Rezk had guessed what Chawki was up to and concluded that he had no more need to be discreet because in all likelihood his enemy was fully aware of his presence. So he’d walked on without trying to hide and, truth be told, rather unsure of the proper course of action to take in such circumstances. But seeing Chawki come out of his impromptu hiding place threatening him with his cane, he recoiled ever so slightly, disoriented by a move he had not expected.
Emboldened by this retreat, Chawki took advantage of his initial success and the superiority of his arsenal. He opened his arms wide as if to block Rezk’s passage and cried in the incensed tones of a bank security guard shouting at a prowler:
“Who are you? And why are you following me?”
These questions increased Rezk’s confusion and it took him a moment to respond, which he did contritely:
“I was not following you, Excellency.”
The humility in this voice and the respect paid to his social status convinced Chawki of the young man’s peaceful nature. Seeing him trembling with cold in his too-meager clothing, Chawki imagined that Rezk was frightened by the commanding authority that radiated from his person. Face to face with this worm, he was terribly annoyed at himself for his earlier fright. He lowered his cane and leaned on it, then, puffing out his chest, he began to fiddle with the ends of his moustache while scrutinizing Rezk’s face with his usual arrogance. This face reminded him of some recent event.
“I seem to have seen you before. You were speaking to a young girl on a bicycle. It was yesterday afternoon, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” admitted Rezk in a conciliatory, almost obsequious tone that had the effect of making Chawki regain all his smugness.
“She is a lovely girl,” he said. “You must have a fine time with her.”
The image of the young girl of whom he had caught a quick glimpse astride her bicycle, her skirt sliding up her thighs, brought a perverse smile to Chawki’s lips that Rezk understood as an insult to his sister’s virtue. The young man was once again overcome by hatred and his eyes blazed. Chawki recognized this gaze that had shot through him the previous day and his suspicions returned.
“You don’t remember me?” he asked sardonically. “I passed not far from you. I’m sure you noticed me.”
“I don’t recall. The street was very crowded.”
“It doesn’t matter. You were no doubt too taken with your pretty companion. Have you known her for a long time?”
“Yes, a very long time.”
“How old was she when you met, then? She is still so young.”
“I like them just barely out of childhood,” said Rezk with a certain impertinence, as if he wanted to shock his interlocutor. “And you, Excellency?”
“Unquestionably, so do I,” answered Chawki, casting a sidelong glance at the tireless statue frozen on her pedestal, witness to this impudent confession. “I see,” he continued, “that despite appearances, you are a young man of quality. And to think that I mistook you for an ill-intentioned fellow. So, tell me about this girl on her bicycle.”
Chawki was sliding into fetishism. The bicycle was exciting him more than anything else, he didn’t know why.
“Ah, yes… the bicycle,” sighed Rezk. “You have to see with what skill she steers that machine. She seems to fly though space, like an angel gliding above the squalid alleys—”
“How I would love to see this performance,” interrupted Chawki, who was charmed by this poetic description as by a child’s dream.
It seemed to Rezk that this polite conversation with his worst enemy was heading toward total absurdity. And although his hatred was becoming stronger, it was no longer based on vengeance — just on a kind of disgust, only a step away from the nothingness of death. But he would not kill the monster; he had found instead a means of torturing Chawki in his flesh by holding out the false promise of a meeting with Felfel. He could not repress a little inner laugh as he imagined Chawki’s reaction to such a proposal.