Albert Cossery - A Splendid Conspiracy

Imtaz had understood perfectly what Chawki wanted to speak to him about but, with malicious pleasure, he pretended not to know and continued talking about the mysterious disappearances.

“We care a great deal,” he said. “And do you know why, my dear Chawki?”

Chawki seemed taken aback by the question; his face assumed a comic expression of terror.

“No, on my honor, I do not.”

“Because the police,” Imtaz continued, “believe that my friends and I have something to do with these disappearances.”

“What a ridiculous idea!”

“The ideas of the police are often ridiculous, but you can’t blame them. It’s their way of going about things. Don’t forget that we are considered to be subversive minds here and, as a result, we are the first to be suspected as soon as some calamity strikes the city. Even if it’s a flood we’re talking about.”

“A flood!” Chawki said, amazed. “That’s astonishing!”

“Not at all. It’s quite natural. The police could never carry out their task if they had no suspects. And we’re here to guarantee them a modest yield. For the time being, it hardly bothers us. But we will be extremely upset the day you disappear.”

“Me! Disappear! God forbid!”

“I certainly don’t wish it on you. But you never know. After all, you are a very wealthy man and people know that you usually have a lot of money on you. If this itinerant criminal were to harm you in some way, we would no longer be mere suspects. Everyone in the city is aware of our relationship. They would think it was a long-premeditated trap.”

“Are you serious?” Chawki asked incredulously.

“Of course,” replied Imtaz, keeping his composure. “And I’ll be grateful if you don’t do anything foolish. For example, you would be wise to take all those rings off your fingers when you go out at night. They glitter so much that, from a distance, you could be mistaken for a city lit up to celebrate a national holiday.”

“But I cannot take them off,” Chawki declared, holding out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I’ve been wearing them for years; they’re practically embedded in my flesh.”

“That’s a shame,” said Imtaz with a pitying look. “An assassin will have no trouble taking them off you. Those people will stop at nothing. It’s not hard work for them to cut off one, or even several of their victim’s fingers.”

Chawki shuddered, looking at his chubby fingers: bands of different widths, set with precious stones, shimmered beneath the light falling from the chandeliers. Seized by a hideous terror, he was trying to conceal it behind a jovial smile that grotesquely distended his mouth.

“What an awful joke,” he said.

“It’s no joke,” Imtaz replied. “Remember that, from now on, our safety depends on yours.”

Chawki turned toward Teymour and looked at him attentively, as if waiting for him to give his opinion on this shocking subject. All of a sudden he realized that Teymour had not yet taken part in the conversation, and he silently reproached himself for having neglected such a gallant visitor. He was impressed by Teymour’s appearance and the style of his clothing imported from abroad. Clearly this young man was not just anyone; he had the face of an experienced carouser, and his arrival in the city would surely give new momentum to their little group of joyful companions. Chawki — controlling the panic that Imtaz’s pernicious insinuations had just unleashed in him — resolved to change the subject, and directed the conversation toward less macabre small talk.

“Excuse me,” he said to Teymour affably, in an almost fatherly tone of voice. “I have not yet asked you about your long stay abroad. Did it go well?”

“Exceedingly,” Teymour answered.

“It must be a great change for you. Our city, alas, cannot withstand comparison to Western capitals. I mean, in the matter of pleasures.”

“I had thought so until now. But I am in the process of changing my mind.”

Chawki’s eyes grew wide, and his smile slowly faded, as if from intense surprise.

“Really!” he said. “That seems so unlikely!”

A silence ensued, during which Teymour observed the plump little man sitting in his armchair, his hands decked out with gleaming rings, his face a grimace beneath the weight of reflection. He was beginning to understand the interest that a figure like Chawki could arouse in a critical mind. The man’s infamous nature was amply offset by his air of narrow-minded stupidity, which could easily revive a dying observer’s optimism. In the painful monotony of the city, Chawki would certainly prove to be a comic element of phenomenal importance.

Chawki’s prolonged astonishment led Imtaz to pursue his cynical strategy of bewitchment.

“My friend Teymour has fascinating ideas about how to put an end to the boredom in this city.”

“Tell me what they are,” said Chawki, fidgeting in his armchair.

“He doesn’t want to talk about them yet. But you can trust him. As you can imagine, during his long stay abroad he developed an interest in every imaginable kind of pleasure. He knows ways to corrupt this city that will make it a place of debauchery known the world over.”

As if dazzled by such a prospect, Chawki blinked several times before asking Teymour impatiently:

“What are you waiting for, my son?”

“For now, I’m getting the lay of the land,” answered Teymour.

“And what is your impression?”

“The land’s very promising. With a bit of perseverance, we’ll mange to drag this city out of its drowsiness.”

“May God keep you!” said Chawki with respect. “What a splendid idea your father had in sending you abroad!”

Pleased with his little witticism, Chawki regained his inane smile and leaned toward the table to refill his guests’ empty glasses. The euphoria of the alcohol, combined with Teymour’s wonderful intervention in the city’s destiny, had made him forget Imtaz’s warning about a bloody fate. What he did not forget were Imtaz’s promises about the young girl from a good family, and he asked the former actor again how the affair was proceeding.

“I’m going forward, but carefully,” answered Imtaz. “It’s a long-term affair, as you can imagine. I am trying to plead your case with the person in question, telling her wonderful things about you. But I must act with a great deal of tact.”

“You already have someone in mind!” cried Chawki. “Well, then, success is assured. You are a man of miracles!”

“By the way, we have arranged a party for tomorrow night,” said Imtaz.

“Where?”

“At Salma’s. I hope you have no objections.”

“None at all,” Chawki assured him. “Tomorrow morning I will have a case of whiskey delivered to her house.”

Salma was a young woman from a poor family whom Chawki had seduced and abandoned but to whom he continued to give an allowance because she had been forced to leave home after she was dishonored. She lived by herself in an apartment where Chawki occasionally went to visit her. The young woman hated him passionately and only received Chawki in order to heap criticism and scorn on him. Imtaz was counting on this explosive situation to enliven the evening with some delightful battle scenes between Chawki and his former mistress.

“I see a surprise coming,” Chawki resumed. “Is there some new development?”

“Yes,” said Imtaz. “I will be bringing some very fine people with me. But I’m warning you, you must behave.”

“Really!”

“It will be truly magnificent. Two girls the likes of which you’ve never seen before. A short while ago they were still at their mother’s breast.”

“I see,” said Chawki. Then, after a moment, he added: “Perhaps I should send cakes. They’d like that, don’t you think?”