The Thief and the Dogs

Then the verdict came down: that he was a great man, truly great in every sense of the word. His greatness might be momentarily shrouded in black, from a community of sympathy with all those graves out there, but the glory of his greatness would live on, even after death. Its fury was blessed by the force that flowed through the roots of plants, the cells of animals and the hearts of men.

Eventually sleep overtook him, though he only knew it when he awoke to find light filling the room and he saw Nur standing looking down at him. Her eyes were dead tired, her lower lip drooped and her shoulders slumped. She looked the very picture of despair. He knew in an instant what the trouble was; she'd heard about his latest exploit and it had shocked her deeply.

"You are even more cruel than I imagined," she said. "I just don't understand you. But for heaven's sake have mercy and kill me, too." He sat up on the sofa, but made no reply. "You're busy thinking how to kill, not how to escape, and you'll be killed, too. Do you imagine you can defeat the whole government, with its troops filling the streets?"

"Sit down and let's discuss it calmly."

"How can I be calm? And what are we to discuss? Everything's over now. Just kill me too, for mercy's sake!"

"I don't ever want harm to come to you," he said quietly and in a tender tone of voice.

"I'll never believe a word you say. Why do you murder doorkeepers?"

"I didn't mean to harm him!" he said angrily.

"And the other one? Who is this Rauf Ilwan?

What is your relationship with him? Was he involved with your wife?"

"What a ridiculous idea, he said, laughing so drily, it was like a cough. "No, there are other reasons. He's a traitor, too, but of another sort. I can't explain it all to you."

"But you can torture me to death."

"As I just said, sit down so we can talk calmly."

"You're still in love with your wife, that bitch, but you want to put me through hell all the same."

"Nur," he pleaded, "please don't torture me. I'm terribly depressed."

Nur stopped talking, affected by a distress she could never have seen in him before. "I feel as if the most precious thing in my whole life is about to die," she said at last, sadly.

"That's just your imagination, your fear. Gamblers like me never admit to setbacks. I'll remind you of that sometime."

"When will that be?" she asked quietly.

"Oh, sooner than you think," Said replied, pretending boundless self-confidence.

He leaned towards her and pulled her down by the hand. He pressed his face against hers, his nose filling with the smell of wine and sweat. But he felt no disgust and kissed her with genuine tenderness.

SIXTEEN

Dawn was close, but Nur had not returned — though the waiting and all his worry had exhausted him, bouts of insomnia kept crushing against his brain — and now the warm darkness was splitting apart to reveal one flaming question: Was it possible that the promised reward was having some effect on Nur?

Suspicion had tainted his blood to the last drop now: he had visions of infidelity as pervasive as dust in a wind storm. He remembered how sure he was once that Nabawiyya belonged to him, when in reality she'd probably never loved him at all, even in the days of the lone palm tree at the edge of the field.

But surely Nur would never betray him, never turn him over to the police for the sake of payment.

She had no interest now in such financial transactions. She was getting on in life. What she wanted was a sincere emotional relationship with someone. He ought to feel guilty for his suspicious thoughts.

The worry over Nur's absence persisted, nevertheless. It's your hunger, thirst, and all the waiting that's getting you down, he said to himself.

Just like that time you stood waiting beneath the palm tree, waiting for Nabawiyya, and she didn't come. You began prowling around the old Turkish woman's house, biting your finger-nails with impatience and so crazy with worry you almost knocked on her door. And what a quiver of joy when she did emerge — a feeling of complete exhilaration, spreading through you, lifting you up to the seventh heaven.

It had been a time of tears and laughter, of uncontrolled emotion, a time of confidence, a time of boundless joy. Don't think about the palm tree days now. They're gone forever, cut off by blood, bullets and madness. Think only about what you've got to do now, waiting here, filled with bitterness, in this murderous stifling darkness.

He could only conclude that Nur did not want to come back, did not want to save him from the tortures of solitude in the dark, from hunger and thirst. At the height of a bout of remorse and despair, he at last fell asleep. When he opened his eyes again he saw daylight and felt the heat slipping through the shutters into the closed room.

Worried and confused, he stepped quickly into the bedroom, to find it exactly as Nur had left it the day before, then roamed around the entire flat.