The Jokers - Albert Cossery [42]
“Master Abadou,” the driver croaked, “are you going to be done soon? This son of a bitch needs grooming!”
“Right away,” the barber responded, tossing a glance at the four-legged client. “Just a minute, and I’ll take care of him.”
The donkey, either out of vanity or because he understood that they were talking about him, started to bray without interruption, which Karim found very disagreeable. After a moment of this, the young man couldn’t restrain himself from addressing the driver:
“Does it bray like that all the time, or is it his birthday?”
“He’s hot,” said the driver. “He’s an old donkey, but a good one.”
The driver was a fat brute, incapable of appreciating sarcasm. Karim was deeply pained; he’d hoped for a wittier reply. Faced with his interlocutor’s intellectual paucity he looked put out, saying:
“I’m sure he is. But try anyway to make him shut up. It’s unbearable!”
The driver patted the donkey on the back, soothing it like a mistress with tender words, promising it unheard-of heaps of alfalfa. In response to these false vows, the donkey gradually calmed down and began to chew at the air. By this time the barber had finished with his client, who donned his tarboosh and slipped away, folder under his arm, aware that an altercation was brewing. Clearly he didn’t want to be implicated in a fight over a donkey.
Master Abadou grabbed his clippers and approached the donkey with the nervous look of an artist finally taking on his great subject. But before he could get to work, Karim stopped him with a gesture and stood up from his stool.
“What’s this, man! I was here first. And I’m in a hurry!”
“Excuse me, effendi,” said the driver. “But he’s a regular, I can’t make him wait.”
“He’ll wait. I’m telling you: I’m in a hurry.”
“This donkey is in a bigger hurry than you, young man,” said the driver.
“Why?” said Karim. “Is he going to a wedding?”
“We don’t have time for weddings,” came the driver’s grandiloquent reply. “We work!”
The donkey started braying again, as if proud of the prerogative he enjoyed. Singing sweetly to nobody, the barber ran the clippers along his back. Karim, though only feigning indignation, was increasingly exercised by the care that was being lavished on the donkey. What was this beast? A government donkey—a minister, perhaps, traveling incognito to gain insight into his subjects’ state of mind? That wouldn’t be at all surprising, given the exceptional treatment he was enjoying at the barber’s hands. What a crazy situation! Karim had gotten trapped in a maze and he’d have to find a clever way out that wasn’t going to cause too much damage. But he couldn’t leave, just like that, without making some kind of scene—abandoning such a fertile terrain just waiting for the seeds of conflict to be sown. This could be his only chance all day to have some fun.
He lifted his cuff, pretending to check the watch on his wrist, and addressed the barber once more:
“Do you realize,