The Jokers - Albert Cossery [48]
10
KARIM was relaxing. He leaned against the stone parapet that ran along the cliff road and studied the languid asses of the women strolling by, so plainly visible beneath their light dresses. How different they all were! They came in every shape and size. In the veiled gray light of dusk, these amazing asses took on a life of their own, promising him sensuous delights. The owners of the asses were, for the most part, so ugly that even a sex maniac would run screaming, but Karim barely noticed; he seldom looked at a woman’s face. Most of the women were accompanied by plain fat men dressed for the summer heat, men who wore striped cotton pajama pants and had their shirtsleeves rolled up as they munched on watermelon seeds while watching over their wives and daughters and keeping an eye on Karim, glaring at him like a peasant guarding his cows from a cattle thief. It made Karim snicker to see their sullen distrust. Every evening it was the same: families out on a ritual stroll looking for cool air, eager to breathe the sea breeze after the stifling heat of the day. And for Karim this procession of wistful asses was his daily break; he would come down from his terrace to lean against the parapet and wait for opportunity to strike. From time to time he’d be lucky enough to find a woman out on her own, looking for adventure, and he’d accost her in a direct and primitive way. Karim was as unforthcoming with women as he was with the police. He never said an intelligent word for fear of scaring them off; one dumb remark about the weather and the deal was done.
But tonight, nothing; prey was scarce. During the hour he’d been there, he hadn’t seen a single potential victim. All the women who went by were accompanied, or else they were bitter nannies dragging little kids in their wake. Karim was getting annoyed. A pair of lovers, fingers entwined as if for dear life, passed in front of him with an expression of affected ecstasy. Karim mechanically followed the young woman’s ass with his eyes and was stabbed by a sudden memory—not just a memory of conquest, because he vaguely remembered the girl’s face: that sweet little prostitute he’d picked up one night and never seen again, even though he’d invited her to consider his apartment her home. He’d conducted himself with munificence! True, at this moment he didn’t really want to see her again; the invitation had been tossed out at a critical moment in order to mollify her and to invite some discretion when it came to the money business. Perhaps she hadn’t been fooled and had understood that he didn’t have any. A wave of pity swept over him and—how extraordinary!—the face of the little prostitute took shape in his mind, like a face he’d always known, as familiar as the face of his own mother. Suddenly he regretted having been so stingy with the poor girl. Where was she now? He wanted to go look for her. The police must have picked her up and scared her off the street. Another victim of the accursed governor.
Speaking of which, it had been two weeks now since Heykal’s letter—he’d called for the public to fund the erection of a statue of the governor—had been published in the papers. This letter had created consternation even among those who were most attached to the governor and his dictatorial ways. Already rumors were circulating that the central government did not look favorably on this popularity; doubts had arisen about a man capable of organizing such a successful propaganda campaign on his own behalf. Still, unwitting citizens—unaware of the direction things were heading—had been inspired to demonstrate their civic duty. Money had flowed from everywhere—like manna from heaven that nothing could prevent from falling. The list of donors grew longer with each morning’s paper. Karim himself wanted to take part and spent his last penny to support