The Jokers - Albert Cossery [4]
Young Karim was no novice; he’d had ample experience, and there was almost no chance of the business going wrong. The little prostitute, whom he’d brought home after planting the bogus beggar at the intersection, certainly wasn’t about to make a scene; she wasn’t the type. At worst, she might get angry—but Karim didn’t care about that, since he had no intention of seeing her ever again. In fact, the disappointment with which her pathetic comedy was almost certain to end didn’t concern him in the least; the denouement would be what it was. He just wanted to get rid of her as quickly as possible. The slowness and care with which she was getting dressed was beginning to exasperate him. He was in a hurry; he couldn’t wait for her to be gone and leave him alone at last. The girl no longer amused him. Other, more interesting things—they happen all the time—must be occurring on the surface of the earth, and to appreciate them properly he had to be either by himself or in the company of friends who would be able to understand. Inconceivable to share such delicate pleasures with a woman! Women were completely impervious to his kind of worldly humor; they could never fully appreciate the inherent absurdity, for example, of a government minister’s speech, while they took seriously the buffoonery of the tyrants in power. No doubt this one was just as dim as all the others; aside from the sweet nothings that enliven love play, Karim had nothing to say to her.
While she dressed, he continued to gaze at her with that patronizing smile of a bored monarch, as if conferring a favor upon her. The girl was putting on her shoes, her face bowed, her neck humble. Karim was annoyed by her silence. He detected a reproach. Did she suspect something? At last she slipped into her dress and was done.
The moment of truth had arrived. With the nobility of a great and generous man who hates to bring up the topic of money, Karim said:
“Zouzou, my dear! Before you leave, reach into my jacket pocket and take what you want.”
The girl stood motionless, visibly disconcerted by this invitation; for a moment her eyes scanned the room—in search of the jacket, perhaps—but then she lowered her gaze, as if suddenly overcome by shame. She was a very young girl, with the face of a child and a touchingly sweet look. From her humble manner you could easily tell that she was new to her profession. Her cotton-print dress, modest bearing, and discreet makeup made her look more like a schoolgirl than a courtesan. Her story was sad. On the previous evening, she’d been fleeing the governor’s henchmen when Karim accosted her, then invited her—according to his usual princely custom—to spend the night in his apartment (a grandiose word that Karim would have used for an empty lot if it were so privileged as to claim him for a resident). The girl had allowed herself to be seduced; what other choice did she have?
She remained silent, irresolute—a heartbreaking sight! A few steps away Karim’s jacket hung from the back of a chair; unfortunately, its pockets were empty, or almost. Any money she’d find there wouldn’t feed a bird, not even if it was starving. Karim eyed the girl, his uncertainty growing by the second. What was she going to do? Go over to the chair and rifle through the pockets of his jacket? The little slut! Would she dare to take him at his word? Hadn’t he treated her like a princess? Wasn’t she satisfied by the