The Beggar, the Thief and the Dogs, Autumn Quail (19 page)

           

D
awn was close, but Nur had not returned—though the waiting and all his worry had exhausted him, bouts of insomnia kept crushing against his brain—and now the warm darkness was splitting apart to reveal one flaming question: Was it possible that the promised reward was having some effect on Nur?

Suspicion had tainted his blood to the last drop now: he had visions of infidelity as pervasive as dust in a windstorm. He remembered how sure he was once that Nabawiyya belonged to him, when in reality she'd probably never loved him at all, even in the days of the lone palm tree at the edge of the field.

But surely Nur would never betray him, never turn him over to the police for the reward. She had no interest now in such financial transactions. She was getting on in life. What she wanted was a sincere emotional relationship with someone. He ought to feel guilty for his suspicious thoughts.

The worry over Nur's absence persisted, nevertheless. It's your hunger, thirst, and all the waiting that's getting you down, he said to himself.
Just like that time you stood waiting beneath the palm tree, waiting for Nabawiyya, and she didn't come. You began prowling around the old Turkish woman's house, biting your fingernails with impatience and so crazy with worry you almost knocked on her door. And what a quiver of joy when she did emerge—a feeling of complete exhilaration, spreading through you, lifting you up to the seventh heaven
.

It had been a time for tears and laughter, of uncontrolled emotion, a time of confidence, a time of boundless joy. Don't think about the palm tree days now. They're gone forever, cut off by blood, bullets, and madness. Think only about what you've got to do now, waiting here, filled with bitterness, in this murderous stifling darkness
.

He could only conclude that Nur did not want to come back, did not want to save him from the tortures of solitude in the dark, from hunger and thirst. At the height of a bout of remorse and despair, he at last fell asleep. When he opened his eyes again he saw daylight and felt the heat slipping through the shutters into the closed room. Worried and confused, he stepped quickly into the bedroom, to find it exactly as Nur had left it the day before, then roamed around the entire flat. Nur had not returned. Where, he wondered, could she have spent the night? What had prevented her return? And how long was he to be sentenced to this solitary confinement?

He was feeling distinct pangs of hunger now, despite his worries, and he went into the kitchen. On the unwashed plates there he found several scraps of bread, bits of meat sticking to bones, and some parsley. He consumed them
all, ravenously gnawing on the bones like a dog, then spent the rest of the whole day wondering why she had not returned, wondering if she ever would. He would sit for a while, then wander about and sit again. His only distraction was gazing through the shutters out over the cemetery, watching the funerals and aimlessly counting the graves. Evening came, but Nur still had not returned.

There must be some sort of reason. Wherever could she be? He felt his worry, anger, and hunger tearing him apart. Nur was in trouble, there was no doubt of that, but somehow she simply had to free herself from her difficulty, whatever it was, and come back. Otherwise what would become of him?

After midnight he quietly left the flat and made his way over the waste ground to Tarzan's coffeehouse. He whistled three times when he arrived at the spot they'd agreed on and waited until Tarzan came out.

“Do be extremely careful,” said Tarzan, shaking his hand, “there are agents watching everywhere.”

“I need some food!”

“You don't say! You're hungry, then!”

“Yes. Nothing ever surprises you, does it?”

“I'll send the waiter to get you some cooked meat. But I'm telling you, it really is dangerous for you to go out.”

“Oh, we had worse trouble in the old days, you and I.”

“I don't think so. That last attack of yours has turned the whole world upside down on top of you.”

“It's always been upside down.”

“But it was disastrous of you to attack a man of importance!”

They parted and Said withdrew a little. After some time the food was brought to him and he gulped it down, sitting on the sand beneath a moon now really full. He looked
over at the light coming from Tarzan's café on the little hill and imagined the customers sitting there in the room chatting. No, he really did not like being alone. When he was with others his stature seemed to grow giantlike: he had a talent for friendship, leadership, even heroism. Without all that there was simply no spice to life. But had Nur come back yet? Would she return at all? Would he go back to find her there or would there be more of that murderous loneliness?

At last he got up, brushed the sand and dust from his trousers, and walked off toward the grove, planning to go back to the flat by the path that wound around the south side of the Martyr's Tomb. Near the tip of the grove, at the spot where he'd waylaid Bayaza, the earth seemed to split open, emitting two figures who jumped out on either side of him.

“Stop where you are!” said one of them in a deep urbanized country accent.

“And let's see your identity card!” barked the other.

