“So that he lives as long as his sister?” he retorted with contempt.
“Or whenever the Almighty decides.”
He had already decided. His blood was boiling and he felt hot despite his nakedness and the cool winter night. He paced the room furiously. “What happens after the crime?” he asked in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. She was silent. The darkness was oppressive. “Don’t waste time,” he snapped. “What happens after the crime?”
She gasped slightly as though choking over words, then very softly she said, “We wait a while. We can meet secretly, then I’ll be yours. Me and the money.”
He clenched his fists. “We have no choice. Desperation has driven us to this.”
“Yes, unfortunately that’s true.”
“How must we set about it?” he asked.
She replied, quicker than he expected, “Study the neighboring building carefully.”
So. She’s got everything planned. But never mind. It’s all because of her love for me.
“The apartment opposite the hotel is used as a secondhand clothing store. It’s always empty at night. And it’s easily accessible. The roof of the building and our roof adjoin,” she continued in a hushed voice. “You can cross over to our side easily. You must wait for him in the flat.”
“He comes up at about half past eight, nine?” asked Saber.
“Yes. Choose a date when I go to visit my mother. I go regularly once a month.”
“Incredible that I’ve been here almost a month already,” he said.
“You can then cross back to the other roof and leave the building without anyone noticing you.”
His voice trembled slightly as he said, “We often hear of such crimes, after they are discovered.”
Coldly, she replied, “But we never hear of those that are not discovered.”
She was just like his mother. Utterly ruthless. “Is there anything else we haven’t covered?” he asked.
“Yes. You must steal something as a motive for the crime.”
“What shall I steal?”
“Leave that to me. But be sure to leave no traces.”
“I’d better be careful, hadn’t I?” he muttered.
“Our lives are now bound together. Should anything happen to you, it will also be my fate. We have no other choice.”
He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe the entire conversation. “Madness…madness…do you think all this will really happen?”
“Study the building carefully. Make sure no one sees you. There are a few days left before I go to my mother. You’ve got the guts it takes. Now let’s go over it once again, step by step.”
He was not listening, lost in deep, dark thoughts.
Ten
He breakfasted on eggs, cheese, fruit, and a glass of milk. He watched the other guests in the lounge. Look carefully at them; in a short while a vast chasm will separate you from them.
When night falls you are going to sign a blood pact as your gateway to crime. There goes old man Khalil, facing the cold morning, his hand trembling unceasingly, not thinking of death. Your life will end at ten this evening. You don’t know that, but I do. Take the advice of one who has lost hope; don’t bother about trivial matters any longer. I share with God the realm of the unknown. The telephone rang. Saber laughed audibly. Was that his father ringing at the eleventh hour?
Mohamed el-Sawi answered, “No, no, you’ve got the wrong number.”
No, no. And no to you, Sayed el-Reheimy! You’ve denied your son, and now your son denies you. Your son will seek freedom, honor, and peace of mind somewhere else. Don’t yawn, Khalil. Soon you’ll sleep forever. Why do you persist in following an inevitable destiny? Explain to me what it all means; I, your killer, will enjoy your fortune, my mother sunk to the lowest depths, my father mercilessly silent, my hopes dependent on destruction. Explain all this. What is it all about? A week has passed, and I think of nothing but the crime. How different were my dreams as the train left Alexandria. These other men, the guests, have none of them committed a crime? All this talk of money, war, luck, will it never cease? They predict the future and yet are so ignorant about what is going to happen right here under their very noses.
Saber left the hotel at ten, nodding to Khalil on his way out. I left the hotel at ten and didn’t return till one in the morning, he kept repeating to himself. He looked at the entrance of the neighboring building. Like a teeming marketplace. People going in and out. The roof was empty, and no other overlooked it. It would get dark after five.
He thought of visiting Elham, but the idea was crowded out by his immediate thoughts. He couldn’t bear to talk to her while he was contemplating blood. What was he going to tell her before he left her forever?
