Arabian Nights and Days (3 page)

In utter despair he said to himself, “It is inevitable.”

It became clear that the footsteps were approaching his hiding-place. The light from a lamp showed up dimly. He was driven by a desire to go out carrying the body with him. Then the presence of something heavy overtook his own collapsing presence, the memory of the dream took him by storm. He heard the voice of two days ago inquiring, “Is this what we pledged ourselves to?”

“You are a fact, then, and not a dire dream,” he said in surrender.

“You are without doubt mad.”

“I agree, but you are the cause.”

“I never asked you to do something evil,” the voice said angrily.

“There's no time for arguing. Save me, so that I can carry out for you what was agreed.”

“This is what I came for, but you don't understand.”

He felt himself moving in a vacuum in an intensely silent world. Then he again heard the voice, “No one will find a trace of you. Open your eyes and you will find that you are standing in front of the door of your house. Enter in peace, I shall be waiting.”

With a superhuman effort Sanaan took control of himself. Umm Saad did not feel that his condition had deteriorated. Taking refuge behind his eyelids in the darkness, he set about calling to mind what he had done. He was another person; the killer-violator was another person. His soul had begotten wild beings of which he had no experience. Now, divested of his past and having buried all his hopes, he was presenting himself to the unknown. Though he hadn't slept, no movement escaped him to indicate that he had been without sleep. Early in the morning there came the sound of wailing. Umm Saad disappeared for a while, then returned and said, “O mother of Baseema, may God be with you.”

“What's happened?” he asked, lowering his gaze.

“What's got into people, father of Fadil? The girl's been raped and murdered under the elementary school stairway. A mere child, O Lord. Under the skin of certain humans lie savage beasts.”

He bowed his head until his beard lay disheveled against his chest.

“I take my refuge in God from the accursed Devil,” he muttered.

“These beasts know neither God nor Prophet.”

The woman burst into tears.

He began to ask himself: Was it the genie? Was it the dope he had swallowed? Or was it Sanaan al-Gamali?

The thoughts of everyone in the quarter were in turmoil. The crime was the sole subject of conversation. Ibrahim the druggist, as he prepared him more medicine, said, “The wound has not healed, but there is no longer any danger from it.” Then, as he bound his arm with muslin, “Have you heard of the crime?”

“I take refuge in God,” he said in disgust.

“The criminal's not human. Our sons marry directly they reach puberty.”

“He's a madman, there's no doubt of that.”

“Or he's one of those vagabonds who haven't got the means to marry. They are milling around the streets like stray dogs.”

“Many are saying that.”

“What is Ali al-Salouli doing in the seat of government?”

At mention of the name he quaked, remembering the pact he had made, a pact that hung over his head like a sword. “Busy with his own interests,” he concurred, “and counting the presents and the bribes.”

“The favors he rendered us merchants cannot be denied,” said the druggist, “but he should remember that his primary duty is to maintain things as they are for us.”

Sanaan went off with the words, “Don't put your trust in the world, Ibrahim.”

The governor of the quarter, Ali al-Salouli, knew from his private secretary Buteisha Murgan what was being said about security. He was frightened that the reports would reach the vizier Dandan and that he would pass them on to the sultan, so he called the chief of police, Gamasa al-Bulti, and said to him, “Have you heard what is being said about security during my time in office?”

The chief of police's inner calm had not changed when he had learned about his superior's secrets and acts of corruption.

“Excuse me, governor,” he said, “but I have not been negligent or remiss in sending out spies. However, the villain has left no trace and we haven't found a single witness. I myself have interrogated dozens of vagabonds and beggars, but it's an unfathomable crime, unlike anything that has previously happened.”

“What a fool you are! Arrest all the vagabonds and beggars—you're an expert on the effective means of interrogation.”

“We haven't the prisons to take them,” said Gamasa warily.

“What prisons, fellow? Do you want to impose upon the public treasury the expense of providing them with food?” said the governor in a rage. “Drive them into the open and seek the help of the troops—and bring me the criminal before nightfall.”

The police swooped down on the plots of wasteland and arrested the beggars and vagabonds, then drove them in groups into the open. No complaint and no oath availed, no exception was made of old men. Force was used against them until they prayed fervently for help to God and to His Prophet and the members of his family.

Sanaan al-Gamali followed the news with anxious alarm: he was the guilty one, of this there was no doubt, and yet he was going about free and at large, being treated with esteem. How was it that he had become the very pivot of all this suffering? And someone unknown was lying in wait for him, someone indifferent to all that had occurred, while he was utterly lost, succumbing without condition. As for the old Sanaan, he had died and been obliterated, nothing being left of him but a confused mind that chewed over memories as though they were delusions.

He became conscious of a clamor sweeping down the commercial street. It was Ali al-Salouli, governor of the quarter, making his way at the head of a squadron of cavalry, reminding people of the governor's power and vigilance, a challenge to any disorder. As he proceeded he
replied to the greetings of the merchants to right and left. This was the man he had undertaken to kill. His heart overflowed with fear and loathing. This was the secret of his torment. It was he who had chosen to liberate the genie from his black magic. It was the genie alone who had done this. His escape was conditional on his doing away with al-Salouli. His eyes became fixed on the dark, well-filled face, pointed beard and stocky body. When he passed in front of the shop of Ibrahim the druggist, the owner hurried up to him and they shook hands warmly. Then, passing before Sanaan's shop, he happened to glance toward it and smiled so that Sanaan had no choice but to cross over and shake him by the hand, at which al-Salouli said to him, “We'll be seeing you soon, God willing.”

Sanaan al-Gamali returned to the shop, asking himself what he had meant. Why was he inviting him to a meeting? Why? Was he finding the path made easy for him in a way he had not expected? A shudder passed through him from top to toe. In a daze he repeated his words, “I'll be seeing you soon, God willing.”

