“Of course. These disappearances have convinced him that the movement has grown and is beginning to act. He’s reading loads of books about revolutionary strategies.”
“Well, good for him. He should continue to do so; I don’t see any problem in that. To each his own amusement. Tolerance is my first rule of conduct.”
Although he was well aware of the prevailing stupidity, Medhat, despite his feigned indifference, was somewhat surprised by all this. The unbelievably ridiculous ideas of this man in a position of great responsibility proved, if proof were still necessary, the frailty of a system collapsing beneath the weight of its iniquities. This Hillali, who had accepted the sham, worked for it, and built his career on deceitful foundations and ethics, was now trapped in his old age, inventing another form of sham to extend his flagging authority. For him and his ilk — thoroughgoing cheats all — the moment of retirement also meant the terrible failure of their dreams. This is how dogs that have been abandoned by their masters die, having hunted in vain for a bone to gnaw on in the trashcans of strangers. Medhat, too, leaned on the parapet and looked at the river. In the distance, a sailboat was fighting against the current, its quivering sail leaning dangerously toward the hazy line of the horizon. Above some carrion on one of the banks, kite birds were circling — immutable raptors of the sky, more serene and more majestic than their competitors, men of the earth. The inordinate grayness of this landscape was so oppressive that Medhat sympathized with Hillali’s distress; Hillali — who had been thrown back by his own kind into this decadent city and excluded from the splendors that would have been lavished upon him had he collaborated with the authorities — had nothing but the mirage of a conspiracy to fill his loneliness.
Through some subtle line of thought, Hillali’s paranoid delusions led Medhat to recall Samaraï’s disappearance, which he had completely forgotten. The idea that he had to fulfill his promise to Salma displeased him, and he thought it would be clever to take advantage of his new friendship with Rezk to find out more about this business, sparing him pointless effort. For his job, Rezk moved about a lot, and if the veterinary student were still in the city, perhaps he would have seen him during one of his harmless attempts at spying for the chief of police.
“By the way,” said Medhat, “one of my friends has disappeared. I wonder if by any chance you haven’t seen him.”
“Which one?”
“The veterinary student. The one who came from the capital to claim his inheritance. You must have seen him, he accompanied me everywhere. His name is Samaraï.”
“Yes, I know him. When did he disappear?”
“About four days ago. The person with whom he’s been living is worried about him. I’d like to be able to reassure her.”
“If I’m not mistaken, he was just passing through here. Perhaps he went back home? It seems logical to me.”
“Unfortunately not. He didn’t take any of his clothes. His suitcase is still here, and so are his medical books, which were very important to him and which he would never have abandoned if he had left for good.”
“That’s really strange.”
“I think so, too. So, try to remember. Did you see him recently?”
Rezk’s nighttime meeting with the veterinary student was too recent for him to pretend to be searching his memory. For anyone else, it would have been a chance, ordinary encounter and he should have mentioned it to Medhat without thinking; yet he remained paralyzed, as if gripped by some superstitious fear. It had been exactly four days since that unbelievable scene of their separation in front of the brothel door. The last image Rezk had of Samaraï rushing headlong like a doomed man at the blood-red door was still present in his mind. And the distress he had felt at the time gripped him once again, as if his premonition of a calamity had come true. But what calamity could befall a man in this brothel, a place meant for pleasure? Perhaps he was still there, lost in debauchery and oblivious to the outside world. Hadn’t he proclaimed his intention of paying every woman in the place? Such ambitious sexual plans could occupy someone for several days, perhaps an entire month. There was nothing frightening about that; it seemed more likely that he had simply gone into hiding for a time.
“I saw him in fact just four days ago.”
“Where?”
“On the street. At night. He stopped me to ask for directions. He was very drunk and his words defied common sense. I had the feeling he was terribly lovesick and was trying to forget his pain by doing something reckless.”
“Where’d he want to go?”
“He was looking for Wataniya’s brothel.”
“Do you think he went there?”
“It was hard for me to explain how to go, especially since he was incapable of getting there by himself, so I accompanied him to the door. He invited me to come in with him, but I refused. He had a lot of money on him, and he showed it to me ostentatiously. It must have been his entire inheritance.”
“And you haven’t seen him again since that night?”
“No. He opened the door and slammed it behind him. I stayed outside, alone. I was worried because of all that money.”
Medhat knit his brow and an odd glimmer came into his gaze, but he quickly turned his head so that Rezk could not discern the slightest trace of the suspicion that had just formed in his mind. Rezk’s account threw a dazzling light on the mystery of those disappearances that were all over the city’s news. It was in Wataniya’s brothel — he was now convinced of it — that the notables were disappearing, and an ignorant police force, led by a megalomaniac chief, persisted in believing them to be the victims of a revolutionary conspiracy. He recalled that the owner was not alone in managing her profitable business; she had a husband to help her with her task, a phenomenally strong ex-convict with a physical appearance as noxious as his wife’s, who lived in one of the bedrooms in the rear and who never showed himself in public. Between the two of them, it would be relatively easy to kill a rich client, and divest him of his money and his jewels. The house was surrounded by empty lots perfectly suitable for burying illicit corpses once they had been cut into pieces to prevent identification. The whole thing must have functioned like a factory, or a closed circuit, with no need of recourse to the outside world since the victims came of their own free will. Medhat almost burst out laughing, but he contained himself; he was not crazy enough to shout his discovery from the rooftops. Rezk especially must know nothing about it.
A line of camels, apparently without a driver, crossed the bridge, followed closely by a donkey cart carrying an assembly of female mourners on their way to a funeral, their grieving faces painted blue; from time to time, one of them would begin a series of short wails, like a singer warming up her voice before coming on stage. From farther away, about to drive on to the bridge, a rich man’s calèche, clean and shiny, was approaching; its horse, a noble beast, was walking solemnly in quick time. Visibly, the city was waking up after its siesta. Medhat thought it was time for him to go.
“Well, Rezk, my brother, I’ll say goodbye now! You have opened new horizons for me. I will not be quick to forget this interesting conversation.”
“When will we see each other again?”
“Whenever you’d like. I’m always happy to see you; you know that.”
“Listen, I want you to know something: I’m going to resign. Nothing will keep us from seeing each other after that. There won’t be any mistrust between us anymore.”
“There was never any mistrust on my part. In any case, that’s good news, and I’m happy to hear it.”
Before he left Rezk, Medhat held him tightly against his chest in a pledge of brotherly friendship. It was to Rezk that he owed his sensational discovery and he wanted to thank him in an even more demonstrative way. As he walked away, he turned around several times to smile at him.