He passed the newspaper building, and an overwhelming sadness descended upon him. He remembered their meetings, her concern over his problem, his inability to match her love. He killed time by walking aimlessly, had lunch at the grocery in Clot Bey Street, and washed it down with a couple of brandies.
“Terrible weather,” said the grocer.
“I’m a criminal descended from criminals,” he cried out as he left the shop. The grocer laughed; brandy does strange things to people!
He suddenly decided that he must see Elham. She was not at the café; the waiter told him that she had left immediately after lunch. His sudden desire to see her waned. He waited until five o’clock and then walked back to the arcaded street, standing in the darkness opposite the entrance to the building adjoining the hotel. The beggar was singing loudly, as usual. He noticed the doorman of the building busy in conversation with a street vendor. He took this opportunity to cross the street and enter the building. It was crowded with people. Many eyes fell upon him, but none saw him. He looked at every face carefully, to check whether any of the hotel guests were in this building for one reason or another.
He finally reached the roof. It was light enough to see that the roof was deserted. He looked around and saw that no other building overlooked it. His eyes rested on the hotel roof. Karima was there gathering the washing from the line. The sudden sight of her shook him. She must have been waiting for him. Maybe she had even watched him cross the street and enter the building.
She beckoned to him to approach. He did; seeing her renewed his determination to carry out his task.
“Did anyone see you?” she asked, turning her back to him.
“No one.”
“Aly Seriakous is downstairs. I’ll wait at the top of the stairs until you cross over.”
She left with the washing and disappeared around the corner. He waited a moment, looked around him, then jumped onto the hotel roof. He proceeded cautiously until he arrived at the door of the apartment.
“The door is open. Come in,” she whispered.
He took a deep breath and entered, finding himself in a darkened hall. She joined him, closing the door behind her, and switched the light on. Her eyes were sparkling but her face was deathly pale. Gone were her seductive looks. They hugged, nervously and without passion, looking at each other with some bewilderment, like two frightened, lost children.
“Any slipup and we’re lost,” he said.
“Get hold of yourself,” she said. “No one suspects a thing. Everything will turn out the way we planned it.”
She took him through the flat. The hall led into a large bedroom with an adjoining door to a smaller dining room. He glanced at the furniture in the bedroom. The large bed, the sofa, the Turkish divan, all seemed to stare at him with disinterested eyes. He was about to tell her his feelings, then thought better of it.
“What an ugly room,” he said instead.
She seemed to recover from the tension of the moment. “Yes. You must hide here in the bedroom. The moment you hear the front door, get under the bed.”
“Is it a wooden floor?”
“Yes, it’s carpeted all over.”
“He’ll close the front door?”
“Yes. Sawi takes him up. Especially
when I’m away. He locks the door himself and leaves the key either in the lock or on the table, here. You unlock it and leave.”
“I might meet someone on the roof.”
“No. Seriakous, the porter, retires after my husband comes up. His room is on the third floor.”
“They’ll ask how the…”
“The windows will be closed, so either he forgot to lock the door after Sawi left or else someone knocked and he opened the door,” she said quickly.
“Is it possible that he’d open the door to someone without asking who it was?”
“Maybe he heard a familiar voice.”
“Then suspicion will fall on those he knows in the hotel.”
Coldly and impatiently, she answered, “They won’t pin it on an innocent person. The important thing is that you get away.” She pointed to her handbag. “I’ve taken the money and some jewelry. I opened the cupboard with a knife and threw some clothes on the floor. Did you get gloves?”
“Yes.”
“Very good; here is the iron bar.” She pointed to the table in the middle of the room. “Don’t touch it without your gloves on, and be careful not to drop anything under the bed.” Her face seemed even paler contrasted with her glittering eyes. “I must go,” she said. They embraced.
“Stay for a while,” he pleaded, clinging to her.
“No, I must go.”
