The Jokers - Albert Cossery [5]
The silence was unbearable. Karim was about to open his mouth to try to rescue the situation, when at last the girl spoke:
“Oh! No thanks. This has been just fine.”
The bet was won; now Karim could insist without risk. Stretching his arms and letting his head fall on the pillow, he yawned splendidly.
“Oh yes, I insist. Go on, take what you want. Otherwise I’ll be mad.”
“Another time,” said the girl. “I don’t need anything just now.”
The refusal appeared to disturb Karim; he waxed sentimental.
“Zouzou, you’re hurting my feelings. I thought we were more than strangers. Everything I have is yours. Don’t you love me anymore?”
“I didn’t mean to cause offense,” the girl said—she seemed to realize the wrong she’d done to the young man. “It’s impossible for me to take your money. You’ve been so kind.”
“And all because I love you—that’s why,” Karim responded; the girl’s words had made him quite sure of the efficacy of his method. “But I won’t make you take anything. Do as you please. This is your home now, too; we’re like man and wife.”
She smiled sadly, perhaps at the enormity of the lie, perhaps because she sensed the impossibility of ever being his wife. Without a word, she grabbed her handbag from the table and prepared to leave. Only then did Karim realize just how young she was, and how devastating her forlorn look and timid smile could be.
They’d had their long night of love, but this was the first time he’d really looked at her—not through the veil of desire but as a human being, hunted and defenseless. What he saw was so painful that he forgot about the whole decadent-monarch act; the dancers with lascivious hips disappeared; all that remained in the room was a depressing, and very real, spectacle. There was no doubt: the girl had brought tragedy with her. Karim hadn’t expected such a cruel twist of fate; now what had taken place seemed monstrous. How pathetic, he thought, to see myself falling prey to remorse! He tried not to succumb to such weakness, but the pity went straight to his gut. He was overcome with a need to do something for the girl. To help her in some way, not let her leave like this. How? Propping himself up on his elbow, he looked hopefully at his jacket, as if he might discover a hidden treasure in its pockets; in his confusion, he was counting on a miracle. He thought about what apart from money he might offer her, at least as a token of goodwill. Finally, he had it! It was so simple: he’d ask her name. Zouzou was what Karim called all his conquests—not only because it was convenient but also so as not to retain any precise memories of them. With this girl it would be different. He almost wept to think of her leaving him without telling him her name. All of a sudden, that knowledge took on a mysterious importance.
With infinite sweetness, he inquired:
“What’s your name?”
She hesitated before responding. Clearly this sudden sign of interest touched her.
“My name’s Amar,” she said.
“Well, Amar, I’m delighted to have met you. Come see me often. I’m counting on you.”
“May I, really?” she said with a glimmer of happiness in her eyes. “I wouldn’t be disturbing you?”
“Not at all. On the contrary. This is your home. Didn’t I say that?”
“That makes me very happy. I’ll go now.”
He thought he should get up, walk over, and kiss her, but then he was reluctant to prolong things further. The girl broke his heart; anything more, and he might get depressed. He stayed put.
“So long then,” he said, still lying down.
Before she left, she thanked him with rare civility for the night she’d spent under his roof. To hear her you would have thought she’d been showered with kindness and respect. Perplexed, Karim imagined that she’d guessed his game and that her friendly words were steeped