The Jokers - Albert Cossery [49]
Night had fallen slowly and all at once the streetlamps came on above the cliff road, stretched like a string of gleaming pearls. But even though the air had become more breathable, cooler temperatures hadn’t arrived. The smell of grilled corn on the cob, emanating from the cart of a street vendor, filled the night. The road was gradually emptied of its strolling families; only the odd couple straggled by, retreating into shadowy corners to enjoy a quick, shameful spasm.
Karim, despairing of ever finding a girl, was about to leave when his eyes fell on the profile of a man leaning over the parapet at some distance to his left. The man turned quickly as if to hide his face from view. He was standing outside the pool of light made by the nearest streetlamp, but Karim, shocked, had recognized the furtive attitude and conspiratorial pose. The solitary man hiding in the shadows was Taher, his old friend from the revolutionary party; it had been a long time since he’d seen him, but he was certain he wasn’t mistaken. He’d identified him at a single glance; for Karim, Taher would be recognizable in the darkest of nights. His heart began to beat with emotion. He felt faint, moved by this miraculous, unexpected encounter with his old friend, but almost immediately a terrible suspicion seized him. The encounter was far from fortuitous; Taher must have been spying on him for a good while already. What for? Why didn’t he just come up and say hello? But to ask such questions was to not know Taher. He was a born conspirator, who loved detours and long, secret pursuits; he would never approach somebody without indulging in some mysterious behavior first. Karim decided to let him play his bizarre game. He had some time to kill before going to Heykal’s anyway.
He began to walk slowly, giving Taher the chance to spy on him at leisure. It tore at his heart to find himself in Taher’s company again; he had no desire to discuss social and political problems with him: their estrangement was permanent. And Taher must resent him for his defection—he might treat him harshly. Still, he couldn’t help but recall old memories. He and Taher had spent every minute plotting subversive actions; they were arrested together and taken to the same prison. He was the friend who had been closest to him in spirit, loved and admired for his noble sense of justice and his courage in the face of adversity. He was a smart boy from a family of poor workers who’d forgone food to give him an education. After successfully finishing school he’d refused to take a respectable job, devoting himself entirely to the revolution. His hatred of the powerful was nonnegotiable.
Suddenly Karim recalled a visual detail—something he’d noticed and forgotten. He’d seen that Taher was carrying a package under his arm, and now it came to him that his friend had had a habit of walking with a homemade bomb. Whenever someone asked him what he was planning to do with it, he’d snarl: “There’s no shortage of bastards—I’ll find somewhere to throw it!” Karim felt certain that Taher hadn’t abandoned his strange ways—the package he was carrying had to be a bomb—and he