The former shone a flashlight into his face and Said lowered his head as though to protect his eyes, demanding angrily, “Who do you think you are? Come on, answer me!”

They were taken aback by his imperious tone; they'd now seen his uniform in the glow of the flashlight.

“I'm very sorry indeed, sir,” the first man said. “In the shadow of the trees we couldn't see who you were.”

“And who are you?” Said shouted, with even more anger in his voice.

“We're from the station at al-Waily, sir,” they answered hastily.

The flashlight was turned off now, but Said had already seen something disturbing in the expression of the second
man, who had been peering very quizzically at him, as though suddenly filled with doubt. Afraid he might lose control of the situation, Said moved decisively and with force, swinging a fist into both their bellies. They reeled back, and before they could recover he sent a hail of blows at chins and bellies until they were unconscious. Then he dashed away as fast as he could go. At the corner of Sharia Najm al-Din he stopped to make sure no one was following, then he continued along quietly to the flat.

Once there he found it as empty as when he'd left, with only more loneliness, boredom, and worry there to meet him. He took off his jacket and threw himself onto a sofa in the dark. His own sad voice came to him audibly: “Nur, where are you?”

All was not well with her, that was obvious. Had the police arrested her? Had some louts attacked her? She had to be in some sort of trouble. Emotions and instincts told him that much, and that he would never see Nur again. The thought choked him with despair, not merely because he would soon lose a safe hiding place but also because he knew he'd lost affection and companionship as well. He saw her there in the dark before him—Nur, with all her smiles and joking, her love and her unhappiness—and the terrible depression he felt made him aware that she had penetrated much deeper within him than he had imagined, that she had become a part of him, and that she should never have been separated from this life of his which was in shreds and tottering on the brink of an abyss. Closing his eyes in the darkness, he silently acknowledged that he did love her and that he would not hesitate to give his own life to bring her safely back. Then one thought made him growl in anger: “And yet would her demise cause so much as a single ripple anywhere?”

No, definitely not. Not even a pretense of grief would be made for the loss of Nur, who was only a woman with no protector, adrift on a sea of waves either indifferent or hostile. And Sana, too, might well find herself one day with no one to look after her. These thoughts scared and angered him and he gripped his gun and pointed it in front of him in the dark, as though warning the unknown. In deep despair, delirious in the silence and dark, he began to sob; and sobbed until late in the night sleep finally overcame him.

It was daylight when he next opened his eyes, aware that someone's knocking on the door had awakened him. He jumped up in alarm and tiptoed to the front door of the flat, the knocking continuing all the time.

“Madame Nur! Madame Nur!” a woman's voice shouted.

Who was the woman and what could she want? He got his revolver from the other room. Now he heard a man's voice: “Well, maybe she's gone out.”

“No,” he heard the woman reply, “at this time of day she's always home. And she's never been late with the rent before.”

So it must be the landlady. The woman gave one last angry bang on the door and yelled: “Today's the fifth of the month and I'm not going to wait any longer!”

Then she and the man walked away, grumbling as they went.

Circumstances were after him now, as well as the police. The woman would certainly not wait long and would be sure to get into the flat by one means or another. The best thing for him was to get out as soon as he possibly could.

But where was he to go?

           

L
ate in the afternoon and then again during the evening the landlady returned. “No, no, Madame Nur,” she muttered as she finally left, “everything has to come to an end sometime, you know.”

At midnight Said slipped out. Although his confidence in everything had gone, he was careful to walk very naturally and slowly, as if merely taking a stroll. More than once, when the thought struck him that people passing by or standing around might well be informers, he braced himself for one last desperate battle. After the encounter on the previous day, he had no doubts that the police would be in occupation of the whole area near Tarzan's café, so he moved off toward Jabal Road.

Hunger was tearing at his stomach now. On the road, it occurred to him that Sheikh Ali al-Junaydi's house might well provide a temporary place of refuge while he thought out his next moves. It was only as he slipped into the courtyard of the silent house that he realized that he had left his uniform in the sitting room of Nur's flat. Infuriated
by his forgetfulness Said went on into the old man's room, where the lamplight showed the Sheikh sitting in the corner reserved for prayer, completely engrossed in a whispered monologue. Said walked over to the wall where he'd left his books and sat down, exhausted.

The Sheikh continued his quiet utterance until Said addressed him: “Good evening, then, Sheikh Ali.”

The old man raised his hand to his head in response to the greeting, but did not break off his incantations.

“Sheikh, I'm really hungry,” Said said.