“Have you forgotten anything?”
“Pluck up your courage and act calmly, and…”
“What?”
She gave him a strange, distant look. “Nothing,” she whispered. “Get under the bed.”
They embraced a third time. She broke away quickly and left him, calling loudly for Aly Seriakous. Quickly, he hid under the bed. Karima returned with the servant and told him to close the windows. She waited until he had done so, then switched off the lights and left the room.
Saber got out from under the bed. It was pitch-dark. He put on his gloves and groped toward the table and found the bar. He gripped it firmly and crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. Nothing else existed at the moment. Just the feel of the bed, the smell of her perfume, and the crescendo of silence. No escape now. One death-dealing blow. One blow is better than all this endless waiting and futile searching. Karima’s love, like a thin cloud and yet more dangerous than the task he was about to perform. The beggar was still chanting away. Did he ever stop? It was a lost call. Just like the advertisement, and his mother’s wealth, and those days of long ago. When would he see Karima again? Embrace passionately and safely?
He heard the servant Seriakous humming softly on the roof. Then silence and darkness. After what seemed an eternity, he heard the key turn in the lock. He quickly crawled under the bed. Footsteps approached, the door opened, and the room flooded with light. He could scarcely breathe, and he thought that his heartbeats could be heard a mile away. Six feet appeared to him. The old man was saying, “You can go now, Aly, but don’t forget the plumber.”
Two feet disappeared. Khalil sat on the edge of the bed, his feet a mere two inches from Saber’s face. “I’ll meet him tomorrow. But I won’t stand for any nonsense,” Khalil said.
“Yes, I agree,” said Sawi, the doorman.
“He’s a cunning devil. He came close to death four times, and he still hasn’t learned his lesson.”
“You are a generous man, master.” After a short silence, Sawi asked, “May I leave you now, Mr. Khalil?”
“No. Stay a while. My back is aching, and I have a terrible headache.”
How long will he stay? Will he spend the night with the old man? Saber shuddered at the thought. Khalil was busy saying his prayers. How appropriate. When he had finished, he said, “Help me with my robe and shoes, Sawi.” Rustling and movement then, “Get me my sleeping tablets from the drawer.”
Where is that drawer?! If it was in the cupboard, the fake theft would be discovered. He held his breath in anticipation. He breathed again when he heard the old man drink water, swallowing the tablet. Then he felt Khalil lie on the bed and pull the covers around him.
“Sawi, I can’t get up. Lock the door and open it at the usual time tomorrow morning. Good night.”
Darkness, then the dim light of a small lamp. You will find your master a corpse tomorrow morning. How did the killer enter? How will he escape afterward? The window, the one overlooking the roof. How will they reconstruct the crime? He was going to explode with tension and fear. All these thoughts, all this planning. You must carry it out. You must. Your heartbeats are deafening. You can’t think. Will he fall asleep before I explode? Snoring. Just like his mother on her last night. The death shroud, the weeping skies in Alexandria. Forget that now. He crawled out from under the bed. He stood up, gripping the bar firmly in his gloved hand.
Khalil was hidden under the bedclothes. Only his head showed slightly under the pillow. He felt better at not seeing his face. He approached with renewed courage. He raised the bar. Suddenly the old man turned restlessly. Saber stood rooted in his place, arm raised, bar above his head. The old man opened his eyes. Their eyes met. No sign of recognition in Khalil’s eyes. Saber realized his plight and brought his arm crashing down. He was taken aback by the fantastic force of the blow and the sickening sound of the impact. The old man uttered one soft cry, then a whimper, then silence. The body shuddered once violently, then was still. Saber didn’t bother to make sure he was dead. He rushed to the window, opened it, looked out, and jumped quickly onto the roof, closing the window behind him.
