The Thief and the Dogs

"It's time to settle accounts, Rauf," he said, pulling the oars hard. "And if anyone but the police stood as judges between us, I'd teach you a lesson in front of everyone. They, the people, everyone — all the people except the real robbers — are on my side, and that's what will console me in my everlasting perdition. I am, in fact, your soul.

You've sacrificed me. I lack organization, as you would put it. I now understand many of the things you used to say that I couldn't comprehend then. And the worst of it is that despite this support from millions of people I find myself driven away into dismal isolation, with no one to help. It's senseless all of it, a waste. No bullet could clear away its absurdity. But at least a bullet will be right, a bloody protest, something to comfort the living and the dead, to let them hold onto their last shred of hope."

At a point opposite the big house, he turned shorewards, rowed in to the bank, jumped out, pulled the boat up after him until its bow was well up on dry land, then climbed the bank up to the road, where, feeling calm and secure in his officer's uniform, he walked away. The road seemed empty and when he got to the house he saw no sign of guards, which both pleased and angered him. The house itself was shrouded in darkness except for a single light at the entrance, convincing him that the owner was not yet back, that forced entry was unnecessary, and that a number of other difficulties had been removed.

Walking quite casually, he turned down the street along the left side of the house and followed it to its end at Sharia Giza, then he turned along Sharia Giza and proceeded to the other street, passing along the right of the house, until he regained the riverside, examining everything along the way most carefully. Then he made his way over to a patch of ground shaded from the street lights by a tree, and stood waiting, his eyes fixed on the house, relaxing them only by gazing out from time to time at the dark surface of the river; his thoughts fled to Rauf's treachery, the deception that had crushed his life, the ruin that was facing him, the death blocking his path, all the things that made Rauf's death an absolute necessity. He watched each car with bated breath as it approached.

Finally one of them stopped before the gate of the house, which was promptly opened wide by the door-keeper, and Said darted into the street to the left of the house, keeping close to the wall, stopping at a point opposite the entrance door, while the car moved slowly down the drive. It came to a halt in front of the entrance where the light that had been left on illuminated the whole entranceway.

Said took out his revolver now and aimed it carefully as the car door opened and Rauf Ilwan got out.

"Rauf!" Said bellowed. As the man turned in shock towards the source of this shout, Said yelled again: "This is Said Mahran!

Take that!"

But before he could fire, a shot from within the garden, whistling past him very close, disturbed his aim.

He fired and ducked to escape the next shot, then raised his head in desperate determination, took aim and fired again.

All this happened in an instant. After one more wild, hasty shot, he sped away as fast as he could run towards the river, pushed the boat out into the water and leapt into it, rowing towards the opposite bank. Unknown sources deep within him released immediate reserves of physical strength, but his thoughts and emotions swirled as though caught in a whirlpool. He seemed to sense shots being fired, voices of people gathering and a sudden loss of power in some part of his body, but the distance between the river banks was small at that point and he reached the other side, quickly leapt ashore, leaving the boat to drift in the water, and climbed up to the street, clutching the gun in his pocket.

Despite his confused emotions, he proceeded carefully and calmly, looking neither to the right nor left. Aware of people rushing down to the water's edge behind him, of confused shouts from the direction of a bridge, and a shrill whistle piercing the night air, he expected a pursuer to accost him at any moment; and he was ready to put all his efforts either to bluffing his way out or entering one last battle. Before anything else could happen, however, a taxi cruised by. He hailed it and climbed in; the piercing pain he felt as soon as he sat back on the seat was nothing compared to the relief of being safe again.

He crept up to Nur's flat in complete darkness and stretched out on one of the sofas, still in his uniform. The pain returned now, and he identified its source, a little above his knee, where he put his hand and felt a sticky liquid with more sudden pain. Had he knocked against something? Or was it a bullet — when he'd been behind the wall perhaps, or running? Pressing fingers all round the wound, he made himself sure it was only a scratch, if it had been a bullet, it must have grazed him without penetrating.