“Tell me, Master. Is there any chance of this filthy bomb going off in their hands?”
“No, I don’t think so. They’re too careful and clever to let that happen.”
“Too bad,” said Yeghen, disappointed. “I’d love to have it explode in their hands while they’re manipulating it. That would be the biggest joke of the century. I’d love to laugh a little, Master.”
“Don’t you laugh enough already? If you ask me, this century’s pranks outdo all the others.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t complain.”
Yeghen was quiet. This digression on the bomb and its devastating effects had not made him forget another danger, even more serious than the bomb because if its imminence. He continued staring at Gohar, as if he were afraid to see him disappear. Seated in his chair, his face lit by the candle flame, dominating the empty room like an impassive divinity, Gohar seemed immune to all surprises. But Yeghen was very aware of the precariousness of this situation. He might lose this man and he felt his heart melt with tenderness at the idea. His friendship for Gohar was the only justification for his life. He would have to do everything he could to save him and what he represented.
Suddenly there was a long moan on the other side of the wall. Again the limbless man was begging for food. He seemed utterly exhausted; his groans were like those of a newborn babe.
“What’s that?” asked Yeghen.
“My new neighbors,” said Gohar. “The man has no arms or legs; as for the woman, she’s an implacable harpy. Every day she carries him on her shoulder and deposits him on some corner in the European quarter where he devotes himself to begging. She retrieves him in the evening. He’s completely at her mercy. Without her he can’t do anything.”
“That’s him groaning like that?”
“Yes, he’s demanding his food.”
“Why won’t she give him anything to eat?”
“My dear Yeghen, if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. She just threw a jealous fit. Now she’s sulking.”
“It’s not possible! A jealous scene with a limbless man! Why? Did he cheat on her?”
“Everything is possible, my son. As for how he cheated on her, I don’t know,” Gohar admitted. “But you can expect anything from women. Even a man with no limbs excites them, as long as he’s capable of making love.”
“I still can’t believe it. In any case, she’s taking a cruel revenge. Starving a cripple! Tell me, can’t we do something for him? You can’t leave him like that, Master! I’d like to break that woman’s jaw.”
“May Allah preserve you from that, my son. You don’t know this woman. A real battle-ax. She is ten times stronger than you. She’d make short work of you.”
This description of the man’s companion quieted Yeghen’s inclination to heroism.
For a moment they remained silent, listening to the limbless man who was still begging and groaning. Finally this pathetic complaint had a strange effect on Yeghen: he himself felt like he was starving.
“Really, Master, don’t you think we can do anything for him?”
“No, that would only make things worse. Besides, she’ll give him food in the end. You must realize that a man like him is a gold mine for her; she would never let him die of hunger.”
“But he’s suffering.”
“That’s true. But deep down, I think this scene pleases him. In his state, he no doubt feels supreme pride. My dear Yeghen, how would you feel if you made a woman this jealous?”
“I must admit I’ve never made a woman jealous, Master. And what’s more, I’ve got all my limbs. Perhaps that is a mistake.”
“You see, soon you’ll be envying the poor fellow.”
Gohar’s tranquil assurance and the naturally cynical tone of his words plunged Yeghen into admiring astonishment. Indifferent to his own fate and the danger in store for him, Gohar was taking an interest in the conjugal quarrels of his strange neighbors. He was cheerfully accepting the consequences of his own bloody adventure. Yeghen had been waiting for Gohar to confess his crime since he had come into the room, but nothing had happened. Why? Did he not think of Yeghen as someone to whom he could tell all? Yeghen found Gohar’s mistrust of him baffling. But what if he were mistaken? What if Gohar were not the killer? The suspicion that he was had come to Yeghen that afternoon as he was walking through the streets with the police inspector. Busy looking around and greeting friends, he was only half listening to the inspector’s threats when he remembered a fact of capital importance: Gohar had offered his condolences for his mother’s death. Now Yeghen remembered having mentioned her fictitious death only to Arnaba, the young prostitute, and she had been killed immediately after. Therefore, Gohar had been the last person to have seen her alive.
Yet it was absurd to think of Gohar as a murderer. Yeghen still hesitated. However, there was no time to lose. He had been long acquainted with police methods. Gohar would never be able to defend himself if he underwent a rough interrogation. Besides, would he even want to defend himself?
“Actually, Master, I came to tell you to be careful.”
“Careful of what, my son?”
“You run a big risk by staying here,” said Yeghen.
“It’s useless to panic. The danger may not be as great as you think.”
Not for a second did he consider denying it. He did not even wonder how Yeghen had discovered he was the murderer.
“So you know,” he said after a moment.
“Master, I don’t understand. How did it happen?”
“I don’t know myself,” said Gohar. “I don’t know how to explain it to you. It always seems that someone else is acting in my place. But don’t think that I want to exonerate myself. Nothing can ever excuse violence. All I remember is that I needed drugs and that I went there looking for you. The girl Arnaba was alone. She asked me to write a letter for her and invited me into her room. For a long time, I was thinking only about the drugs and how to find you. Then, suddenly, I saw the girl’s bracelets and that unleashed the idea of murder in me. I had to take those bracelets.”
“But those bracelets were worthless,” said Yeghen.
“I knew that, my son. But at that moment they had acquired a great value in my eyes. And it is that moment that will count.”
“I’m the guilty one,” said Yeghen. “Forgive me, Master. I should have been there when you needed me. In any case, the point is not to explain an act. The point is to flee. That’s what you must do as fast as possible.”
“Why flee?”
“They mustn’t catch you. The inspector who came to see me is a demon. I know him, he won’t stop until he gets his hands on you. I want to help you, Master! Take my advice, I beg you. It’s still not too late.”
“My dear Yeghen, I appreciate your solicitude, but I don’t want to see you mixed up in this business at any cost. I will manage by myself.”
“You could never defend yourself against those men. Leave for Syria. The time is right.”
“How would I go?”
“I’ll find the money for the trip. Count on me.”
“Now you’re going to kill someone. This will never end.”
Yeghen stood up, looked at Gohar for a very long time, then went up to him, bent down, took his hand, and brought it to his lips.
“You’re the only person whom I love and respect in the world,” he said. “You can take my life.”
Gohar was moved; he smiled sadly.
“Let’s not get serious, my son. That would crown our misfortune. Besides, as you yourself said, there is the bomb. It will fix everything.”