He thought he was lost for good in this maze of alleyways haunted by bad omens when suddenly his drink-addled mind made out some slight chink in the silence, like the scurrying of a famished rat ferreting about in the trash. He immediately stopped moving and pricked up his ears, all the while seeking with his eyes this providential animal that, in his obsession, he imagined capable of giving him the brothel’s address.
As Rezk continued to tail Samaraï, he had no preconceived ideas and certainly no intention of spying on him as if the man were carrying some miniature bomb. He had obeyed the police chief’s order solely out of a sense of duty, and because he had detected in the veterinary student’s odd behavior some terrible grief. At first, he had been puzzled by how easily this newcomer to the city had been admitted to the group Rezk admired; then, when he learned about his affair with Salma, he had begun to feel sorry for him: he was aware of the young woman’s reputation as a despot. He was now certain that serious dissensions between the lovers had arisen, and Samaraï’s deplorable state was enough to prove that these dissensions were more than a simple lovers’ quarrel. Motivated by his natural kindness, Rezk had nothing in mind but to stay close to Samaraï and to come to his aid in the event that, were he to lose his faculties completely, he might need Rezk.
The faint glow from a nearby streetlamp lit Samaraï’s face, accentuating his coarse features — he seemed exhausted, as if he were dying a slow death, and traces of tears remained. When he saw Rezk arrive, he looked stunned, then bowed to the ground in a grandiloquent salutation full of panache.
“Excuse me, brother,” he said in a thick voice. “Can you tell me how to get to the house I’m looking for? I can’t seem to find it.”
“Of course,” answered Rezk. “I would be happy to be of service to you.”
Samaraï let out a sigh of relief and his eyes shone with mad hope, as if all his sorrows would finally end in joy.
“I’m looking for a brothel run by a woman named Wataniya. I’ve heard about it, but I’ve never been there.”
“I know it,” said Rezk. “It’s the one with the most beautiful girls.”
“Are there many?” asked Samaraï anxiously, as if the number of girls were extremely important to him.
“I don’t know exactly. There are at least ten.”
“Ten, you say? Well, that will do. That’s exactly what I need.”
“But I must warn you, they cost a lot. It’s the most expensive brothel in town.”
“I don’t care!” shouted Samaraï. “I’m ready to spend my entire fortune tonight. I shall sleep with every one of them, you can count on it. Because love is killing me.”
He took the wad of bills from his pocket and, showing it to Rezk, said: “Look. I’m going to buy myself a good time that will make the earth tremble.”
So, this was the object that had aroused Hillali’s suspicion! Rezk was no less horrified by the sight of all that money than he would have been had it been an actual bomb. He looked at Samaraï’s hand waving the wad in the dismal light of the streetlamp as if he were trying to tempt him, corrupt him, or simply provoke him. Did Samaraï take him for a thief and an assassin, and was he trying to get attacked so as to end it all? All this smacked of a suicide by proxy. Rezk was suddenly very afraid, as if Samaraï’s exhibiting such a fortune in this sordid and deserted alleyway could cause lightning to strike them.
“Put that back in your pocket,” he said gently. “I’ll walk you to the brothel.”
“I don’t want to bother you,” answered Samaraï, whose teary eyes were staring at Rezk with bizarre intensity, as if he had just recognized in him a long-vanished friend.
“It’s no bother; it’s on my way,” lied Rezk with his usual kindness. “In fact, it’s not far.”
“Let’s go, then,” said Samaraï, speaking as if in a dream and stuffing the money back in his pocket. “I am grateful for the honor you do me.”
“The honor is all mine,” answered Rezk, grabbing Samaraï by the arm and pulling him along.
They started off, moving deeper into the opaque shadows, their two shapes merging into one in shared distress. Wataniya’s brothel was not far from the spot where they had met, but in the tangle of alleyways it would have been impossible for Samaraï to find it without the help of someone who knew how to negotiate the anarchic ramshackle development so rife in this part of the city. Rezk had not let go of Samaraï’s arm; he guided him, doing his best to adjust his own steps to the drunkard’s spasmodic gait. The veterinary student walked with irritating slowness, almost letting himself be dragged by Rezk, as if he wanted to put off the moment of their separation as long as possible, as if he were hesitant to carry out his resolution to hurl himself into licentiousness and debauchery now that the time was near. But Rezk could not have guessed this and, for his part, he was eager, without seeming discourteous, to free himself of this companion and his importunate riches that jeopardized their safety. He gestured nervously to make Samaraï pick up his pace, and immediately regretted this petty impulse so contrary to his desire for friendship. Samaraï shot him a glance full of inexpressible surprise, seeming not to recognize in Rezk the charitable soul who had come to his rescue earlier, then shook his head uncomprehendingly and let himself be led on obediently, with a kind of painful humility. A few minutes later, they found themselves in front of an old house with barred windows where no light filtered through; a lamp hung over the door, which was painted a bright red. The light coming from this single lamp emphasized the house’s isolation; it was surrounded on both sides by empty lots where the rubble of the neighboring hovels completely demolished by time had accumulated.