“Who?”
Without answering, Zayed looked at him reproachfully and disappeared down the hall with alarming speed, as if he had just been bitten by a serpent.
El Kordi remained standing in the waiting room, rather satisfied with his bad joke. It seemed like years since he had been there, although nothing in the room had changed: the table and the wicker chairs were still in the same place. Even Set Amina seemed not to have moved since that fateful night when the police had invaded her house. El Kordi glimpsed her in the shadows, still sitting on the couch, one hand resting on her pale cheek, offering the spectacle of deepest desolation.
He approached her.
“Greetings, woman!” he said, bowing. “Your worries are over; I am here to defend you.”
She had clearly seen him enter and chat with Zayed, but she was playing the part of one still too prostrate to take an interest in the deceptive bustle of this world.
“It’s you?” she said, looking at him as if he were a ghost. “You’re crazy to come here. They forbade me to receive clients. You want my death?”
“I’m not here as a client, woman! I’ve come to see my fiancée.”
“His fiancée! Listen to him, would you!”
“But I mean it, exactly, my fiancée! Perhaps you didn’t know, but in view of the circumstances, I’m informing you.”
Set Amina sighed and fell silent. She had been taught since childhood not to contradict madmen. This El Kordi had really lost his mind. As if she didn’t have enough troubles.
“When is the wedding?” she asked in a lugubrious voice.
“Very soon. I’ve come to tell her the good news.”
“That’s good. Sit down; first, I want to talk to you.”
El Kordi took a chair and sat near the couch facing the madam.
“What do you have to tell me?”
Set Amina seemed to come out of her lethargy and moved on her couch for the first time. At bottom, despite her fear of the police, El Kordi’s visit had filled her with joy; she had finally found someone worth talking to, someone who could appreciate the true merits of her wounded soul’s complaints. Her tragic situation predisposed her to confidences and she had no one to confide in. The girls were too stupid and too occupied with their insipid chatter to lend an attentive ear to her lamentations. She had tried to interest Zayed the servant in her sufferings, but he seemed so frightened of the police that he talked only about leaving. El Kordi had arrived just in time: another day or two and she would have died of suffocation.
“Well, my son! You’ve seen the misfortune that struck me! What did I do to God?”
“It’s nothing,” said El Kordi.
“What! You think it’s nothing. By Allah! Such a crime! And in my own house!”
“These things happen even in the best houses. Believe me, you’re worrying about nothing.”
“May God hear you, my son! I feel as old as the world.”
“You, old!” El Kordi laughed. “Come on! I’ll take care of you if you’d like me to.”
“Be quiet, you shameless child! I could be your mother.”
These vehement protests of an indignant woman were only show; El Kordi knew this and found it entertaining. He saw her squirming on the couch, aroused, he thought, by his lewd allusion. But the truth lay elsewhere; at the moment, Set Amina was far from being responsive to this kind of flirtation. One thing above all worried her: the conversation in a foreign language that had taken place that memorable night between El Kordi and the police inspector. She leaned forward, grabbed the young man’s arm, and pulled him toward her.
“Look in my eyes and tell me the truth.”
“What do you want to know?” asked El Kordi, a little disturbed by this behavior. Did the poor woman seriously believe he wanted to sleep with her?
“Tell me. What was he saying to you in English?”
“Who, woman?”
“The police inspector. You spoke in English. I didn’t understand, but I know it was English. I’m not stupid, I can recognize languages.”
“It was a conversation of a private nature,” said El Kordi. “It had nothing to do with the crime.”
“You’re sure? He didn’t talk about me?”
“Not one word. On my honor! Don’t worry!”
“He predicted the worst misfortunes for me. What have I done to that man? Why is he blaming it on me? Do I look like a killer?”
“It’s his business to frighten people. He tried to impress me too. But I assure you: it had no shred of importance.”
“I’d like to believe you.” She thought a minute, then with a curious smile said, “I thought that was it.”
“What do you mean?”
“It didn’t take me long to know what kind of man he was. May Allah preserve me! He’s a pederast.”
El Kordi fell back in his chair and broke out laughing.
“Really?”
“As if you didn’t know,”’ continued Set Amina. “And him making eyes at you! I saw it all. Next thing you know, he would have kissed you on the mouth.”
“I did suspect it a little,” El Kordi admitted.
So, nothing escaped the old procuress’s vigilance; she had figured out Nour El Dine from the first. El Kordi was ashamed of his lack of perspicacity. What a pitiful figure he must have cut during that scene of base seduction! The way he let himself be fooled was unpardonable. And he thought that he made fun of authority!
“Since you are so close to him, try to soften him up a bit. Ask him not to give me such trouble.”
“What are you saying, woman? I am not friendly with him. On the contrary, I am preparing several nasty surprises for him. What do you take me for? I am not the young seducer you imagine.”
“Don’t do that, my son! You want to ruin me! Look at this house, what sadness! And these girls who now spend their time sleeping. They’re learning terrible habits. How am I going to give them back a taste for work?”
“I’ll lend you a hand,” offered El Kordi. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”
He stood up.
“And now I must leave you. Peace be with you! Is Naila in her bedroom?”
“Yes, where else? I tell you, all they do is sleep. They don’t seem to have any idea of the fate that has befallen us. I’m the only one here who worries. Well, try not to be conspicuous when you leave; apparently there is a plainclothes policeman prowling around the house.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful,” promised El Kordi.
Naila’s bedroom was like all the other bedrooms where the girls carried on their work of prostitution, but each time El Kordi crossed the threshold, he felt a vague uneasiness, a kind of superstitious fright. This painful sensation was due, in large part, to the medicinal odor that permeated the musty atmosphere of the room. He could never take his mind off the medicines that were hidden in the mirrored armoire so as not to frighten the customers. It was only through them that he was aware of his mistress’s disease; they were the only visible sign of a suffering whose inward depth went beyond his understanding. Never having been sick, El Kordi had the tendency to judge the suffering of others by the outward signs of their illness. Since the tuberculosis that gnawed away at Naila didn’t manifest itself by any visible wound, he felt only pity for her, tinged with skepticism. At bottom, this odor put him in an awkward position; it suddenly reminded him that he was in a sick person’s room. It was very disagreeable. He had come there animated by sensual desires, with the intention of making love and not of feeling pity.
Now, however, he felt a sudden pang, and he was overcome with immense tenderness at the sight of the young girl stretched out on the bed. She was lying with her eyes closed, breathing unevenly, her pale face imprinted with extraordinary sadness. In his confusion, El Kordi had trouble recognizing her; for a moment he forgot the demands of his sensuality and thought only of saving from an abject death this creature that blind destiny had thrown in his path.