The old man seemed to interrupt his chant, gazed at him vacantly, then nodded with his chin to a side table nearby where Said saw some bread and figs. He got up at once, went to the table, and ravenously consumed it all, then stood there looking at the Sheikh with unappeased eyes.

“Don't you have any money?” the Sheikh said quietly.

“Oh yes.”

“Why not go and buy yourself something to eat?”

Said then made his way quietly back to his seat. The Sheikh sat contemplating him for a while, then said, “When are you going to settle down, do you think?”

“Not on the face of this earth.”

“That's why you're hungry, even though you've got money.”

“So be it, then.”

“As for me,” the Sheikh commented, “I was just reciting some verses about life's sorrows. I was reciting in a joyful frame of mind.”

“Yes. Well, you're certainly a happy Sheikh,” Said said. “The scoundrels have got away,” he went on angrily. “How can I settle down after that?”

“How many of them are there?”

“Three.”

“What joy for the world if its scoundrels number only three.”

“No, there are very many more, but my enemies are only three.”

“Well then, no one has ‘got away.' ”

“I'm not responsible for the world, you know.”

“Oh yes. You're responsible for both this world and the next!” While Said puffed in exasperation, the Sheikh continued: “Patience is holy and through it things are blessed.”

“But it's the guilty who succeed, while the innocent fail,” Said commented glumly.

The Sheikh sighed. “When shall we succeed in achieving peace of mind under the rule of authority?”

“When authority becomes fair,” Said replied.

“It is always fair.”

Said shook his head angrily. “Yes,” he muttered. “They've got away now, all right, damn it.” The Sheikh merely smiled without speaking. Said's voice changed its tone as he tried to alter the course of the conversation. “I'm going to sleep with my face toward the wall. I don't want anyone who visits you to see me. I'm going to hide out here with you. Please protect me.”

“Trusting God means entrusting one's lodging to God alone,” the Sheikh said gently.

“Would you give me up?”

“Oh no, God forbid.”

“Would it be in your power, with all the grace with which you're endowed, to save me, then?”

“You can save yourself, if you wish,” came the Sheikh's reply.

“I will kill the others,” Said whispered to himself, and
aloud said, “Are you capable of straightening the shadow of something crooked?”

“I do not concern myself with shadows,” the Sheikh replied softly.

Silence followed and light from the moon streamed more strongly through the window onto the ceiling. In a whisper the Sheikh began reciting a mystic chant: “All beauty in creation stems from You.”

Yes, Said told himself quietly, the Sheikh will always find something appropriate to say.
But this house of yours, dear sir, is not secure, though you yourself might be security personified. I've got to get away, no matter what the cost. And as for you, Nur, let's hope at least good luck will protect you, if you find neither justice nor mercy. But how did I forget that uniform? I wrapped it up, intending to take it with me. How could I have forgotten it at the last moment? I've lost my touch. From all this sleeplessness, loneliness, dark, and worry. They'll find that uniform. It might supply the first thread leading to you: they'll have dogs smelling it, fanning out in all directions to the very ends of the earth, sniffing and barking to complete a drama that will titillate newspaper readers
.

Suddenly the Sheikh spoke again in a melancholy tone of voice: “I asked you to raise up your face to the heavens, yet here you are announcing that you are going to turn it to the wall!”

“But don't you remember what I told you about the scoundrels?” Said demanded, gazing at him sadly.

“ ‘Remember the name of your Lord, if you forget.' ”

Said lowered his gaze, feeling troubled, then wondered again, as depression gripped him further, how he could have forgotten the uniform.

The Sheikh said suddenly, as if addressing someone else, “He was asked: ‘Do you know of any incantation we can recite or potion we can use that might perhaps nullify a decree of God?” And he answered: ‘Such would be a decree of God!' ”

“What do you mean?” Said asked.

“Your father was never one to fail to understand my words,” replied the old man, sighing sadly.

“Well,” Said said irritably, “it is regrettable that I didn't find sufficient food in your home, just as it is unfortunate that I forgot the uniform. Also my mind does fail to comprehend you and I will turn my face to the wall. But I'm confident that I'm in the right.”

Smiling sadly, the Sheikh said, “My Master stated: ‘I gaze in the mirror many times each day fearing that my face might have turned black!' ”

“You?!”

“No, my Master himself.”

“How,” Said asked scornfully, “could the scoundrels keep checking in the mirror every hour?”

The Sheikh bowed his head, reciting, “All beauty in creation stems from You.”

Said closed his eyes, saying to himself, “I'm really tired, but I'll have no peace until I get that uniform back.”