Don’t ever give her up to those criminals!”

“Don’t worry,” responded Urfy. “I understand now. And forgive me, Heykal, my brother, that it took so long.”

Heykal walked off, then turned back to see Urfy still standing in front of the basement entrance. Once again he waved, with all the pomp and circumstance of a king departing for exile, leaving all that is most precious to him far behind.

It was only a big cloud passing over the city, but it blotted out the sun so completely you would have thought a storm was brewing. The kite was a yellow streak against the dark background of sky, and it pitched back and forth, tossed by a gusty sea breeze. The long fringed tail wriggled and writhed like a snake sprung from the belly of the cloud into a maddening void. Karim grasped the string firmly, racing around the terrace, back and forth, maneuvering the kite to ever greater heights. It was a new kite, with an enormous tail, and he was testing it with fierce pleasure — he’d made it for Amar, the little prostitute who’d shown up again the night before. When he came home, he’d found her sitting on the steps of his building. She’d apologized for disturbing him, but Karim had lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He made love to her all night, and in the morning he wanted to give her something. But what? He had no money, nothing of any value to express his gratitude. Then he thought he’d make a kite — not for financial consideration but as a pure disinterested work of art. He leaped out of bed and got started, choosing his materials with care, as if getting ready to build a palace for the woman of his dreams.

Now he was waiting for the kite to scale the heights, to anchor itself firmly in the sky, before calling the girl to come see. He was proud of himself; it was a triumph of kite-making and she was sure to admire his skill. Wasn’t it a marvelous gift — so pretty, this kite sailing through the stormy immensity of the sky like a shimmering sign of love? He smiled at his silly romanticism, carefully steering the heavy kite through the unpredictable dangers of the atmosphere. He was worried, fearing an accident; a moment’s distraction and his beautiful gift might split to pieces. For a moment he panicked, then sighed with relief; his task was done. High in the sky the kite hung still, solitary and regal; Karim could feel it vibrating at the end of its string. He stopped, out of breath, his bare chest glistening with sweat, and leaned on the parapet. For a long moment, he stood admiring his creation with childlike pride.

“Dear God! I can see you’re having fun!”

Karim gave a start, and the kite pitched lightly in the distance; he tugged on the string to steady it. He knew that voice, and without taking his eyes from the kite, he yelled out:

“Hello, Taher! Believe me, I’m not having fun, I’m hard at work!”

Taher strode onto the terrace. He wore his signature tight suit, starched collar, and tie. But this time he wasn’t barefoot; his shoes had new soles, very thick, made to last a long time. They made an imposing sound on the terrace. The sound seemed to give Taher pleasure; with each step his self-confidence grew. He approached Karim and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“Delighted to see you at work,” he said. “Your terrace is splendid, I have to admit. Listen, I have to apologize for the other night. Your friend Heykal knew what I meant, but you I need to talk to.”

“No need to talk,” said Karim.

He didn’t look at Taher, keeping his eyes on the kite. The fat cloud had drifted off and now the sun reappeared, blurry, as if enfeebled by a long absence. Its rays glanced off the yellow framework of the kite, which sparkled in the sky like a trail of gold. Karim was ecstatic to be holding all this gold at the end of a string, but his ecstasy was tempered by more realistic concerns. Taher’s presence on the terrace was not particularly to his liking; on the contrary, it was seriously worrying for him. Taher was putting him in a difficult, perhaps even a dangerous situation. The presence of a patented revolutionary in his home could cause no end of trouble, for no doubt the police were following his old friend’s every movement. If by a stroke of bad luck they found out about this visit, they’d cause problems for him, the cruelest of which would be to make him move out. They would drive him out; no question of it. But what to do? He couldn’t forbid Taher to enter his home; that would be improper and completely incompatible with his character. He had a highly developed sense of hospitality, and whatever might happen, he knew he could never bring himself to show his old friend the door.

Taher seemed annoyed by the offhandedness of his reception; he supposed Karim had no time for anything except his kite.

“Forget the kite and look at me,” he said.

“It took me an hour to get it so high,” said Karim, with eyes still lifted up. “Don’t you think it’s beautiful?”

“I’m in no mood to marvel at a kite. Who do you think I am? Come on, stop fooling around, I have serious things to discuss.”

“God, what have I done!” lamented Karim. “There are a million men in this city, and you have to come to me with serious things to discuss! Can’t you just enjoy yourself? Look at this kite, what a marvel!”

“The only reason I came to you is because this is your terrace,” Taher remarked enigmatically.

“My terrace! You want to buy it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I just want to make use of it this evening between nine and ten o’clock. That’s all I ask.”

“To do what? To sleep with a woman? If that’s what you want, I’m happy to let you use my bedroom.”

Without responding, Taher lifted his head to look at the kite, which remained perfectly still in the sky. He’d almost exhausted his patience for capturing Karim’s attention; to make him understand his plan would be even more complicated. This fool thinks he’s an engineer because he can fly a kite! Such degeneracy was beyond remedy, and Taher realized he was up against what he hated most: a joker and his wiles. How was he going to reach him? How could he penetrate his conscience when he was so proud to reject both dignity and honor, those treasures of the soul that even the most miserable beggar held fast beneath his rags? There Karim stood like a dim-witted child, mesmerized by his kite, while the people were suffering and the city stank with the sickness of their pain. Taher wanted to cry, to scream, to lash out, but he contained his rage: he was the people’s proxy, the military wing of their revenge. Duty commanded that he forget his bitterness for now. He must focus on the reason he was here.

“Did you know that there’s a big gala going on tonight at the casino?” he said in a soft, almost friendly tone, as if he hoped Karim would accompany him to the party.

“I didn’t, in fact. I’m not as social as you think.”

“It’s not about being social. I abhor social events, as you well know. But the governor is going; he’s the host of the party.”

“So?” Karim asked, suddenly worried at this mention of the governor.

“He’ll pass by in his car, with his motorcycle escorts — right down there on the cliff road. It’s the only possible route. I’ve studied it.”