The Jokers

by Albert Cossery

  “Unhappy? With all that jewelry?”

  “I haven’t told you everything. In this thing with the governor—I’m the real victim.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, my father acted suspicious about that check. He must have inquired about it at the newspaper you sent it to. He didn’t say anything to me about it, not explicitly at least, but he keeps going on about how badly I’ve treated him.”

  “And that’s why you’re unhappy?”

  “No, but now he wants to get rid of me. He demands that I get married. Now that’s a terrible punishment, you have to agree.”

  “But what does the jewelry have to do with it?”

  “Well, I didn’t compromise. I told him I didn’t want to get married. He started off by threatening terrible things, and then to bring me around, he gave me all the jewelry that after my mother died had been locked away to give to me when I was older. But it was time, he’d decided, for me to look like a marriageable woman; he wants his future son-in-law to appreciate the fortune that I’ll bring.”

  “He’s quite right. He understands the kind of man he’s dealing with. You should rest easy: you’ll find a husband before you know it.”

  “So you aren’t sorry for me?”

  “Don’t play the victim. You’re perfectly happy to get married.”

  “What choice do I have, since you don’t want me?”

  “I don’t like jewelry,” said Heykal, in a cutting voice.

  And so the idyll had reached its end—the most ridiculous end imaginable. Heykal hadn’t had any expectations, and he felt no disappointment. Everything was falling into place. A few jewels, and the love-struck little girl was gone, leaving nothing but a woman with an attachment to comfort and money, to the security that comes from material possessions. All of a sudden she’d given up doing things for fun and had gone back to her rotten world. The truth was, her only way forward was through trickery. Trickery was her element; she’d been born to it. And that was how she would succeed in employing her talents, assuaging her thirst for possessions, and triumphing again and again over men.

  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 abandoned his reading, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes irritably. The thoughts rattling around in his head filled him with bitterness. It was his mother, as always, who was worrying him; he dreaded the decision he had to make. One of his friends, a doctor, had strongly advised him to put the old woman in a clinic where she would receive state-of-the-art care. There was a slim chance that her condition might improve—but was a slim chance worth the anguish of separation? The clinic was fairly distant from the city, and he would be able to visit her only rarely. It was a proposal that Urfy stubbornly rejected. Transferring his mother into the care of strangers would feel like abandonment. Little by little, she’d start to forget him: his image would vanish into the folds of her wavering memory and in the end he would be extinct in her heart. And this flame that still burned in his mother’s spirit, the last trace of the happiness of his childhood, was his only safeguard against an atrocious world. He suppressed the tears that were rising to his eyes and put his glasses back on. When he was ready to start reading again, he realized that the light had disappeared and he could no longer see a thing.

  Heykal’s arrival in the classroom startled him—as if he were an enemy who had sprung out of the darkness to attack. Heykal was the last person he wanted to see, since he more than anyone couldn’t have cared less about the situation. Heykal’s humor and irony would force Urfy to behave in a way that was incompatible with the torture he was undergoing. He needed calm and solitude. But he overcame his feelings of revulsion at the intrusion, and descended from the podium to greet his guest.

  “Welcome,” he said.

  “Hello,” Heykal responded. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I had to see you.”

  “You’re not disturbing me at all,” Urfy said quickly. “I was just reading, but I noticed it was getting too dark. Wait here, and I’ll go get a light.”

  “Oh, no!” protested Heykal. “It’s fine like this. We don’t need a light.”

  Urfy didn’t insist. His visitor’s desire corresponded exactly to his own wish to remain in the dark. What he was most afraid of was that Heykal, with his sharp eye, would discern his distress. He didn’t want to talk about his mother, not at a
ny price, and he didn’t want to discuss the horrible dilemma he faced. This was his own private ordeal, a sacred destiny, and he would hate to see his pain picked over by impious hands. But as soon as he smelled the odor of jasmine emanating from the young man he knew that he wouldn’t escape the thing he feared most. He knew Heykal’s crazy ways. The bouquet was in the inside pocket of his jacket; he was sure to take it out at some point to offer it to the old madwoman. He must be intending to visit her in her room. These meetings between Heykal and his mother terrified Urfy. There was something bizarre, almost insane, about them. It strained his nerves terribly—already he trembled at the prospect.

  “Sit down,” he said, indicating one of the benches and taking a seat across the aisle. “I hope it isn’t bad news that brings you.”

  “On the contrary. Urfy, my brother, it’s a time to rejoice! The governor is ruined.”

  “It’s in the papers?”

  “Not yet. But the news came from a reliable source. You can believe me.”

  “What happened?”

  “It’s very simple. As I predicted, the prime minister demanded his resignation. In a week, we’ll be rid of him.”

