Naguib Mahfouz: The Thief and the Dogs

When Tarzan appeared, moving like a wave of darkness, they embraced and Said asked him, "What's new?"

"One of them's finally turned up," the stout man replied, out of breath from walking.

"Who?" Said asked anxiously.

"It's Bayaza," said Tarzan, still gripping his hand, "and he's in my place now, clinching a deal."

"So my waiting wasn't wasted. Do you know which way he's going?"

"He'll go back by Jabal Road."

"Thanks very much indeed, friend."

Said left quickly, making his way east, guided by the faint moonlight to the clump of trees around the wells. He moved on along the south side of the grove until he reached its tip, ending in the sands where the road up the mountain began. There he crouched behind a tree and waited.

A cool breeze sent a whisper through the grove. It was a desolate, lonely spot.

Gripping his revolver hard, he pondered the chance that might now be at hand, to bear down on his enemy and achieve his long-awaited goal. And then death, a final resting place. "Ilish Sidra," he said aloud, heard only by the trees as they drank in the breeze, "and then Rauf Ilwan. Both in one night. After that let come what may."

Tense, impatient, he did not have long to wait for a figure to come hurrying in the dark from the direction of the café towards the tip of the woods.

When there was only a yard or two left between the man and the road Said leaped out, leveling his revolver.

"Stop!" he roared.

The man stopped as if hit by a bolt of electricity, and stared at Said speechless.

"Bayaza, I know where you were, what you've been doing, how much cash you're carrying."

The man's breath came forth in a hiss and his arm made a slight, hesitant movement, a twitch. "The money's for my children," he gasped.

Said slapped him hard across the face, making him blink. "You still don't recognize me, Bayaza, you dog!"

"Who are you? I know your voice, but I can't believe," Bayaza said, then cried out, "Said Mahran!"

"Don't move! The first move you make, you're dead."

"You kill me! Why? We've no reason to be enemies?"

"Well, here's one," muttered Said, stretching his hand to reach into the man's clothing, locating the heavy purse and ripping it loose.

"But that's my money. I'm not your enemy."

"Shut up. I've not got all I want yet."

"But we're old pals. That's something you should respect."

"If you want to live, tell me where Ilish Sidra is staying."

"I don't know," Bayaza replied emphatically. "No one knows."

Said slapped him again, harder than before, "I'll kill you if you don't tell me where he is," he shouted. "And you won't get your money back until I know you're telling the truth!"

"I don't know, I swear I don't know,"

Bayaza whispered.

"You liar!"

"I'll swear any oath you like!"

"You're telling me he's disappeared completely, dissolved like salt in water?"

"I really don't know. No one knows. He moved out right after your visit, afraid of what you might do. I'm telling the truth. He moved to Rod al-Farag."

"His address?"

"Wait, Said," he pleaded. "And after Shaban Husayn was killed he took his family away again. He didn't tell anyone where. He was scared, all right, and his wife was, too. And no one knows anything more about them."

"Bayaza!"

"I swear I'm telling the truth!" Said hit him again and the man groaned with pain and fear: "Why are you beating me, Said? God damn Sidra wherever he may be; is he my brother or my father that I would die on his account?"

At last, and reluctantly, Said believed him and began to lose hope of ever finding his enemy.

If only he wasn't a hunted man, wanted for murder, he would bide his time, and wait patiently for the proper opportunity! But that misdirected shot of his had struck at the heart of his own most intense desire.

"You're being unfair to me," said Bayaza.

When Said did not reply, he went on: "And what about my money? I never harmed you." He held a hand to the side of his face where Said had struck him, "and you've no right to take my money.

We used to work together!"

"And you were always one of Sidra's buddies too."

"Yes, I was his friend and his partner, but that doesn't mean I'm your enemy. I had nothing to do with what he did to you."

The fight was over now and a retreat was the only course. "Well," Said told him, "I'm in need of some cash."

"Take what you like, then," said Bayaza.

Said was satisfied with ten pounds.

The other man left, dazed as if he scarcely believed his escape, and Said found himself alone again in the desert, the light from the moon brighter now and the whispering of the trees harsher. So Ilish Sidra has slipped out of his clutches, escaped his due punishment, rescued his own treacherous self, adding one to the number of scot-free traitors. Rauf, the only hope I have left is in you, that you won't make me lose my life in vain.

By the time Said had returned to the flat, dressed in his officer's uniform, and left, it was well after one o'clock. He turned towards Abbasiyya Street, avoiding the lights and forcing himself to walk very naturally, then took a taxi to Gala's bridge, passing an unpleasant number of policemen en route.

At the dock near the bridge he paid to hire a small rowboat for two hours and promptly set off in it south, towards Rauf Ilwan's house. It was a fine starry night, a cool breeze blowing, the quarter moon still visible in the clear sky above the trees along the river bank.

Excited, full of energy, Said felt ready to spring into vigorous action. Ilish Sidra's escape was not a defeat, not as long as punishment was about to descend on Rauf Ilwan. For Rauf, after all, personified the highest standard of treachery from which people like Ilish and Nabawiyya and all the other traitors on earth sought inspiration.

"It's time to settle accounts, Rauf," he said, pulling the oars hard. "And if anyone but the police stood as judges between us, I'd teach you a lesson in front of everyone. They, the people, everyone — all the people except the real robbers — are on my side, and that's what will console me in my everlasting perdition. I am, in fact, your soul.

You've sacrificed me. I lack organization, as you would put it. I now understand many of the things you used to say that I couldn't comprehend then. And the worst of it is that despite this support from millions of people I find myself driven away into dismal isolation, with no one to help. It's senseless all of it, a waste. No bullet could clear away its absurdity. But at least a bullet will be right, a bloody protest, something to comfort the living and the dead, to let them hold onto their last shred of hope."

At a point opposite the big house, he turned shorewards, rowed in to the bank, jumped out, pulled the boat up after him until its bow was well up on dry land, then climbed the bank up to the road, where, feeling calm and secure in his officer's uniform, he walked away. The road seemed empty and when he got to the house he saw no sign of guards, which both pleased and angered him. The house itself was shrouded in darkness except for a single light at the entrance, convincing him that the owner was not yet back, that forced entry was unnecessary, and that a number of other difficulties had been removed.

Walking quite casually, he turned down the street along the left side of the house and followed it to its end at Sharia Giza, then he turned along Sharia Giza and proceeded to the other street, passing along the right of the house, until he regained the riverside, examining everything along the way most carefully. Then he made his way over to a patch of ground shaded from the street lights by a tree, and stood waiting, his eyes fixed on the house, relaxing them only by gazing out from time to time at the dark surface of the river; his thoughts fled to Rauf's treachery, the deception that had crushed his life, the ruin that was facing him, the death blocking his path, all the things that made Rauf's death an absolute necessity. He watched each car with bated breath as it approached.