“Well, that’s one less veterinarian in this country. But what does it matter? I’m sure the animals won’t suffer from such a loss.”
“Still, he was your friend!” cried Salma. “You were the one who brought him here and introduced him to me as a delightful companion and a brother. You seemed so concerned about making life pleasant for him. On top of it, you tried desperately to convince him not to go back to the capital, as if you were in love with him! I don’t understand your reaction now that he may be dead.”
She began to cry softly, which irritated Medhat; really, this was not a spectacle to inflict on him so early in the morning. He had admitted his disappointment in Samaraï to Salma, and now seemed the appropriate time to reveal the heinous truth about her lover’s outmoded and stupid mentality. Medhat was not going to let himself be persecuted in this way without reacting.
“I never told you, but I made a mistake. I thought he would be a positive element in our group. I took him for an intelligent boy, able to grasp all the childishness of his smug pursuit of a degree in veterinary medicine. At first he gave me the impression he had understood, but that was just show. In truth he simply wanted a few days of vacation and had nothing against sleeping with you as a bonus. He had never seen a thing in his life, that peasant! Rather than behaving properly and savoring such simple happiness, he had the cheek to want to take you away with him to live in the capital. The height of ingratitude! In short, he disappointed me and I refuse to fret over this imbecile any longer. In any case, nothing has happened to him; that would be too much to hope for.”
“It’s all my fault. I chased him away. What will become of me if they’ve killed him? Tell me, how could I go on living?”
It was difficult to quell Medhat’s optimism with words of this sort. He, too, knew how to exploit the rules of tragedy and he made sure to give a comforting and even slightly mundane tone to his own lines of dialogue:
“Don’t worry. He’s probably getting drunk somewhere. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
“Try to find him. Tell him I forgive him everything and he can come back.”
In spite of himself, Medhat was touched by this unforeseeable change of mind. Until now he had always thought that Salma tolerated the veterinary student like some inevitable curse and that she had nothing but scorn for his turbulent passion. But Samaraï’s disappearance was turning her into a tearful lover admitting her faults and ready to forgive all transgressions. Had she by chance begun to love Samaraï, or on this occasion was she resorting to just another subterfuge because of her constant need to play an ill-starred role in her relations with men? How could one know? It was as pointless to try to penetrate the unbalanced mind of a woman as it was to attempt to read the future in coffee grounds. In any case, Medhat had had enough of this funeral. All he wanted was never to see the veterinary student again. Still, he said:
“You can count on me. I’ll start looking for him right away.”
He made as if to get up from his chair, but Salma reached out her arm to hold him back.
“Stay and have lunch with me. I don’t feel like being alone.”
He was about to decline the invitation when the little servant girl who was feverishly drying the dishes at the sink shot a quick glance his way, as if she were expecting him to accept. Medhat caught this glance and said joyfully:
“Of course, with pleasure.”
The young servant girl’s body trembled ever so slightly and Medhat looked forward with glee to all the teasing that would go on between them during lunch. Lost in the pain of her putative widowhood, Salma suspected nothing.
The morning sun had vanished by the time Medhat left Salma’s house. A gray sky darkened the alleys emptied at siesta time, and he wondered how he should spend his afternoon. He had promised the young woman to look for Samaraï in every nook and cranny of the city, but in truth, for him everything was simple, everything had been resolved long ago. The affairs of this world had no influence — good or bad — on Medhat’s behavior. The veterinary student was merely a fleeting episode, a tiny insignificant blemish, not vital in the least. It was one of life’s imponderables, like when one slips and breaks a leg or when one realizes in the middle of screwing a girl that she’s older than one thought. Still, he could not manage to shake the event from his mind completely. Samaraï, by running away like this — without saying goodbye or thank you — would forever remain a mystery, disturbing the peaceful course of all their lives and fueling his legend by his heroic death. It might in fact be necessary to find Samaraï’s hiding place, if only to put an end to the malicious rumors and to discredit the cheap romanticism that his absence was creating in Salma’s mind. The probability of a kidnapping by unknown hooligans who were stripping the city of its notables seemed rather slim to Medhat, despite the lure of the inheritance money that this improvident capitalist carried around in his pocket as if it were a packet of peanuts. Medhat decided that he needed to discuss the problem with Teymour and headed toward the new lodgings rented a short while ago across the river. The place was in his own neighborhood, but he had yet to visit it.
Crossing the river on the iron bridge, Medhat caught sight of young Rezk leaning on the parapet, discreetly nibbling something held tightly in his hand. He seemed deep in contemplation of the landscape. Enchanted by this coincidence, Medhat approached the young man, muffling the sound of his footsteps — he wanted to surprise him — then came to a halt next to him. Rezk was finishing up a honey cake; he wiped his fingers with the paper in which the pastry had been wrapped, made it into a ball, and tossed it in the river. Then he turned around and saw Medhat gazing at him with his odd benevolence and a touch of irony.
“What a fortunate encounter!” he said looking Medhat straight in the eye, contrary to his habit. “As God is my witness, I wanted nothing more.”
He seemed exhilarated to be alive, and it was the first time Medhat had ever seen this smiling face on him. He had lost his sickly air, and his still youthful features were bathed with insolent joy.
Medhat was momentarily stunned by the police informant’s new personality; Rezk had hardly accustomed him to such warm relations. Over the course of their various encounters, he had felt a reticence in Rezk, a kind of guilty shyness, and he had always tried to break through the barriers that the young man — for an obvious reason, but one which Medhat found trivial — contrived to erect between them. So what had happened to him? Medhat was honestly intrigued. The veterinary student’s escapade and Salma’s hysterical sniveling seemed trifling compared to the mystery of the surprising transformation of the young police informant. And so the absurd idea of going to look for Samaraï, lost in some disreputable joint, immediately went out of his head. He placed his hand on Rezk’s shoulder, trying to communicate through this touch that he was very sensitive to his signs of friendship.
“I’m so happy to see you Rezk, my brother! Out for a stroll, are you?”
“This is the best time of day. All the shops are closed and the people are taking their siestas. I like to be out walking when no one else is about. I particularly like to linger on this bridge and contemplate the swirling river. There is a lot of poetry in this river, don’t you think? In fact, this city is filled with delightful landscapes. Even its houses, tumbledown and crumbling on the surface, possess a certain charm. But who notices?”
He spoke almost lyrically and his features expressed an entirely new elation. Medhat was dazzled by the flame shooting out of his ordinarily lackluster eyes. His sudden violent love for the eternal splendors of nature astounded Medhat, as if the young man had fathomed a secret of which he, Medhat, had been the sole guardian.