He leaned his elbows on his desk, covered his forehead with his hands, and said, without looking at Karim:
“You may leave now.”
Karim got up, made a low bow, turned on his heel, and fled. As he left, he nodded right and left to his unhappy successors. But they paid no attention. Quietly closing the door behind him, as he’d seen the orderly do, he left the room.
A little ways down the avenue, which was now nearly deserted, he stopped in the shade of a tree and turned back to survey the distance he’d traversed from city hall. The big white building had vanished like a mirage behind the haze of heat. Karim felt like he was emerging from a dream.
10
Karim was relaxing. He leaned against the stone parapet that ran along the cliff road and studied the languid asses of the women strolling by, so plainly visible beneath their light dresses. How different they all were! They came in every shape and size. In the veiled gray light of dusk, these amazing asses took on a life of their own, promising him sensuous delights. The owners of the asses were, for the most part, so ugly that even a sex maniac would run screaming, but Karim barely noticed; he seldom looked at a woman’s face. Most of the women were accompanied by plain fat men dressed for the summer heat, men who wore striped cotton pajama pants and had their shirtsleeves rolled up as they munched on watermelon seeds while watching over their wives and daughters and keeping an eye on Karim, glaring at him like a peasant guarding his cows from a cattle thief. It made Karim snicker to see their sullen distrust. Every evening it was the same: families out on a ritual stroll looking for cool air, eager to breathe the sea breeze after the stifling heat of the day. And for Karim this procession of wistful asses was his daily break; he would come down from his terrace to lean against the parapet and wait for opportunity to strike. From time to time he’d be lucky enough to find a woman out on her own, looking for adventure, and he’d accost her in a direct and primitive way. Karim was as unforthcoming with women as he was with the police. He never said an intelligent word for fear of scaring them off; one dumb remark about the weather and the deal was done.
But tonight, nothing; prey was scarce. During the hour he’d been there, he hadn’t seen a single potential victim. All the women who went by were accompanied, or else they were bitter nannies dragging little kids in their wake. Karim was getting annoyed. A pair of lovers, fingers entwined as if for dear life, passed in front of him with an expression of affected ecstasy. Karim mechanically followed the young woman’s ass with his eyes and was stabbed by a sudden memory — not just a memory of conquest, because he vaguely remembered the girl’s face: that sweet little prostitute he’d picked up one night and never seen again, even though he’d invited her to consider his apartment her home. He’d conducted himself with munificence! True, at this moment he didn’t really want to see her again; the invitation had been tossed out at a critical moment in order to mollify her and to invite some discretion when it came to the money business. Perhaps she hadn’t been fooled and had understood that he didn’t have any. A wave of pity swept over him and — how extraordinary! — the face of the little prostitute took shape in his mind, like a face he’d always known, as familiar as the face of his own mother. Suddenly he regretted having been so stingy with the poor girl. Where was she now? He wanted to go look for her. The police must have picked her up and scared her off the street. Another victim of the accursed governor.
Speaking of which, it had been two weeks now since Heykal’s letter — he’d called for the public to fund the erection of a statue of the governor — had been published in the papers. This letter had created consternation even among those who were most attached to the governor and his dictatorial ways. Already rumors were circulating that the central government did not look favorably on this popularity; doubts had arisen about a man capable of organizing such a successful propaganda campaign on his own behalf. Still, unwitting citizens — unaware of the direction things were heading — had been inspired to demonstrate their civic duty. Money had flowed from everywhere — like manna from heaven that nothing could prevent from falling. The list of donors grew longer with each morning’s paper. Karim himself wanted to take part and spent his last penny to support the statue, though his name hadn’t been mentioned. Now he bitterly regretted the donation, especially since his meager offering had received such a paltry response. Some readers — whether out of cynicism or naiveté—had written in to the journals to recommend a sculptor of their acquaintance or to indicate a preference as to the future placement of the statue. The craziness had now come to a head, and Heykal was only waiting to execute a new prank if this last one wasn’t sufficient to permanently discredit the governor. Karim was meeting with him this evening to discuss the whole question. The position of the governor had been dealt a solid blow, but unforeseen developments had to be kept in mind. Deep down, Karim hoped the governor would hang on for another month or two, long enough to be immortalized in a statue. How funny if things came to that — to see the governor on a pedestal! With only a little luck, it just might happen.
Night had fallen slowly and all at once the streetlamps came on above the cliff road, stretched like a string of gleaming pearls. But even though the air had become more breathable, cooler temperatures hadn’t arrived. The smell of grilled corn on the cob, emanating from the cart of a street vendor, filled the night. The road was gradually emptied of its strolling families; only the odd couple straggled by, retreating into shadowy corners to enjoy a quick, shameful spasm.
Karim, despairing of ever finding a girl, was about to leave when his eyes fell on the profile of a man leaning over the parapet at some distance to his left. The man turned quickly as if to hide his face from view. He was standing outside the pool of light made by the nearest streetlamp, but Karim, shocked, had recognized the furtive attitude and conspiratorial pose. The solitary man hiding in the shadows was Taher, his old friend from the revolutionary party; it had been a long time since he’d seen him, but he was certain he wasn’t mistaken. He’d identified him at a single glance; for Karim, Taher would be recognizable in the darkest of nights. His heart began to beat with emotion. He felt faint, moved by this miraculous, unexpected encounter with his old friend, but almost immediately a terrible suspicion seized him. The encounter was far from fortuitous; Taher must have been spying on him for a good while already. What for? Why didn’t he just come up and say hello? But to ask such questions was to not know Taher. He was a born conspirator, who loved detours and long, secret pursuits; he would never approach somebody without indulging in some mysterious behavior first. Karim decided to let him play his bizarre game. He had some time to kill before going to Heykal’s anyway.
He began to walk slowly, giving Taher the chance to spy on him at leisure. It tore at his heart to find himself in Taher’s company again; he had no desire to discuss social and political problems with him: their estrangement was permanent. And Taher must resent him for his defection — he might treat him harshly. Still, he couldn’t help but recall old memories. He and Taher had spent every minute plotting subversive actions; they were arrested together and taken to the same prison. He was the friend who had been closest to him in spirit, loved and admired for his noble sense of justice and his courage in the face of adversity. He was a smart boy from a family of poor workers who’d forgone food to give him an education. After successfully finishing school he’d refused to take a respectable job, devoting himself entirely to the revolution. His hatred of the powerful was nonnegotiable.