Chawki’s house was located along the river in the residential quarter. It was a large structure dreamed up by some anonymous architect, but haunted by the gigantism of the Pharaohs’ edifices. It spread over four floors, its countless bedrooms — most of them unoccupied — furnished with bric-a-brac where opulence mingled with the worst mediocrity. Chawki had become master of the house after his father’s death, and had changed absolutely nothing; his stinginess made him chary of any household expenditure. At fifty he was still a bachelor, and with his miserliness he had bullied several of his relatives, herding them together onto the upper floors; no one ever saw them or knew in just what various ways they were all related. He was generous only when it came to his pleasures of the flesh, on which he did not hesitate to squander fantastic sums. Everyone held him in contempt because of his base, lascivious nature and his offensive haughtiness, especially those poor families who were the unfortunate tenants of the myriad houses and hovels he owned in the city. These impecunious tenants often found themselves obliged to allow him to seduce their wives or daughters; otherwise they faced the dreadful threat of immediate eviction for not paying their overdue rent. Several times Chawki had been almost disemboweled by a husband or father made indignant by his conduct, but his elevated social and economic status had until now spared him from well-deserved punishment.
Chawki greeted the young men with the pomp and compliments he usually reserved for his future mistresses; he had pretensions to charm and easily persuaded himself that his unhappy victims were consenting.
“Welcome!” he cried. “What an honor it is for me to receive the elite of our younger generation!”
A contented smile played on his puffy face with its noticeably drooping features. He waddled about, rubbing his hands together, looking at his young guests in blissful admiration. Imtaz knew the fellow well and was very amused by his performance, but did not let on. With feigned dignity he introduced Teymour to their host.
“This is Teymour,” he said. “I thought it was time for you to meet him.”
“So this is the young man who has returned from abroad!” exclaimed Chawki. “I am so pleased to see him. What a bountiful day for me!”
He led them down a long corridor that resembled a waiting room with benches and chairs lined up against the walls, then showed them into a spacious living area filled with leaden, pretentious furniture. Enormous chandeliers hung from the ceiling like stalactites, filling the room with a harsh light. The three men sat down around a low table with a bottle of whiskey, an ice bucket, and glasses on a tray. Chawki leaned in and began preparing the drinks. When he had finished, he offered glasses to his guests, then raised his own and said to Teymour:
“A toast to your auspicious return to our city!”
Teymour thanked him with a nod and brought his glass to his lips. He was watching with interest and perplexity the strange amiability of their host. Chawki’s overly-warm reception seemed to Teymour suffused with the desire to please, and he wondered why a man reputed for his wealth and his insolence needed to court their friendship.
Chawki had downed half his glass; he grazed his mustache with his fingertips, and, looking at Imtaz with anxious fervor, said:
“So, what news have you?”
“The news is rather alarming,” said Imtaz with equanimity.
“Why is that?” asked Chawki, whose face had suddenly clouded over.
“It seems that the disappearances have begun again. I suppose you’ve read the papers.”
“Yes, yes, I know all about it — a sinister affair. But we are here to enjoy ourselves among friends. What do we care about these disappearances? Let’s talk instead about our business.”
Never in the course of his cruel career had Chawki shown himself to be so flexible, so humble, as with this young man of lofty beauty who seemed always to look at him without seeing him, and who had found a way to torture him: for once his money was worthless. Detested by men of his own age and standing — who were married and living a decent life — Chawki had been parading around in proud solitude when he met the former actor. Enslaved by his own permanent state of arousal, he had noticed at once Imtaz’s almost miraculous power over women, and had devoted himself to him body and soul in the hope of catching a few crumbs from the feast. Imtaz and his friends were the only people in the city who admitted having the same ideals he did; they seemed ever in search of erotic distractions. In addition, without spending a penny, they managed to seduce the kind of girls that Chawki, despite his fortune, had never succeeded in bedding. Spending time with these young men was an enthralling experience and it was becoming more and more indispensable to him. Even his miserliness had melted away: he was always ready to acquiesce to the wildest demands in order to have the right to participate in their games. Still, he was clever enough to realize they were making fun of him behind his back, and if he accepted without protest his position as ludicrous benefactor, it was for one simple reason. Chawki was tired of chasing after the impoverished female tenants of his miserable hovels, and he was hoping that, through the intervention of his young companions, he would be able to realize the debauched dream he had nourished for so long: to sleep with the daughter of an upper-class family reputed not to care about money. This desire, skillfully nurtured by Imtaz, was at the moment the great affair of his life. With the idea of playing a prank, Imtaz had promised to set up a secret meeting with one of those adorable schoolgirls from a good family who fired up Chawki’s bestial sensuality with their innocent and modest air. Hoodwinked by this promise, Chawki was now entirely dependent on the former actor and, each time he saw him, never failed to inquire about the progress of this delicious plan.
Imtaz had understood perfectly what Chawki wanted to speak to him about but, with malicious pleasure, he pretended not to know and continued talking about the mysterious disappearances.
“We care a great deal,” he said. “And do you know why, my dear Chawki?”
Chawki seemed taken aback by the question; his face assumed a comic expression of terror.
“No, on my honor, I do not.”
“Because the police,” Imtaz continued, “believe that my friends and I have something to do with these disappearances.”