Yet, astoundingly, deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was our man.
14
Of course, there had to be a sacrificial ram, so the Interior Ministry decided to transfer me to headquarters. I put the most qualified person I knew for the job in my place. Outraged at the whole situation, I presented my resignation, announcing that I planned to practice law. I continued to follow the wave of atrocities and the news of the investigation, anxious that my successor would succeed in nabbing the perpetrator. The sentiment, though shameful, was only natural.
And what did I know but one day Makram Abd al-Qayyum himself burst into my office. I stared at him in shock as he sat down before my desk.
“I’ve come to propose that you manage my business and legal affairs,” he said.
The offer was so tempting, it was virtually impossible to refuse. Still, I asked him, “Why me exactly, when I’ve only worked as a lawyer for two years?”
“But you have great experience. And I count myself responsible to some degree for your resignation.”
Jokingly, I shot back, “Is this some sort of schadenfreude?”
“I seek refuge in God,” he rebutted gravely, “but there are only benevolent feelings behind it.”
Thus I came to serve the estate of the worthy Makram Abd al-Qayyum!
15
I can testify that I found him worthy in every sense of the term — dignified, well-versed, and fine of speech; benign in his dealings with others; openhanded as well as open-hearted. Perhaps my enthusiasm would falter at times, and I would ponder, “What if he catches me off-guard with one of his famous contradictions? Wouldn’t it be better for me to stick to the side of caution?”
Yet my whispering devil within was disappointed. Abd al-Qayyum’s tendency to always seem to act for the good truly tweaked my conscience.
One morning, after he had finished reviewing some work I had prepared for him, he tilted back in his swivel chair and said, “Finally — they’ve decided to close the case by laying it against ‘a person unknown.’”
“Let that be a slap to repay the one that struck me,” I gloated maliciously.
“Not at all — you were on the wrong track,” he said, with sweet tranquility.
“But …,” I tried to interject.
“It was a mistake to focus suspicion on me,” he interrupted swiftly, “because of an absurd letter lacking even a signature.”
“It wasn’t because of the letter, but came out of a most unusual investigation!”
“By concentrating on me, you let the real criminal slip out of your hands!”
“Was it unreasonable to connect the testimony of the eyewitnesses to the exotic nature of these acts?”
“My dear professor! Is there a human being devoid of contradictions? What’s so strange if I feed cats while kicking a sick one that attacked me? What’s so peculiar if I grow friendly with one man, while shunning another due to his nasty character? And what’s new when one is sober at a certain moment and then relaxes by drinking to excess the next? Does this mean that I would poison children and go around setting murderous fires?”
I kept silent, both wary and reflective at the same time. Then he continued, “By the same logic, my dear friend, the identical accusation could be directed at you.”
“Me?” I chuckled.
“Why not?” he retorted. “The crimes continued despite the increased guard and heightened vigilance of the informers. How did the culprit penetrate the well-mined district? He must have been confident that no one from the security forces would have suspected him. Terrific…. Who could this be if not the man in charge of surveillance? In other words, you.”
I laughed harder and taunted, “And the incidents in Tanta?”
“The incidents in Tanta definitely happened, and so did your trip to that city. Whether your travel there came before or after these phenomena, I have no idea!”
“Great,” I said, still laughing. “But what was the motive for all this mayhem?”
“The same one that, buried deep within the criminal, you wore yourself out completely trying to uncover.”
“To my mind, he’s insane.”
“And is it impossible that you’re insane?”
“Have you found anything in my work to make you doubt my sanity?”
“There are different kinds of insanity,” he said. “The crazy person is the last one to know.”
I guffawed to prove my contempt, but his speech had hurt me. What hurt most was that he was serious, so much so that I imagined for a moment he was making an actual accusation not only against me, but against all humanity. Then he smiled, and the gleam returned to his broad countenance.
“We’ve settled that now,” he said, adopting a new tone. “Let’s get back to work.”
What a perplexing person he is! Without any doubt, it’s a remarkable coup to be managing his affairs — while his personality is far too sublime for any possible involvement in such monstrous crime.
Why, then, does the inner certainty that he is guilty never leave me?
Room No. 12
The hotel manager recalls, like a photo he can never forget, how one day a woman came to take a room for just twenty-four hours. The time was exactly 10:00 a.m. The sight of such a stunning member of the opposite sex approaching him, utterly unaccompanied, made him stare at her, intrigued. Equally unforgettable: she seemed a lady of formidable influence — obvious in the firmness of her build, the fineness of her features, and the sharpness of her gaze. She stopped at the front desk, standing bolt upright in her red gown and white hat. She had no personal identity card, and was neither employed nor married. Most likely she was divorced or a widow. Her name was Bahiga al-Dahabi, coming from Mansura in the Delta. The man recorded all the necessary information, before pointing her toward a bellhop. The bellhop walked ahead of her, carrying her bag — one heavier than he was used to, leading her to room number twelve in the little hotel.
The bellhop returned after a half an hour, an amazed look on his face. When the manager asked him what had happened, he replied, “She’s a very eccentric woman.”
“What do you mean?” the manager wondered.
The bellhop said that she’d asked him to strip the coverlet, blanket, and sheets from the bed and to put them in the corner of the room until nightfall. As for the bed itself, she requested that he move it outside the room altogether, with the excuse that she could not sleep so long as there was a space beneath her large enough to conceal a man. He told her that her fear was groundless, that there had never been any kind of incident in the hotel since its founding. But she insisted, so he bowed to her will.
“You should have come back to me immediately,” said the manager.
The bellhop apologized, saying that while her request was peculiar, it did not exceed any of the duties the hotel was bound to fulfill. Then he resumed his story, that she had ordered him to open wide the doors of her wardrobe— and to keep them open. The bellhop could tell from her voice that she was afraid a stranger could hide within it if the wardrobe were closed. So he carried out her command, he said, smiling as he did so.
“The amazing part is that she seemed so strong and brave,” remarked the manager.
He thought for a bit longer, then asked, “Did she cough up a tip?”
“A whole half-pound,” bragged the bellhop.
“She’s certainly not typical, but there’s no harm in that,” the manager replied.