When he lay down to sleep that night the other presence took control and the voice said mockingly, “You eat, drink, and sleep, and it is for me to exercise patience!”

“It's an onerous assignment. Those with such power as yourself do not realize how onerous,” he said miserably.

“But it's easier than killing the little girl.”

“What a waste! I had long been thought of as among the best of the good.”

“External appearances do not deceive me.”

“They were not simply external appearances.”

“You have forgotten things that would bring sweat to one's brow with shame.”

“Perfection is God's alone,” he said in confusion.

“I also don't deny your good points, and it was for this that I nominated you to be saved.”

“If you hadn't forced your way into my life, I wouldn't have got myself involved in this crime.”

“Don't lie,” he said sharply. “You alone are responsible for your crime.”

“I don't understand you.”

“I really judged you too favorably.”

“If only you'd just left me alone!”

“I'm a believing genie and I told myself, ‘This man's goodness exceeds his wickedness. Certainly he has suspicious relations with the chief of police and doesn't hesitate to exploit times of inflation, but he is the most honest of merchants, also he is charitable and undertakes his religious devotions and is merciful to the poor.' Thus I chose you to be saved, to be the saving of the quarter from the head of corruption, and the saving of your sinful self. Yet instead of attaining the visible target, your whole structure collapsed and you committed this repugnant crime.”

Sanaan moaned and kept silent, while the voice continued, “The chance is still there.”

“And the crime?” he asked helplessly.

“Life gives opportunities for both reflection and repentance.”

“But the man is an impregnable fortress,” he said in a voice clinging to a vestige of hope.

“He will invite you to meet him.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“He will invite you—be sure and be prepared.”

Sanaan thought for a while, then inquired, “Will you promise me deliverance?”

“I chose you only for deliverance.”

So exhausted was Sanaan that he fell into a deep sleep.

He was getting ready to go to the café when Umm Saad said, “There's a messenger from the governor waiting for you in the reception room.”

He found the private secretary, Buteisha Murgan, waiting for him with his sparkling eyes and short beard.

“The governor wants to see you.”

His heart beat fast. He realized that he was going off to commit the gravest crime in the history of the quarter. Perhaps it worried him that Buteisha Murgan should be acquainted with the circumstances surrounding his visit, but he took reassurance in Qumqam's promise.

“Wait for me,” he said, “till I put on my clothes.”

“I shall go ahead of you so as not to attract attention.”

So the man was bent on keeping the secret nature of the meeting, thus facilitating his task. He began anointing himself with musk, while Umm Saad watched, nursing a sense of unease that had not left her since the night of the dream. She was held by a feeling that she was living with another man and that the old Sanaan had vanished into darkness. Without her noticing, he slipped into his pocket a dagger with a handle of pure silver that he had received as a gift from India.

Ali al-Salouli received him in his summer mansion at the governorate's garden, appearing in a flowing white robe and with his head bare, which lessened the awe his position bestowed. A table stood in front of him on which were assembled long-necked bottles, glasses, and various nuts, dried fruits, and sweets, which gave evidence of conviviality. He seated him on a cushion alongside him and asked Buteisha Murgan to stay on.

“Welcome to you, Master Sanaan, true merchant and noble man.”

Sanaan mumbled something, hiding his confusion with a smile.

“It is thanks to you, O deputy of the sultan.”

Murgan filled three glasses. Sanaan wondered whether Murgan would stay until the end of the meeting. Maybe it was an opportunity that would not be repeated, so what should he do?

“It's a pleasant summer night,” said al-Salouli. “Do you like the summer?”

“I love all seasons.”

“You are one of those with whom God is content, and it is by His complete contentment that we start a new and productive life.”

Impelled by curiosity, Sanaan said, “I ask God to complete His favor to us.”

They drank, and became elated and invigorated from the wine.

“We have cleansed our quarter of riffraff for you,” al-Salouli continued.

“What firmness and determination!” he said with secret sadness.

“We scarcely hear now of a theft or other crime,” said Buteisha Murgan.

“Have you discovered who the culprit is?” asked Sanaan cautiously.

“Those confessing to the crime number over fifty,” said al-Salouli, laughing.

Murgan laughed too, but said, “The true culprit is doubtless among them.”

“It's Gamasa al-Bulti's problem,” said al-Salouli.

“We must also increase the exhortations at the mosques and at religious festivals,” said Murgan.

Sanaan was beginning to despair, but then al-Salouli gave a special sign to Murgan, who left the place. Even so, the guards were dispersed throughout the garden and there was no way of escape. But not for an instant was he unmindful of Qumqam's promise.

“Let's close the discussion of crimes and criminals,” said al-Salouli, changing his tone of voice.

“May your night be a pleasant one, sir,” said Sanaan, smiling.

“The fact is that I invited you for more than one reason.”

“I'm at your disposal.”

“I would like to marry your daughter,” he said confidently.

Sanaan was amazed. He was saddened too about an opportunity that was fated to miscarry before it was born. He nevertheless said, “This is a big honor, the greatest of happiness.”

“And I also have a daughter as a gift for your son Fadil.”

Chasing away his bewilderment, Sanaan said, “He's a lucky young man.”

For a while the other was silent and then continued, “As for the final request, it relates to the public welfare.”

There gleamed in Sanaan's eyes an inquiring look, at which the governor said, “The contractor Hamdan Tuneisha is your relative, is he not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The point is that I have made up my mind to construct a road alongside the desert the whole length of the quarter.”

“A truly excellent project.”

“When will you bring him to me here?” he asked in a meaningful tone.

Feeling how ironic the situation was, he said, “Our appointment will be for tomorrow evening, sir.”