The Jokers - Albert Cossery [59]
Heykal would have liked to shed a few tears for this girl whom he’d been so close to and who was now about to disappear from his life, but his eyes remained dry. The pain was good, almost like joy. He felt that he’d been reborn, free and clear, with all his restored richness intact. He looked over at the other little girl—the one who still hated her mother—searching her face for a trace of that innocent spontaneity that had been taken from him. She’d finished her ice cream and was sitting with her elbows on the table, one hand under her cheek, a brooding expression on her face. Heykal thought she was sulking, and he smiled at the thought that already she was jealous.
“But how can I?” whimpered Soad. “How can I even talk to another man, now that I’ve known you! I mean, not only because I love you but because I’ll be bored to death. You’re the only man who doesn’t disgust me!”
He knew that it wasn’t true, that she’d adapt easily to the ugly world she was returning to. The ugliness wouldn’t even offend her as it would be hidden under brilliant costumes and masks. Soon all of the people trailing along behind her would seem charming to her; she’d never see the horror behind the smiling faces that her beauty had conquered. Heykal knew all about the puerile vanity of women who’re only bored when the adoration stops. Soad was too beautiful to ever be bored.
What was the point of disabusing her? She’d played her part willingly and well. And the passion with which she had offered up to him the treasures of her young body was also worthy of esteem. He should be indulgent of her incoherence and her fears; he wasn’t an ingrate. She still deserved a touch of tenderness.
“I taught you how to find joy everywhere,” he said. “So don’t worry; you won’t be bored.”
“Will you think of me?” she asked. Then, worried: “But not in your mocking way! I know you!”
“I will think of you entirely seriously. I promise.”
They were silent for a moment, then Soad opened her bag and began to reapply her lipstick. Heykal was struck by the look of contentment with which she completed the task. He’d never seen her do it before, making that thoroughly obscene gesture of stroking a red wand over her parted lips. She seemed proud of the act, as if it made her a woman. Disgust and a hint of bitterness seized him at the sight of this sacrilegious daubing: it disfigured the image he wished to preserve of the girl. He turned away, waiting for the barbaric work to be done.
When she was finally ready, he stood. They left the tearoom and said their goodbyes in the street.
As for Heykal, he trembled with his new freedom, already alert to the promises that lay strewn in his path. Other faces, other passions awaited, and he contemplated the end of his love with a voluptuous serenity. It was always like this. He would feel a strange happiness, as if the woman he’d abandoned had left with a portion of his love, so that a part of him would always be out there roaming the vast universe.
The busy, crowded street reminded him that as yet nobody knew about the important event—the governor’s resignation—that would soon take place. Heykal suddenly was filled with delight: he had to tell his friends right away. He picked up his pace, looking to see if he could find the jasmine seller who was usually somewhere around here. At last he saw him, standing by a door, unshaven, a sinister figure in spite of the red flower tucked behind his ear to signal his profession. Heykal bought a slender bouquet of jasmine, slipping it delicately into the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he hailed a horse-drawn coach and yelled Urfy’s address to the driver.
Seated at his desk in the empty classroom, Urfy was concentrating with difficulty on the book he was reading. The late-afternoon light still penetrated the basement windows, but it was the stingy, dirty light of a dungeon. Urfy