He used a humble voice, seeking refinements of politeness to say, “Believe me, Excellency, I’m telling you the truth. Here’s the coin.”
Yeghen took it out of his pocket and showed it to the policeman.
“I had just found it when you arrived.”
The policeman looked at the coin and yawned. He did not want to go to the police station, and besides, this fellow seemed devoid of interest.
“All right,” he said. “You can go. But stop behaving suspiciously. I’m watching you.”
“Thank you, Excellency,” said Yeghen. “You are a superior soul. You are the incarnation of intelligence. One day you will be minister.”
Yeghen breathed deeply, then began to run. He stopped under the streetlamp, opened his hand, and examined the coin in the light. It looked normal; it was real money. No one would dare refuse it. Yeghen went on his way, still feeling the presence of the policeman watching him from the shadows.
The first hotel he stopped at had a sign that read “The Sun Hotel.” Yeghen went in. The clerk sleeping on a dirty couch raised his head and looked at Yeghen as if he were a thief.
“What do you want?”
“I want a room,” said Yeghen.
“A room,” said the man. “Yes, I can give you a room. It costs two piasters. Do you have the money?”
Yeghen was prepared for this question; he held the coin tightly in his hand. He handed it to the man. The man took it, looked at it in the light of the smoky lamp that lit the vestibule, then said deferentially, “Follow me, sir!”
They climbed a staircase without a banister, its steps worn and dangerous as traps. On the third floor, the man stopped at a door and pushed it open.
“Come in. It’s the most beautiful room in the hotel. I only give it to honorable customers.”
“I’m very grateful,” said Yeghen.
The room was furnished with one iron bed covered with a faded, rose-colored eiderdown, a chair, and a little black wooden table. But Yeghen was only looking at the eiderdown.
“Tell me: I trust there are no bedbugs?”
“Bedbugs!” the clerk said resentfully. “Never, this is a first-class hotel.”
“All right, thank you.”
“I’ll leave you now,” said the clerk. “Sleep well.”
Yeghen undressed in the dark and got into bed. He fell asleep right away and had a dream. He dreamed he was an all-powerful policeman and that he commanded a whole multitude of brutes armed with clubs. He feared no one. He was the uncontested master of the street. Now it was he who tracked down poor men. He sowed terror in his wake, and all the outcasts fled at his approach. He saw himself pursuing a short, ugly person who was none other than himself. He finally caught him, and when he struck him with his bludgeon, he felt a terrible pain ravage his body.
Yeghen awoke uttering a piercing cry. The room was bitterly cold. He moved to pull the eiderdown back up, but to his great surprise he discovered it had disappeared. Astonishment took his breath away; he could not understand what had happened to the eiderdown. He began to call for the hotelkeeper as loudly as he could.
An endless time passed, but no one answered. Sitting up in bed, Yeghen panted, his arms crossed on his chest to keep away the cold. He was about to call again, when the door opened and the desk clerk appeared in the opening holding a kerosene lantern in his hand. A finger to his lips, he advanced cautiously.
“Where is the eiderdown?” cried Yeghen. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing,” whispered the clerk. “I’m using it to put a customer to sleep. As soon as he’s asleep, I’ll bring it back to you, on my honor! Only, I beg of you, don’t make a scandal.”
Yeghen then realized what had happened while he was asleep. The hotelkeeper had come into his room and taken away his eiderdown to give to a new customer. He was completely astounded by these fantastic proceedings.
“You have only one eiderdown for the whole hotel?” he asked.
“Oh no,” said the clerk in a low voice. “This is a first-class hotel; we have three eiderdowns, but we also have many customers.”
“I understand,” said Yeghen. “What are we going to do? I’m cold. And I have to sleep. I want an eiderdown.”
“In an instant,” said the clerk. “On my honor, I will bring it back to you right away. The customer I gave it to was very sleepy. He was sleeping on his feet. He must be fast asleep now. Don’t move. I’m going to see. And above all, don’t shout.”
The clerk went out on tiptoe, carrying the lamp. Yeghen remained in darkness, shivering with cold. He heard the man open the door next to his; no doubt it was the room of the new customer. Yeghen began to murmur, “Let him be asleep. Dear God, let him be asleep.” Then he burst into raucous laughter that resounded throughout the hotel like a call to madness.
11
THE POLICEMAN who had brought in the whole gang gave a confused explanation, but Nour El Dine was not listening to him. He was finding it hard to resume his official character; all this was so far from his mind. This story of a café brawl was becoming more and more complicated. Who had started the fight? No one knew. Seated behind his desk, Nour El Dine took in the whole group with one look of unspeakable disdain. Now and then he sighed loudly, like a weary man ready to commit a desperate act. They were lined up before him: three broad-shouldered men with rough hands — probably cart drivers — and a skinny man dressed in rags with a bloody face. According to the policeman, he was a beggar. He stood with head high, and with swollen eyes stared at the police inspector with haughty defiance.
Nour El Dine finally decided to question him.
“Are these the men who beat you? Do you recognize them?”
The man with the bloody face quivered and took one step toward the police inspector, as if he had just insulted his mother.
“Beat me!” he cried. “Who would dare beat me?”
“So what are you complaining about, you son of a bitch!”
“I’m not complaining, Excellency! Who told you I was complaining?”
The three men built like carters remained motionless and silent. They studied their victim with malicious pleasure. Nour El Dine moved as though to stand up — he felt like hitting everyone, but he suddenly sensed the futility of his gesture and refrained. On the outside, he was still a police inspector, tough and uncompromising, tightly laced into his uniform, but deep inside everything was dissolving. He understood nothing of the mortal illness that had taken possession of his being and that rendered him unable to exercise his authority. It seemed that the power from which he drew his strength no longer existed, had never existed. To the astonishment of his audience, he brought his hand to his forehead and leaned on his desk in a pose of profound depression.
The policeman leaned toward him and said quietly, “Are you sick, sir?”
“Throw the whole bunch in the cell,” answered Nour El Dine. “I don’t want to see them anymore.”
When the policeman and the four men had left the room, Nour El Dine looked at the plainclothesman seated on a chair, who had been waiting for a moment. It was the man he had assigned to watch the brothel.
“What do you have to tell me?”
“Actually, Excellency, I have nothing new to report. I think my job has become useless. Everyone there seems to know who I am.”
“That doesn’t surprise me coming from you. No doubt you did everything to stand out.”
“But I did obtain results, Excellency! The confession of the young man—”
“I know,” Nour El Dine interrupted. “He made a fool of you.”