“That’s true, you’re not mistaken,” said El Kordi. “I don’t deny anything. Why don’t you arrest me?”
“I didn’t know anything about this,” said Yeghen. “My compliments, dear El Kordi.”
“I won’t arrest you,” continued Nour El Dine, “because I know you’re not the killer. You simply wanted to brag. Why? I have no idea. I am just surprised that a man like you, with a good education, who speaks foreign languages, would indulge in such eccentricities. I cannot understand your mentality. Can you explain his conduct to me, Gohar Effendi? I believe you witnessed this ridiculous scene.”
There was a silence. All eyes turned to Gohar. Even Samir stared at him attentively, his features tensed in an expression of feverish expectation.
Gohar said nothing. He could no longer feel the hashish ball in his mouth; it had completely dissolved. He swallowed his saliva two or three times and savored the last bitter taste of the drug. People and things around him were taking on a richer, more glistening hue and their slightest details became perceptible. Laughter and voices were changing into a single murmur, secret and insidious, like a sensual woman’s sighs at the moment of ecstasy. His eyes rested on Nour El Dine and he was amazed by a feeling of strange goodwill that came over him in the face of his tormentor. Through some extraordinary acuity of perception, he discovered in this aggressive-looking tormentor a tortured, disturbed being, more weak than dangerous. What a sad look! What moral suffering hidden behind this façade of authority! Gohar’s instinct told him he had nothing to fear from this man and, even odder, that this man needed his help and pity.
“The inspector is waiting,” said Yeghen. “Come on, Master, give us your thoughts.”
“Well,” Gohar began, “I think I can explain my young friend’s behavior. El Kordi is a man with a very noble soul. He hates injustice and would do anything to fight it. He would like to reform the world, but he doesn’t know how to begin. I think this crime revolted him. He wanted to take responsibility for it and to offer himself as a martyr for the cause he defends. I am glad you didn’t take his confession seriously, Inspector. You must pardon his extravagant behavior. He acted on a very honorable impulse.”
“Master, this is intolerable!” cried El Kordi. “Let me explain it to you. I know I’m not the killer, but what does it matter if it’s me or someone else? The important thing for you, Inspector, is to arrest someone, right? So I offered myself. You should be grateful to me.”
“Absurd!” said Nour El Dine. “Completely absurd! That’s not it at all. I want to arrest the guilty person and no one else.”
“Why?” asked Yeghen. “Why only arrest the guilty one? You disappoint me. You allow yourself to be influenced by trifling considerations.”
“Why?” repeated Nour El Dine. “But it’s as clear as daylight! Why should I arrest an innocent man?”
“The innocent or the guilty,” said Gohar. “It must be difficult to choose.”
“But I don’t choose,” said Nour El Dine. “I base my conviction on certain precise, irrefutable facts. I only arrest a man when I am convinced of his guilt. All of you here are educated men and yet you seem to have no idea of the law.”
“It isn’t the law that interests us, but man,” said Yeghen. “What interests us is to know why a man like you spends his time arresting his fellow men, instead of enjoying his short life. I find that occupation very unhealthy.”
“But I’m just defending society against criminals,” said Nour El Dine. “What sort of men are you? You’ve lost touch with reality!”
“Your reality is a reality made of prejudice,” said Gohar. “It is a nightmare invented by man.”
“There aren’t two realities,” said Nour El Dine.
“Yes, there are,” said Gohar. “First, there is the reality born of deception, and in which you are struggling like a fish caught in a net.”
“And what is the other?”
“The other is a smiling reality reflecting the simplicity of life. For life is simple, Inspector. What does a man need to live? A little bread is enough.”
“A little hashish too, Master!” said Yeghen.
“So be it, my son! A little hashish too.”
“But that is the repudiation of all progress!” exclaimed Nour El Dine.
“You must choose,” said Gohar. “Progress or peace. We have chosen peace.”
“So, Excellency, we leave progress to you,” said Yeghen. “Enjoy it! We wish you much happiness.”
Nour El Dine opened his mouth to answer, but no words emerged from his stricken throat. He was fascinated by the character of Gohar. This man had spoken of peace like an easy thing that one could choose. Peace! Nour El Dine knew nothing at all of Gohar’s prior existence, but it seemed to him that this man was not only what he appeared to be, that is, a failed intellectual reduced to poverty. His ascetic face, his refined speech, the nobility of his attitude — all denoted a sharp and penetrating intelligence. How could such a man have fallen so low on the social ladder? And, especially, why did he give the impression of enjoying it and taking pride in it? Had he by some chance discovered peace in the depths of this extreme deprivation?
From the police reports, Nour El Dine knew that Gohar held some sort of a job at Set Amina’s bordello. He had not attached much importance to this, thinking it was a matter of an old servant to whom Set Amina charitably gave some small tasks. He had not imagined a man like this. Now that he was seeing him, he had completely changed his opinion on the subject, and he even wondered if he might be the killer.
“What is peace?” he asked Gohar, looking at him with a strange fixedness.
“Peace is what you’re searching for,” answered Gohar.
“By Allah! How do you know what I’m searching for? What I’m searching for is a killer!”
“Let me say I’m amazed, Excellency” said Yeghen. “I still wonder why you didn’t believe El Kordi’s confession. I would be curious to know your reasons.”
“They are very simple,” said Nour El Dine. “I had already met this young man. El Kordi couldn’t be the killer. He talks too much; he allows himself to divulge too much of his thought. He totally lacks hypocrisy. He is an idealist. It seems to me that the man who committed this crime is a more subtle, enigmatic individual.”
“My word, then you believe in psychology!” exclaimed Yeghen. “I would never have thought that of you, Inspector. Ah, you never cease to amaze me!”
“I must admit that this is my first investigation into a crime of this sort. The absence of material incentives and the lack of signs of rape oblige me to conclude that it was a motiveless crime.”
“A motiveless crime,” said Yeghen. “Why, you have a highly perspicacious mind, Excellency! Excuse me for having taken you for a brutal, narrow-minded person until now.”
“My dear Yeghen, you were wrong to assume that the inspector was narrow-minded,” said Gohar. “He has analyzed the situation very well. All the same, I would like to call his attention to something.”
“What’s that?” asked Nour El Dine.
“Does a crime without motive fall within the scope of the law? Isn’t it of the same nature as an earthquake, for example?”
“An earthquake doesn’t think,” said Nour El Dine. “It is a calamity that just happens.”
“But man has become a calamity for his fellow man,” answered Gohar. “Man has become worse than an earthquake. At any rate, he does more damage. Inspector, don’t you agree that the horrors caused by man long ago exceeded those of nature’s cataclysms?”