The door opened, admitting two policemen who looked at Yeghen, then slowly approached him.
“You going to talk now?”
Yeghen didn’t answer. Nour El Dine signaled to the policemen. One of them went behind Yeghen while the other stood in front of him, ready to strike.
Yeghen watched this whole scene like an uninvolved spectator. He told himself only that he had been wrong to claim the inspector was not playing an enjoyable game. For them, this must be very enjoyable. After all, these men had their own amusements. He felt neither hatred nor disdain for them. He felt very calm and he closed his eyes.
The first punch nearly took off his head; he felt an atrocious pain that was immediately neutralized by a second blow, then by all those that followed. Then the pain grew and formed a compact, measureless block. Yeghen found himself plunged to the bottom of a black gulf filled with flashing lights. Sometimes Nour El Dine’s voice reached him, still asking, “You going to talk, you son of a bitch?”
Suddenly, in the tumult of his brain, he heard a distant noise. This noise reminded him of something and he tried to understand what it was. He was a long time trying. The canon blast at noon! It was noon and the canon had just boomed. He opened his eyes and shouted, “Gentlemen, it is noon!”
The policeman who was lifting his arm to knock him on the head stopped, amazed.
“So what?” he asked.
“Well then! I think that it’s time to eat,” said Yeghen in a weak voice. “I’m hungry.”
Nour El Dine buried his head in his hands; he wanted to scream.
“Throw him out,” he said. “I don’t want to see him anymore.”
The policemen grabbed Yeghen and took him away. Nour El Dine remained alone, prey to the most profound consternation. Then he remembered that it was noon and he stood up to go to lunch.
Leaving the police station, Nour El Dine thought that Gohar was no doubt the murderer. But what did that matter to him now? He had decided to hand in his resignation and to live henceforth as a beggar. A beggar, that was easy — but proud? Where would he find pride? There was nothing left in him but an infinite weariness, an immense need for peace — simply for peace.