Was the iron bar soaked with blood? Was the roof deserted? What time was it? He crossed the roof. Why didn’t he wash the bar in the bathroom? Should he throw it from the roof of the building? That would be idiotic. He heard voices on the stairs. He looked over the banister. The third floor was dark, but the light shone on the second floor. He wiped the bar with his left glove, then slowly went down the stairs. He came to the second floor. The light was shining from an open apartment. Three men came out and followed him down the stairs. He slowed down until they passed him. He came to the ground floor and left the building with the three men as though he were one of them. He noticed the doorman of the building sitting in his small room by the entrance. Outside he took a deep breath. Did anyone recognize him? Were his clothes bloody? He saw a taxi on the other side of the street. But he dared not cross. Someone might see him from the hotel. He turned away from the building and crossed the street, and then doubled back toward the taxi. The beggar was through for the day. He was getting up and moving toward him. He waited a few paces away from the taxi.
The beggar passed him. For the first time he got a good look at him. How repulsive. A thin, sallow face, a crooked nose, and red, bloodshot eyes. A dirty bedraggled beard and a head covered by a black patchy skullcap. What did this man have to sing about? And yet he sang all day. The beggar passed him with the expected stench that went with his appearance. He rushed toward the taxi and asked the driver to take him to the Nile, at the place where some boats were moored. Had anyone seen him leave the building? Did anyone notice the glove and the bar? Why was the taxi moving so slowly? The driver was annoying him with meaningless chatter.
“Isn’t that right?”
“Huh…”
“I mean, instead of this madness, I tell myself, patience is a virtue.” Why doesn’t this idiot shut up? What is he saying anyhow? The banks of the Nile were plunged in darkness. No one would see the glove, the bar, the blood. Rowing at such an hour must surely be strange. But not strange when compared with other things.
Now you can get rid of the glove and the bar. Wash your hands carefully in the muddy Nile waters. He suddenly felt exhausted. He let the boat drift with the current. Nothing on shore was worthwhile. How pleasant it was just to drift with the tide. The eyes and their look, the cry; these could never be forgotten. The beggar’s eyes, did they issue forth tears or blood? Nothing mattered now, not even the search for his supposed father. But where are you drifting?
Suddenly a pierci
ng blast woke him from his trance. A river steamer passed within inches of him. His boat rocked violently in its wake. He took the oars and rowed back to the mooring place. The sky was pitch-black. Not a star in sight. He suddenly shivered and for the first time that evening felt the winter cold. He walked along the island briskly to keep warm.
It happened while he was crossing the Kasr el-Nil bridge. A large sedan was waiting at the traffic light. A man sat at the wheel. Dignified and obviously well-to-do. That face. Was it possible? The light turned, and the car moved.
Sayed el-Reheimy! The cry rent the cold night air. He chased after the car, running like a maniac. But the car sped on and disappeared from sight. He stopped running, gasping for breath. It was him. Reheimy. After thirty years. He didn’t even get the car’s number. What was the use now? How could he trust his eyes if he didn’t even feel the cold? His senses had deserted him. Reheimy meant nothing to him now. His only hope lay in Karima.
She must be awake now, thinking. A strong bond held them, and yet how he wished to see Elham and confess. The clock in the square showed midnight. He decided to return to the hotel. What a hateful prospect. He shuddered as he passed the building next to the hotel. He remembered the repulsive beggar and wondered where to seek refuge.
Sawi, the doorman, was sitting in Khalil’s chair. He was still awake. Saber dared not enter. But to go out again might raise suspicions.
“You look exhausted,” Sawi said.
“It’s very cold outside,” he said cautiously.
“She rang again,” the doorman said, with a knowing smile.
“Who?”
“You know best.”
Elham! Cowardly! Just like Reheimy.
“Your city offers nothing but problems,” he said bitterly.
“Life is nothing but problems. Any news?”
He realized Sawi was asking about his search. “I’ll look for him tomorrow. At the cemetery.”
He nodded and went up the stairs to his room. Room number thirteen!
Eleven