The sight of a little newspaper vendor shook him out of his melancholy; he had recovered his world.
“Hey, little one! Do you have the Greek newspaper?”
“Do you read Greek, sir?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I read Greek?”
“By Allah, you see everything in this country!”
El Kordi bought a copy of the only Greek paper in the city, folded it, and put it in his coat pocket. He had felt a burning need to indulge himself in this idiotic playacting. All the serious activity around him saddened him like a blow inflicted on a naturally happy people. He had wanted to escape a little from this almost palpable anguish, which became ever more intense as he advanced along this thoroughfare lit as if for a grandiose funeral procession. But the pleasure of having amazed a little newspaper boy did not make him forget his project. “Enough joking. It’s time to act.” He was near his goal; a few yards now separated him from the jewelry store.
What was the word that he had read somewhere that seemed to possess such seductive power? Expropriation. The word came back to him with an aura of glorious conviction. It was not a robbery that he was going to commit, but an expropriation. This thought calmed the apprehensions of a novice thief, although it did not change any of the difficulties of his undertaking: the difficulties were still the same, but the new point of view created a fundamental difference. He was no longer a simple hoodlum indulging in his first larceny. Thus, El Kordi remained faithful to his revolutionary ideal. His first attempt now seemed like the start of an era of rebellion, of long and bloody battles, like the first spark of a fire that would die only with the liberation of the people.
The grandeur of his task moved him to tears.
He advanced resolutely toward the window of the jewelry store, as if driven by the clamor of a multitude of starving, oppressed people. He was now but the instrument of a people resolved to take revenge. He stopped, dumbfounded. As if in the water of an aquarium, the precious jewels sparkled in the harsh light, their strange reflections hypnotizing his gaze. El Kordi saw himself transported to the center of an incomparable fairy-tale world. The savage clamor of the unchained masses was silenced; he was alone, crushed by all this inaccessible splendor. Discouragement crashed down on him like a heavy stone. To steal — that was easy to say! But how? By what witchcraft was he going to appropriate one of these jewels, as far away as the most distant star in the sky? The bitterness he felt at his own naïveté brought tears to his eyes again. He remembered his sick mistress bound to a degrading existence in a lice-ridden brothel, waiting for him to come to her rescue. With misty eyes, he contemplated the shimmering treasures in the show window, thinking that with the price of just one of these jewels he could take Naila away from her ignoble destiny. His determination to save the young woman from prostitution and to assure her of a decent life was so strong and so real at this moment that he desperately tried to find a way to commit his theft. But the jewels remained extraordinarily inaccessible, seeming to belong to another universe. He painfully felt all his impotence, closed his fist, and slowly raised his arm to smash the window in one frenzied movement.
The scent of a violet perfume penetrated his nostrils and informed him of a woman’s presence at his side. He interrupted the movement of his arm, his nerves suddenly relaxed, his being infused with delicious joy. The mere smell of this perfume sufficed to dispel his anger. Without turning his head, he glanced obliquely at the woman standing near him, grave and immobile, as if fascinated by the extent of the riches contained in the window. She was a native girl dressed with uncommon care and elegance. The folds of her melaya and the impeccable cut molded her svelte form, emphasizing the firm roundness of her rump. Although the lower part of her face was hidden beneath a black silk veil, the luster of her almond eyes lined with kohl augured a distinguished beauty. Her entire being emitted an air of sensual mystery that made El Kordi tremble in the very depths of his flesh. She seemed extremely interested in a diamond necklace that almost filled the whole window by itself.
This superb creature so charmed El Kordi that he did not react for a moment. Then the fear of seeing her go away moved him to whisper, “O beauty, I am sure that this necklace would look marvelous on you.”
The young woman looked him up and down as if he were an unclean serpent.
“Yes,” she said. “But where is the man rich enough to give it to me?”
El Kordi could not think of any answer to this mischievous invitation. The young woman was a whore, but a high-class whore. He certainly wouldn’t offer her a diamond necklace, or even an ear of grilled corn. Who did she think she was? Her exaggerated idea of her market value amused rather than frightened El Kordi. For his part, he feared nothing: he had nothing to lose in the adventure. This foolish woman did not realize whom she was dealing with. He would have her for nothing! Prostitutes were the kind of women El Kordi seduced with the greatest of ease; he knew their mentality and how to talk to them.
He was now persuaded that fate had led him here just to meet this aristocratic whore. He quickly tried to find a pleasant way to resume the conversation and especially to make her laugh.
But the young woman did not give him time; she suddenly turned away from the window and left with the haste of an offended person. No doubt she had interpreted El Kordi’s silence as a rebuff. Did she really think he was going to buy her a diamond necklace? What a madwoman! Instinctively, El Kordi followed her. Then he noticed she was not alone; a little girl with braided hair topped with a rose ribbon and wearing wooden shoes accompanied her. At first El Kordi was vexed, then he concluded that it was a fortunate circumstance. The little girl offered a good way to easily strike up an acquaintance. He rapidly caught up with them and began to walk in step, waiting for the proper moment to intervene.
He could now appreciate at his leisure the elegant figure of the young woman, who strolled with a swing in her hips, tapping the sidewalk with her high-heeled shoes. She moved like a sleepwalker, eyes straight ahead, indifferent to the desires she excited along the way. Aroused as never before during the course of his amorous adventures, El Kordi experienced some very intense minutes. The vast conflicts that agitated his generous soul had disappeared like a charm. The misery of the disinherited masses, the revolution on the march, the overthrow of evil powers — all that could wait. His only concern was to capture this tempting prey whose lascivious hip-swinging burned his flesh. He was already trembling at the idea of possessing her.
Without bothering about jealous passersby who observed his growing passion with a critical eye, El Kordi prepared for action. He had drawn a handful of roasted seeds from his pocket, and, approaching the young girl, he innocently held out his hand. The little girl looked in El Kordi’s hand but didn’t dare touch the seeds.