Naguib Mahfouz - The Thief and the Dogs

Finally one of them stopped before the gate of the house, which was promptly opened wide by the door-keeper, and Said darted into the street to the left of the house, keeping close to the wall, stopping at a point opposite the entrance door, while the car moved slowly down the drive. It came to a halt in front of the entrance where the light that had been left on illuminated the whole entranceway.

Said took out his revolver now and aimed it carefully as the car door opened and Rauf Ilwan got out.

"Rauf!" Said bellowed. As the man turned in shock towards the source of this shout, Said yelled again: "This is Said Mahran!

Take that!"

But before he could fire, a shot from within the garden, whistling past him very close, disturbed his aim.

He fired and ducked to escape the next shot, then raised his head in desperate determination, took aim and fired again.

All this happened in an instant. After one more wild, hasty shot, he sped away as fast as he could run towards the river, pushed the boat out into the water and leapt into it, rowing towards the opposite bank. Unknown sources deep within him released immediate reserves of physical strength, but his thoughts and emotions swirled as though caught in a whirlpool. He seemed to sense shots being fired, voices of people gathering and a sudden loss of power in some part of his body, but the distance between the river banks was small at that point and he reached the other side, quickly leapt ashore, leaving the boat to drift in the water, and climbed up to the street, clutching the gun in his pocket.

Despite his confused emotions, he proceeded carefully and calmly, looking neither to the right nor left. Aware of people rushing down to the water's edge behind him, of confused shouts from the direction of a bridge, and a shrill whistle piercing the night air, he expected a pursuer to accost him at any moment; and he was ready to put all his efforts either to bluffing his way out or entering one last battle. Before anything else could happen, however, a taxi cruised by. He hailed it and climbed in; the piercing pain he felt as soon as he sat back on the seat was nothing compared to the relief of being safe again.

He crept up to Nur's flat in complete darkness and stretched out on one of the sofas, still in his uniform. The pain returned now, and he identified its source, a little above his knee, where he put his hand and felt a sticky liquid with more sudden pain. Had he knocked against something? Or was it a bullet — when he'd been behind the wall perhaps, or running? Pressing fingers all round the wound, he made himself sure it was only a scratch, if it had been a bullet, it must have grazed him without penetrating.

He got up, took off his uniform, felt for his night shirt on the sofa and put it on. Then he walked around the flat testing out the leg, remembering how once he'd run right down Muhammad Ali Street with a bullet lodged in the leg. "Why, you're capable of miracles," he told himself. "You'll get away all right.

With a little coffee powder this wound will bind up nicely."

But had he managed to kill Rauf Ilwan?

And who had shot at him from inside the garden? Let's hope you didn't hit some other poor innocent fellow like before. And Rauf must surely have been killed — your aim never misses, as you used to show in practice out in the desert beyond the hill. Yes, now you can write a letter to the papers: "Why I killed Rauf Ilwan." That will give back the meaning your life has lost: the bullet that killed Rauf Ilwan will at the same time have destroyed your sense of loss, of waste. A world without morals is like a universe without gravity. I want nothing, long for nothing more than to die a death that has some meaning to it.

Nur came home worn out, carrying food and drink. She kissed him as usual and smiled a greeting, but her eyes suddenly fastened on his uniform trousers. She put her parcel on the sofa, picked them up and held them out to him.

"There's blood!" she said.

Said noticed it for the first time. "It's just a minor wound," he said, showing her his leg. "I hit it on the door of a taxi."

"You've been out in that uniform for some specific reason! There's no limit to your madness. You'll kill me with worry!"

"A little bit of coffee powder will cure this wound even before the sun rises."

"My soul rises, you mean! You are simply murdering me! Oh when will this nightmare end?"

In a burst of nervous energy Nur dressed the wound with powdered coffee, then bound it up with a cutting from fabric she was using to make a dress, complaining about her ill-fortune all the time she worked.

"Why don't you take a shower?" said Said.

"It'll make you feel good."

"You don't know good from bad," she said, leaving the room.

By the time she came back to the bedroom, he had already drunk a third of a bottle of wine and his mood and nerves felt much improved.

"Drink up!" he said as she sat down. "After all, I'm here, all right, in a nice safe place, way out of sight of the police."

"I'm really very depressed," Nur whimpered, combing her wet hair.

"Who can determine the future anyway?" he said, taking a swallow.

"Only our own actions can."

"Nothing, absolutely nothing is certain. Except your being with me, and that's something I can't do without."

"So you say now!"

"And I've got more to say. Being with you, after being out there with bullets tearing after me, is like being in Paradise." Her long sigh in response was deep, as if in self-communion at night; and he went on: "You really are very good to me. I want you to know I'm grateful."

"But I'm so worried. All I want is for you to stay safe."

"We'll still have our opportunity."

"Escape! Put your mind to how we can escape."

"Yes, I will. But let's wait for the dogs to close their eyes awhile."

"But you go outside so carelessly. You're obsessed with killing your wife and this other man.

You won't kill them. But you will bring about your own destruction."

"What did you hear in town?"

"The taxi-driver who brought me home was on your side. But he said you'd killed some poor innocent fellow."

Said grunted irritably and forestalled any expression of regret by taking another big swallow, gesturing at Nur to drink too. She raised the glass to her lips.

"What else did you hear?" he said.

"On the houseboat where I spent the evening one man said you act as a stimulant, a diversion to relieve peoples' boredom."

"And what did you reply?"

"Nothing at all," Nur said pouting. "But I do defend you; and you don't look after yourself at all. You don't love me either. But to me you're more precious than my life itself; I've never in my whole life known happiness except in your arms. But you'd rather destroy yourself than love me."

She was crying now, the glass still in her hand.

Said put his arm around her. "You'll find me true to my promise," he whispered. "We will escape and live together for ever."

What enormous headlines and dramatic photos! It was obviously the major news item. Rauf Ilwan had been interviewed and had said that Said Mahran had been a servant in the students' hostel when he'd lived there, that he'd felt very sorry for him, and that later, after his release from prison, Said had visited him to ask for help, so he'd given him some money to start a new life; that Said had tried to rob his house the very same night and that he, Rauf, had caught and scolded him, but let him go again out of compassion. And that then Said had come back to kill him!

The papers accused Said of being mad, craving for power and blood: his wife's infidelity had made him lose his mind, they said, and now he was killing at random. Rauf had apparently been untouched, but the unfortunate doorkeeper had fallen. Another poor innocent killed!