“And now, go sit down. You’ll have plenty to tell the minister.”
The fellow sat down silently; he walked bent over, as if he had suddenly aged, and seemed empty of all his dignity.
The rest of the interrogation followed the normal course. The other two customers behaved correctly; they painlessly gave their names and professions. Ashamed of having been found in a house of pleasure, they were thinking only of getting out as quickly as possible. The inspector sent them away along with the debt collector, who now looked like a ghost and no longer spoke of complaining to the minister. Besides, they had learned that he was an unemployed debt collector.
Seeing that his turn had come, El Kordi became feverish, boiling with impatience. The idea of appearing before the authorities — or at least their representative — frightened him a little, but at the same time it gave him a sense of grave responsibility. Finally the oppressed people were going to be able to defend themselves through his intervention. Now, this presumption was not founded on any reality; no oppressed people had assigned him to their defense. El Kordi had set himself up on his own initiative as a lover of justice. On every occasion he persisted in taking the side of the weak. This was the result of a childish morality that El Kordi had raised to the level of a revolutionary virtue. Knowing that his destiny would be neither tragic nor glorious, he dodged the problem of his own freedom by flying into a rage at the slightest sign of injustice. At the moment he was relishing in advance this unique opportunity to thwart the infamous parody of justice represented by this ignorant, brutal official. He looked forward to undermining his prestige and, especially, to sharing with him a few of his own ideas about crime in general and the established laws in particular. What fun!
Nour El Dine turned toward El Kordi, weighing him with a look, as if to estimate the value of his prey. He too was looking forward to much pleasure.
“You who were laughing, come here.”
El Kordi took hold of a free armchair, placed it facing the table where the inspector was sitting, and settled himself comfortably.
“I won’t make you wait,” he said. “My name is El Kordi and I’m a clerk in the Ministry of Public Works.”
As much as El Kordi despised his position as a civil servant, at the moment he took full advantage of it before this inspector, whom he considered a complete ignoramus. Now, Nour El Dine was far from an ignoramus; in fact, it was his obligatory daily relations with ignorant people that filled him with bitterness. In large part, El Kordi’s scorn was due to the commonplace ideas he held on the stupidity of policemen. Unfortunately for him, fate had set him face-to-face with the sole policeman of remarkable gifts, a man who was anxious to test them against a worthy adversary.
“So, Mr. Bureaucrat frequents brothels! You come here on behalf of the ministry?”
“I come here out of a natural inclination. I believe it’s not against the law to make love. That would be the last straw.”
“No, for the moment it’s not forbidden,” admitted Nour El Dine.
“In future too, I hope. But it wouldn’t surprise me if it were otherwise.”
“I see. I gather you don’t agree with the laws. Do you have something to complain about?”
“I will complain when the time comes,” El Kordi said enigmatically.
Nour El Dine felt a rare kind of satisfaction never experienced during his numerous investigations. He was in the presence of an educated man with real knowledge of the world who was implicated in a crime, rather than just another heap of degenerates incapable of recognizing their own children. This was the godsend he had been searching for for years. His face expressed an almost childish contentment; he felt a resistance, an aggressive tone in this young man that responded to his long-suppressed need for confrontation.
Clearly El Kordi was no young ephebe. However, the masculine beauty of his features, accented by the exoticism of his slanted eyes, strongly affected Nour El Dine. He seemed to relax, to forget his bitter thoughts for a moment. A notable change took place in him; his manners became affable and singularly sweet. But El Kordi was far from noticing this. The hatred he felt for all forms of authority blinded him to such an extent that he could not see the suspicious nature of this unexpected graciousness.
Nour El Dine gloated over him with a kind of lubricious tenderness, as if on the lookout for a sign of complicity.
Why did he suddenly begin to speak in English?
“You come here often?”
“As often as my physical needs require,” answered El Kordi in the same language.
“It seems that you have a marked preference for one of the girls. You are her lover, or am I mistaken?”
This conversation in English unfolded in solemn silence. Understanding nothing, the reporter stopped transcribing. At first, thinking he had gone suddenly deaf, he began cleaning out his ear. Then, feeling things were too much for him, he put his indelible pencil down in front of him and assumed a helpless pose. As for Set Amina, she believed that the use of this foreign language hid a trap meant to ruin her. She sighed and said, “On my honor! It’s the end of the world. Now they’re speaking English in my house!”
Nour El Dine resigned himself to resuming the interrogation in Arabic, not to please Set Amina but because the reporter had begun to object to being left out: he was grumbling through his teeth.
“Are you in contact with the men who come here?” Nour El Dine asked in a worldly tone. “I’d like to know your opinion of them.”
El Kordi grasped the full implication of this insidious question.
“If I understand you correctly, you want me to name the persons who could have committed the crime. Let me tell you, Inspector, I am not an informer.”
“Of course not. You misinterpreted my words. I simply wanted to know the ambience of this house. Can I count on your cooperation?”
“In no way,” said El Kordi indignantly. “I will do nothing to help the police. Besides, I don’t know a thing about this affair!”
“Really, you have no ideas about the crime?”
“I have many ideas. But I doubt that you could understand them.”
“Why? I would be very happy to listen to them.”
“Very well! I believe that society alone is responsible for this crime,” El Kordi said grandiloquently.
“What are you saying, my son!” cried Set Amina. “By Allah! you’ve gone crazy!”
She thought that the “society” El Kordi spoke of referred to all the persons present and to her in particular.
“Be quiet, woman! Continue, my dear fellow, you interest me,” said Nour El Dine, his eyes shining with a strange sympathy.
But that was all; El Kordi went quiet. He was convinced he had said it all in that revolutionary phrase.
“I have nothing more to add,” he said.
It seemed that the source of his revolt had dried up.
“That’s too bad,” said Nour El Dine. “I would have liked you to go into that idea more deeply. It doesn’t matter! We’ll keep it for another time. I still have several questions to ask you.”
It was an auspicious situation. Even if this young man weren’t the killer, he was, nonetheless, a serious lead. Hadn’t he just betrayed himself? This excessive idealism that rejected everything in society was inspired by the same spirit as the murder of the whore. An anarchist! Perhaps there were many who thought like him. Nour El Dine felt himself drawn irresistibly as though toward an abyss; all of his faculties were on the alert. This young civil servant was surely going to lead him to sensational discoveries. It was only a question of not offending him.