In honest wrestling Andy was clearly the better man, and when his black adversary saw that he lacked the strength to overcome him fairly, he sank his teeth into Andy’s shoulder. He had aimed at his car, but Andy was too quick for him, and now panted wrathfully.
“A man must follow the customs of the country”-and in his turn Andy bit deep into the Negro’s shoulder, so that the fellow howled and Selim ben-Hafs burst out laughing.
Andy was already forcing the black to his knees, but the oily body slipped from his grasp and the next moment the Negro drove his head violently against Andy’s chest, which resounded like a drum. Undeterred, Andy stooped like lightning and seized the fellow’s ankles, threw him down and began whirling him round at such speed that the onlookers cried out aghast, and Selim ben-Hafs recoiled and clutched his head with both hands. But Andy did no more than hurl his opponent headlong onto the sand. Unhurt, the man leaped to his feet and charged again.
The struggle continued, with Andy holding his own, and the backers, forgetful of the Sultan’s presence, shouted and raised their bids. But Selim ben-Hafs scowled and showered insults upon his champion. From now on the rabble knew that this man’s life was at stake. Once more he gained firm hold of Andy, twisted and turned and tried with all his might to get his thumb into his eyes or kick him in the groin. He would not give in though Andy threw him several times so that by rights he should have confessed himself beaten. But each time he rose, and with foaming lips and bloodshot eyes dashed in mad fury at Andy, to kill him at the first opportunity. At last he got a thumb into Andy’s eye, and it was Andy’s turn to yell with pain. But at that moment came a snap as the champion’s arm was broken, and in a flash Andy was pressing the man’s face into the sand.
He thought the sport was at an end, but Selim ben-Hafs had wearied of his own wrestler, who had shamed him before all the people, and he signed to Andy to continue. Andy rose bewildered, not understanding what he meant, and at once the Negro, careless of his agony, threw his sound arm round Andy’s legs and brought him to the ground; then knelt upon his tenderest parts and tried to get his teeth into his throat. Nothing was left for Andy to do but lock the fellow’s arms and break his neck. Selim ben-Hafs burst into noisy laughter and applause.
A bundle containing money was now given to Andy; Selim ben- Hafs also bestowed a purse upon him and Abu el-Kasim received a kaftan of honor, in recognition of the great pleasure the contest had afforded the Sultan. But the body of the champion Selim ordered to be taken away and thrown into the sewers, since in his opinion the fellow deserved no better burial. When the spectators began to leave we were detained by the Sultan’s servants, and we wondered uneasily what more he required of us.
Abu el-Kasim was first brought before him, to kneel and kiss the ground before the throne.
“What is the price of your slave?” asked Selim ben-Hafs.
Abu would not have been Abu if he had not instantly burst into tears and vowed that he was a poor man, and so on incessantly, until
Selim ben-Hafs raised his hands and commanded him in the name of Allah to cut short his lamentations.
“What is the price of your slave?” he repeated, signing meanwhile to one of his attendants, who in a significant manner began fingering a supple cane.
Abu el-Kasim broke from the grasp of the two men who held him, carefully removed the kaftan of honor that the Sultan had presented to him, and then rent his garments, calling Allah to witness that never in Algiers or indeed anywhere in the world had such another wrestler been seen. Such a marvel of nature only appeared once in a hundred years, just as Allah sent to mankind every century a new interpreter of the Koran, to invigorate the ancient wisdom.
But Selim ben-Hafs turned a deaf ear and yawned, “Send him to my palace tomorrow. Allah will surely recompense and reward you with his favors.”
The attendants hastened to raise the Sultan from his throne, and we were conducted through the archway into the forecourt. There an old woman approached me, held out a dirty bundle and whispered rapidly, “My name is Fatima. The eunuchs know me, if you inquire for me and give them a trifle. Open this bundle in private and read the letter in it to the one to whom it’s addressed.”
I hid the bundle under my cloak and we returned to Abu el-Kasim’s house, in the street of the spice dealers, where a crowd of wrestlers and others were waiting to acclaim us. They gave presents to Andy and invoked many blessings upon him; but when, with a bad grace, Abu el-Kasim had served them food, he sent them all away and locked the doors. We then attended Andy’s hurts. I feared most for his eye, which was badly swollen, but found that its sight was uninjured.
Remembering the bundle I had been given, I opened it and stared in amazement. Hidden in the dirty rag was a beautiful purse embroidered with silver thread, containing six gold pieces and a scrap of paper. I unfolded this and read a poem in Arabic, written in a graceful hand and, so far as I could understand, having as its theme Andy’s bodily attractions. Abu took it from me and having read it, said, “This was written by a woman, who’s no very eminent poet. But her meaning’s clear. I won’t trouble about the first verses, for they’d only make a simpleton like Andy vainer than he is. But she goes on, ‘Do not repulse a woman sick for love of you, who can but bewail, in her anguish, her inability to conceal the passion that tears her heart. As a token of her good will she sends you these six gold pieces. You have only to consult your guide secretly to learn the time and place for bringing her your answer.’ “
This was by no means the first time that Andy had received a delicate hint of some woman’s favor. The poem aroused pleasant hopes in him and he seemed not altogether sad when next day Abu el-Kasim took him to the palace and handed him over to the Sultan’s attendants.
I saw nothing more of him for a week, and then one day he kicked open our door and swaggered in singing. I thought he had forgotten his good resolutions and was drunk. He was wearing baggy trousers and a kaftan of the very finest cloth. On his head was the tall felt cap of a soldier and at his belt hung a scimitar in a silver scabbard. At first he pretended not to recognize us, and demanded, “What is this hovel, and who are you miserable wretches, slaving here in the sweat of your brow? Do you not see that I’m a man of rank?”
He smelled of musk and looked so unfamiliar in his splendor that even my dog sniffed nervously at his red leather shoes. Abu el-Kasim raised his hands to heaven, crying, “Praise be to Allah! Surely you have brought me presents from Selim ben-Hafs to whom I gave you.”
Andy forgot his play-acting and answered, “Don’t speak to me of that nauseous beast. His memory is shorter than a hen’s; for years he has neglected even his wives, and the poor women complain bitterly, and await the Deliverer’s coming. He sends you no gifts, Abu el- Kasim, having long since forgotten you. He eats so much opium that at times he hardly knows whether he’s awake or dreaming. But I share liberally with my friends, so take this purse as a present from me, Abu el-Kasim.”
He threw into Abu’s arms a purse so heavy that the poor man’s knees sagged beneath it. Then Andy embraced me, and took my dog into his arms; I was horrified to notice that his breath smelled of wine.
“Andy, Andy!” I said. “Have you forgotten all your good resolutions and broken the Prophet’s law?”