He approached her bed.
“My darling!”
Naila opened her eyes and looked at him with astonishment.
“It’s you!”
“Yes, my darling. How are you?”
“What’s it to you? Since when have you been worried about my health?”
She’d already taken the offensive; as usual, she wanted to complain of her loneliness and prove to him that he couldn’t do anything for her.
“I couldn’t come earlier. You don’t understand: the house is surrounded by police.”
“So the police frighten you now. I thought you would go through flames for me.”
“That’s true, my darling! But it’s not just the police. The truth is, I was busy with a lot of things. I must get you out of here as fast as possible. I’ve decided you cannot continue this life.”
“You’ve decided! Well, let me tell you that it’s my life, and that I don’t want any other.”
“Please understand: I want to see you happy.”
“Hah! How do you plan to make me happy? With your lousy ministry pay you couldn’t make a starving cat happy.”
“I’m going to make a lot of money very soon,” said El Kordi with boyish enthusiasm. “I’m onto a colossal affair. Trust me.”
He didn’t believe a word he was saying, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to appease Naila’s anger with appropriate, inconsequential lies. Anyway, deep down she wanted nothing better than to believe him; no matter how she tried to resist, she always abandoned herself to the beautiful words her lover lavished on her. This whimsical love that she had inspired in El Kordi filled her with pride. He was so different from all the other men she had met in Set Amina’s house. And although he was as poor as a beggar, his social standing was far above hers. For one mustn’t forget that El Kordi was a civil servant and belonged to a superior social class. Beaten down by the wretchedness of her condition, Naila could only explain the young man’s strange passion by his strong physical desire for her. She had thought at first that the sickness with which she was tainted would alienate him, but contrary to her expectations, she was amazed to find him more ardent, more passionate than ever. The young man’s morbid attitude puzzled her. She didn’t know that El Kordi considered her the scapegoat of a social system that he abhorred, and that, sick or not, in his eyes she personified the image of a disinherited world.
He understood from her silence that her grand hysterical scene was over; he sat down on the bed, leaned over her, and began to caress her. She let him caress her hands, then her face, then her body. She seemed happy and relaxed; her eyes shone with a feverish luster. But this moment of abandon did not last long. She tore herself violently from her lover’s grasp and suddenly broke into sobs.
“What’s wrong, my darling?”
“It’s horrible! I can’t forget her. Poor Arnaba.”
“Calm down,” said El Kordi. “Don’t think about it anymore. You’re not going to bring her back by crying. We can’t do anything about it.”
“I wonder who could commit such an awful crime. And for nothing!”
“By Allah! I don’t know. But there’s no doubt it was an intelligent fellow.”
“What makes you say that? What’s so intelligent about killing a poor girl?”
“In any case, they’ll never catch him. Especially if they’re counting on that ignorant police inspector.”
“You saw him again? He questioned you again?”
“No, but I hope to see him again someday. I have a lot of things to teach him.”
“What things? Tell me?”
El Kordi smiled slyly.
“Things that have nothing to do with the crime,” he said. “It’s a personal affair between him and me.”
“I beg you, don’t get yourself in trouble. I know you.”
“I’m not a child,” El Kordi protested. “I’m not afraid of anyone. I can do what I want with that policeman.”
To tell the truth, this was just empty talk; Nour El Dine had ceased to be a fearsome enemy for him. Up to now, El Kordi had merely considered this motiveless murder as a personal matter, a kind of epic battle between him and the police. But a new character had now appeared in the drama, a character whom he had deliberately ruled out as a nonentity: the criminal. However, he did exist; Arnaba hadn’t strangled herself. El Kordi wondered if he knew him, because if he were a client of the whorehouse, he certainly would. He knew all the men who came to Set Amina’s. He diligently tried to remember each of them, but they were all so dull, so impalpable, that the idea of accusing them of a crime seemed highly ludicrous.
His reflections led him to envision a secret inquiry, though not for the purpose of catching the killer — El Kordi would never agree to turn him in. He simply wanted to learn the reasons for the man’s act. After all, since he hadn’t stolen anything, it might be a political crime. The motive: that’s what would be interesting to know.
He looked at his face in the wardrobe mirror, remembered the medicines locked in there, and turned his head away.
“Well! I’m going to undress. Make room for me in bed.”
“That’s all you think about,” said Naila.
There was bitterness in her voice.
“Off course it is, my love,” answered El Kordi. “What do you expect me to think about?”
“How can you love a sick girl like me? I’m so ugly now.”
“What does your physical beauty matter to me? You still don’t understand that it’s your soul I love.”
When it came to sleeping with a woman, El Kordi could say anything. Nothing could stop him. In this domain, even the wickedest of lies seemed indispensable to him.
Though hardly convinced by her lover’s profession of faith, Naila nonetheless kept silent. It was useless to question El Kordi’s extravagant words; she would never know the truth about his motives or the extent of his love. All the same, what a son of a bitch! To pretend that he loved her soul! That was a bit too much. She watched him taking off his clothes and putting them methodically on the chair. Was he undressing for her soul? Fool! Who would buy that! She almost burst out laughing, but contained herself. She went on staring at him with eyes transfixed by anxiety. She too was thinking about the killer. Her anxiety had begun the tragic moment she heard Set Amina’s cries and the girls’ terrified exclamations. In the solitude of her room, even before she had understood the meaning of the tumult, she had been filled with a dark foreboding. It was only later that she had established a connection between the crime and El Kordi’s presence in the house that very day. This simple coincidence, as well as the young man’s behavior during the questioning, had sufficed to create an unbearable doubt in her mind: What if he were the killer?
During the three days Naila hadn’t seen her lover she had vainly tried to get rid of this horrible suspicion. But El Kordi’s reticence and the mystery of his relationship to the investigating officer only strengthened her fears. She would have liked to question him, but didn’t dare.
El Kordi was now completely naked; even like this he retained his dignity, for he had forgotten to take off his tarboosh. All of a sudden he realized this, took it off, and placed it on the chair on top of his neatly arranged clothes. Then he lay down beside the young woman, took her in his arms, and held her protectively against his chest.
“Tell me it wasn’t you!”
“Me what, girl?”
“You who killed her.”
“What are you saying? You’re crazy!”
“All these days I’ve been thinking it might have been you. I was deathly afraid. So, it wasn’t you?”