Everything seemed frightening and unbearable. The world was a dark, stinking alley, which I would have to wander in forever. I felt as if I’d entered the nightmare of a crazy man or a drunk. I told myself it was all because of the wind, but that didn’t help. I had the premonition something tragic was about to happen, but I didn’t know where to run or hide.
I put on my clothes and went downstairs. The hotel clerk was sleeping with a newspaper over his face and I had to shake him by the shoulder several times before he woke up.
“How much do we have to pay?” I asked.
“Are you leaving right now, sir?”
“Tomorrow. How much is it?”
“For yourself only, or for both you and the other gentleman?”
“Both of us.”
He started checking his books, but couldn’t get the right sum right away; he would add something first, then subtract, then add again, but finally he said: “A hundred and thirty pounds. Will you and the other gentleman be staying for breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’ll be a hundred and thirty-five.”
“Okay.”
“Your friend has already paid a hundred pounds. So you only have to pay thirty-five.”
No way we can leave the hotel now, I thought. There’s too much to lose; since Robert already put down the money we got from the bouncer, we have to go on with the hustle. Otherwise the bouncer will follow us to hell to get the money we owe him.
I looked at my watch: it was one o’clock. I left the hotel and started walking toward the city. I knew what I planned was stupid and senseless, but I went on anyway. At a certain point a cat with its tail held almost straight up began to follow me along the dark streets. I entered the building where Azderbal lived. I knocked, but nobody opened the door. The cat watched me from the darkness with its honey-brown eyes.
I turned the door knob and went in. I crossed to the empty dining room; so did the cat. I went into the bedroom and switched on the light. Azderbal wasn’t there; only his girl friend, and she was a heavy sleeper. I sat on the bed next to her, trying to gather my thoughts and decide why I’d come here. Then I remembered the bouncer who’d invested in us, the gorilla waiting for me at the beach, and also Johnny’s father, who would probably knock me out with one blow. I looked at the cat who sat devotedly at my feet.
“Come here, Stanislaw,” I said to the cat, and it jumped on my lap. The girl woke up and lay there staring at us. “His name is Stanislaw,” I told her.
“What do you want?”
“Money,” I said. “I intend to sell Stanislaw to you. Where is that he-man of yours?”
“He’s gone to Haifa.”
“When will he be back?”
“In two days.”
“I can’t wait that long. You have to give me two hundred and thirty pounds. Once you do, Stanislaw is yours.”
“Why did you come to me?”
“Because I’m crazy. And so are you. Who do you think I should have gone to?”
“And if I refuse to buy Stanislaw?”
“You’d better not. Or I’ll force you to.”
She got up from the bed and went to the mirror. She tidied her hair; watching her I could swear she wanted to make herself look attractive not only for me but for Stanislaw, too.
“Would you like a drink?”
“I wouldn’t mind some brandy,” I said. “Do you have any in the fridge?”
“Why don’t you check?”
I went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of brandy and a fish for Stanislaw. Then I returned to the bedroom and poured a glass for each of us.
“How much do you need?” she asked me after a moment.
“Two hundred and thirty pounds,” I said. “That includes tomorrow’s breakfast. I have to pay for my hotel.”
“So far you’ve always moved out without paying the bill and it never bothered you. Once you even left a girl behind and she had to pay. I was that girl, remember?”
“That’s not a bad idea. How come I didn’t think of it earlier? I’ll do what you say.”
“You need the money for some woman. There’s a woman involved, isn’t there?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t want to play a dirty trick on her.”
“I can’t just move out,” I said. “Robert already paid for the hotel. And it wasn’t our money. We have to pay back what we owe or we’ll be in trouble.”
“Come off it. You’re never in trouble. Even if a hundred women refuse to give you money, you still always find one.”
The cat finished eating the fish and meowed. I got up, took out another fish from the fridge, and gave it to him.
“Poor old male whore,” she said, staring at me. “Has to go chasing around in the night while everybody else sleeps, and no one will give him any money.”
“You will,” I said. “Would you like another drink?”
“Yes, please.”
We drank some more brandy. I stared at her legs and realized she was still quite pretty.
“Five years ago you must have looked like a fresh flower,” I said. “Did you wear white dresses?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still have them?”
She went to her wardrobe and took one out.
“Nobody wears long dresses anymore,” she said. “They’ve gone out of fashion.”
“Put it on.”
She stared at the dress for a moment, then threw it on the bed. She sat down at the table and poured herself half a glass.
“Do you still drink as much?” I asked.
“And you?”
“I can’t afford it. Anyway Robert hates alcohol.”
“So what do you do with the money you score?”
“Nothing much. We go to the movies. Robert eats a lot. Our expenses run high.”
“I only have a hundred pounds,” she said. “I’ll give it to you.”
She took five twenties out of her purse and handed them to me. I put them in my pocket.
“Wait,” she said. “I forgot something.”
She stretched out her hand and I gave her the bills back. She threw them on the floor, and bent down and spat on them.
“You can take them now. They’re all yours.”
I leaned over and picked up the bills. When I looked at her, she burst into tears and flung herself on the bed.
“Go away,” she said after a while.
So I did.
As I walked back along the empty streets, I could tell the wind had changed direction. The sky over the sea was beginning to pale, which made me feel a little better. I knew the khamsin would stop blowing soon. I was about to turn toward my hotel when suddenly I remembered my friend the hunchback who had trouble sleeping at night, too, and was probably sitting in front of the john in the hotel on Allenby Street. I felt like talking to him, so I climbed up the stairs and tiptoed past Harry, who was sleeping with a detective novel in his hand. I glanced at the cover; it was the one where Mike Hammer shot his girlfriend in the belly with his.45. I had read it in prison. Mickey Spillane’s novels weren’t allowed in jail, and for that reason they were the most popular books there. I remembered I had to pay three or four cigarettes for reading that one.
The hunchback was sitting in his usual spot.
“I can’t sleep,” I said.
“You’re telling me.”
“Do you have any sleeping pills?”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re the one who should have them. Or have you quit your profession?”
I looked at my watch. “Four o’clock. Too late to take any pills. I’d need at least six hours to sleep them off.”