The Thief and the Dogs

"I don't know," Said said, after a moment's hesitation. "I'm not in my proper state of mind. But you don't believe me."

"Of course I don't. You know you're lying.

My good advice didn't persuade you. Your envy and arrogance were aroused, so you rushed in headlong as always, like a madman. Suit yourself, do what you like, but you'll find yourself in jail again."

"Please forgive me. My mind's the way it was in prison, the way it was even before that."

"There's no forgiving you. I can read your thoughts, everything that passes through your mind. I can see exactly what you think of me. And now it's time I delivered you to the police."

"Please don't."

"No? Don't you deserve it?"

"Yes, I do, but please don't."

"If I set eyes on you again," Rauf bellowed, "I'll squash you like an insect."

Thus dismissed, Said was about to make a quick exit, but Rauf stopped him with a shout: "Give me back the money." Frozen for a second, Said slipped his hand into his pocket and brought out the two banknotes. Rauf took them and said, "Don't ever show me your face again."

Said walked back to the banks of the Nile, hardly believing his escape, though relief was spoilt by a sense of defeat and now in the damp breath of early daybreak, he wondered how he could have failed to take careful note of the room where he'd been caught, how all he'd noticed had been its decorated door and its waxed parquet.

But the dawn shed dewy compassion giving momentary solace for the loss of everything, even the two banknotes, and he surrendered to it. Raising his head to the sky, he found himself awed by the dazzling brilliance of the stars at this hour just before sunrise.

FIVE

They stared at him incredulously, then everyone in the café rose at once to meet him. Led by the proprietor and his waiter, uttering a variety of colorful expressions of welcome, they formed a circle round him, embraced him, kissing him on the cheeks. Said Mahran shook hands with each of them, saying politely: "Thanks, Mr. Tarzan. Thanks, friends."

"When was it?"

"Day before yesterday."

"There was supposed to be an amnesty. We were keeping our fingers crossed."

"Thank God I'm out."

"And the rest of the lads?"

"They're all well; their turn will come."

They exchanged news excitedly for a while, until Tarzan, the proprietor, led Said to his own sofa, asking the other men to go back to their places, and the cafe was quiet again. Nothing had changed. Said felt he'd left it only yesterday: The round room with its brass fittings, the wooden chairs with their straw seats, were just the way they used to be. A handful of customers, some of whom he recognized, sat sipping tea and making deals. Through the open door out the big window opposite you could see the wasteland stretching into the distance, its thick darkness unrelieved by a single glimmer of light. Its impressive silence broken only by occasional laughter borne in on the dry and refreshing breeze — forceful and clean, like the desert itself — that blew between the window and door.

Said took the glass of tea from the waiter, and raised it to his lips without waiting for it to cool, then turned to the proprietor: "How's business these days?"

Tarzan curled his lower lip. "There aren't many men you can rely upon nowadays," he said contemptuously.

"What do you mean? That's too bad."

"They're all lazy, like bureaucrats!"

Said grunted sympathetically "At least a lazy man is better than a traitor. It was thanks to a traitor I had to go to jail, Mr.

Tarzan."

"Really? You don't say!"

Said stared at him surprised. "Didn't you hear the story, then?" When Tarzan shook his head sympathetically, Said whispered in his ear, "I need a good revolver."

"If there's anything you need, I'm at your service."

Said patted him on the shoulder gratefully, then began to ask, with some embarrassment, "But I haven't — "

Tarzan interrupted, placing a thick finger on Said's lips, and said, "You don't need to apologize ever to anyone!"

Said savored the rest of his tea, then walked to the window and stood there, a strong, slim, straight-backed figure of medium height, and let the breeze belly out his jacket, gazing into the pitch-dark waste land that stretched away ahead of him. The stars overhead looked like grains of sand; and the café felt like an island in the midst of an ocean, or an aeroplane alone in the sky. Behind him, at the foot of the hillock on which the café stood, lighted cigarettes moved like nearer stars in the hands of those who sat there in the dark seeking fresh air. On the horizon to the west, the lights of Abbasiyya seemed very far away, their distance making one understand how deeply in the desert this cafe had been placed.