"I think not," the fat man said.
"Think of the pleasure, my beloved, the pleasure!"
And, strangely, the fat man knew that he would enjoy this dirty, diseased woman of the streets, enjoy her more than the predictable and sterile couplings he had experienced in the past. Onset of romanticism! But it was out of the question, syphilis was rampant in this place, he didn't have the time, he couldn't stop now.
"Some other time," he said.
"Alas! That will never be!"
"You can never tell."
She looked boldly into his eyes. "Sometimes you can tell. It will never be."
"Take this to remember me by," the fat man said and pushed the iron coin into her hand.
"It is wise of you to pay," she said. "Soon you will see what you have bought."
The fat man turned away and continued to walk mechanically. His joints ached.
Definitely, he was not well. Street of the Razor, Street of the End, and now he had come to the house of the merchant Ahlid.
73
The fat man knocked at the great brass-studded door of Ahlid's house. A servant let him in and took him through an inner courtyard to a cool, dim, high-ceilinged room. The fat man felt relieved to sit on soft brocaded cushions and to sip iced mint tea from a frosted silver glass. But he still felt strange and out of sorts, and the vertigo had not left him. His condition annoyed him. It was most inconvenient.
Ahlid entered the room, a quiet, slender man in his fifties. The fat man had saved his life during a time of riots in Mukhtail. Ahlid had been grateful, and more important, reliable. They had done business together in Aden, Port Sudan, and Karachi. They had not met since Ahlid had moved to Arachnis some years ago.
Ahlid inquired about the fat man's health and listened with grave concern to his indispositions.
"It seems that I cannot take this climate," the fat man said. "But it is of no concern. How are you, my friend, and how is your wife and child?"
"I am well enough," said Ahlid. "Despite the unsettled times, I manage to earn a sufficient living. My wife died two years ago of a snakebite suffered in the bazaar. My daughter is well enough; later you will meet her."
The fat man murmured his regrets. Ahlid thanked him and said, "One learns how to live with Death in this city. Death is present everywhere in the world, of course, and in due time takes everyone; but in other cities he is less publicly evident. Elsewhere, Death makes his customary rounds of the hospitals, goes for a drive on the highway, takes a stroll around town to visit the needy, and generally comports himself like a respectable citizen. To be sure, he arranges a few surprises now and again; but in general he does his work as expected and tries not to disrupt the reasonable hopes and expectations of sober and respectable men.
"But here in Arachnis, Death behaves in quite a different way. Perhaps he is affected by the fierce sun and the marshy land, perhaps they are responsible for making him moody, capricious, and unrelenting. Whatever the causes, Death is ubiquitous and unexpected here, taking delight in sudden surprises and reversals, visiting all parts of the city, not even respecting the mosques and palaces where a man might expect some small measure of security. Here, Death is no longer a good citizen. Here he is a cheap dramatist."
"I beg your pardon," the fat man said. "I seem to have dozed off. The heat… What have we been talking about?"
"You had inquired about my daughter," said Ahlid. "She is seventeen years old. Perhaps you would like to meet her now?"
"Delighted, delighted," said the fat man.
Ahlid led him through dark corridors, up a wide staircase, then through a gallery whose narrow, slit windows looked down upon an interior patio with a fountain. They came to a door. Ahlid knocked, and opened it.
The room was brilliantly lighted. The floor was of black marble, into which a great number of white lines had been let. The lines crossed and recrossed each other at irregular intervals like a tangle of twine. In the centre of the room sat a grave, dark-eyed girl, dressed in white, stitching on a little embroidery frame.
"Charming," said the fat man. The girl did not look up. The tip of her tongue stood out as she concentrated on her design. The pattern of her embroidery was poorly executed, chaotic.
"She is docile," said Ahlid.
The fat man rubbed his eyes. With an effort he sat upright in his chair. He was in Ahlid's salon again, seated on brocade cushions. Ahlid was writing in an account book. In front of the fat man there was a half-eaten cup of sherbet.
The fat man said, "Please excuse my lapses. I have not been well. Perhaps it would be best if we discussed business."
"Just as you please," Ahlid said.
"I have come here," the fat man said, "to arrange, with your help, and at a mutually agreeable price, to… I have a certain object in my possession, of no intrinsic importance except to the man who… I wish to transport a certain engine part to a certain place, and I am confident that I, or rather, you, can accomplish… I seem to be having difficulty in expressing myself. This thing that I wish to accomplish…"
"My friend," said Ahlid, "isn't it time that we talked seriously?"
"Yes? I can assure you…"
"Isn't it time that we talked about what you would like to do with the little time remaining to you?" Ahlid asked.
The fat man managed to smile. "I will admit that I am indisposed. But no one can know…"
"Please," said Ahlid. "My friend, my benefactor, I am very sorry to have to tell you that you have the plague."
"Plague? Don't be ridiculous. I grant that I am not well. I will consult a doctor."
"I have already summoned my own doctor," Ahlid said. "But I know the signs of the plague well. All of us in Arachnis know it, for plague is entwined throughout our lives."
"That is quite incredible," said the fat man.
"Why would I deceive you?" Ahlid said. "I tell you this because I am sure of it. Must you waste your valuable time denying it?"
The fat man sat silently for a long time. Then he said, dully, "I knew when I came ashore here that I was seriously ill. Ahlid, how long do I have?"
"Perhaps three weeks, perhaps a month, even two."
"No more than that?"
"No more."
"I see," said the fat man. "Well, then… Is there a hospital here?"
"None worthy of the name. You will stay here with me."
"Out of the question," said the fat man. "The risk of contagion…"
"No one escapes contagion in Arachnis," Ahlid said. "Listen to me: you have come home to live a little while and then die. This is your home, I am your family."
The fat man smiled vaguely and shook his head.
"You do not understand," Ahlid said. "Death is a part of life. Therefore, there can be no rejection of it. What cannot be rejected must be accepted. What we cannot overcome we must submit to. And since we are men, our submission must be as strong as our rejection. You are very fortunate that you have been granted this chance to prepare yourself for Death and to do so here, in a cool and pleasant house — in your own house. It is not a bad thing."
"No, it is not," said the fat man. "But it will be a depressing time for you."
"Your death will not depress me any more than will my own," said Ahlid. "You and I will talk together in the days ahead. You will make your preparations. And you will help me."
"How?"
"My acceptance of my own death is still very imperfect," said Ahlid. "Through you, I hope to learn what you must learn: how to submit strongly."
"And your daughter?"
"The thread of her life is slender. Surely, you have noticed that? She also must learn."