  Urfy didn’t feel like rejoicing. What did the governor’s ruin matter to him; it couldn’t make up for his own ruin. He could find nothing to say that suggested happiness, or even satisfaction. Everything in him was inert; everything boiled down to suffering. But he mustn’t disappoint Heykal by keeping silent. And yet in spite of his efforts his voice was bitter when he spoke:

  “It’s everything you hoped for, isn’t it?”

  Heykal seemed not to have heard; his face remained immobile as it slowly disappeared into darkness. By now Urfy could barely make out his features, and he was growing ever more uncomfortable. What if he burst into laughter? He shuddered at the thought. Instantly he knew that Heykal was in an unusual state of mind; something indefinable and vaguely worrisome was going on within him. Urfy leaned across the aisle, reducing the distance that separated him from his friend, presenting his ear, as if in expectation of a whispered message.

  “In a sense, yes,” Heykal finally replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, my dear Urfy, that the future may hold some surprises for us. We can’t forget that there are mediocre governors, whose tasteless tyranny wouldn’t give us anything to work with.”

  “No doubt,” Urfy said, a bit disconcerted by Heykal’s odd way of thinking. “Leave it to chance then—I suppose it’s served us well so far. We’ve had a lucky streak. We’ve got nothing to complain about.”

  “I’m not complaining. But I have a feeling the next governor will bore us to death. He might even try to act sensible—to make people forget the foolishness of his predecessor. He’ll be out to prove himself, that we can be sure of. Perhaps we’ll have to go into exile.”

  Urfy had made a superhuman effort to appear interested in Heykal’s premature anxiety about the next governor, and now he began to wonder if Heykal hadn’t perhaps sensed some of his inner turmoil. Why, in any case, was he going on about wanting to leave for other, even more respectable places? Urfy didn’t need to go abroad to find madness and misery. They were flourishing right here in the basement, a daily challenge to his reason. There was plenty for him to get excited about at home, and maybe Heykal envied him for that. He feared the face of his friend, eager to discover the symptoms of this strangely perverse jealousy. But Heykal’s mocking smile, floating in semidarkness, grew suddenly clearer, and Urfy realized that this man, who was incapable of feeling pity, was making fun of him.

  The smile disappeared. Heykal asked him:

  “How’s your mother? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her.”

  “Still the same.”

  “There’s no hope of a turn for the better?”

  This was pure nastiness, and Urfy regained his presence of mind. Heykal could only be inquiring for his own benefit. No doubt he dreaded any alteration in the old lady’s condition; he wanted her just as she was, crushed by illness and all for his own pleasure.

  Urfy was overcome with a desire to set a trap for Heykal. Maybe at last he’d unmask this solicitude that was more torturous than the vilest indifference.

  “I’ve been advised to send her to a clinic,” he said. “But I’m reluctant to do it.”

  “Of course.”

  “But in the end I’ll probably agree.”

  “Don’t!” Heykal cried. Urfy had never seen him so passionate. “Don’t ever leave her, brother! What can you expect from those people? It’s like a death sentence!”

  “She needs care that I can’t give her. They use new methods in this clinic. They told me that she might get better.”

  “You’re like a child! If they knew how to restore her sanity why wouldn’t they apply their methods to all of humanity! No. Nothing can cure her. They’ll treat her disgustingly—and just for their filthy experiments. She’ll suffer.”

  “You don’t think she suffers now?”

  “If you really want to know, no—she has no notion of suffering. We’re the ones who see what she is going through; we’re the ones who suffer.”

  “What! Heykal, you suffer?”

  Heykal reached out to touch the schoolmaster’s arm in a gesture of supplication.

  “Don’t abandon her to those brutes! It would be monstrous!”

  Heykal fell quiet and turned away. How could he have succumbed to such weakness? Now that the panic passed, now that he was relieved of his fear of never seeing the old madwoman again, of losing her forever, he regretted his words and the passion with which he’d pronounced them. What would Urfy think? He could almost sense the schoolmaster’s stupefied, watchful gaze, while his own face was lost in the heavy darkness of the classroom. All he could see were the letters of the alphabet inscribed on the blackboard, like luminous hieroglyphs. Then, slowly, as if magically commanded by them, he got up, walked down the aisle, and climbed onto the podium, to sit at the schoolmaster’s desk. Far away, below him, he could make out Urfy, a vague mass bent over and caught in the darkness. It seemed as if thousands of years had passed since he’d revealed his secret, and he could look him in the face now, certain of being understood.

  The stupor that had overcome Urfy gradually turned into joy. He regained all his confidence, and he wanted to proclaim his delight at the discovery that Heykal was so close to him in his suffering. The ignominious pain was gone now that he knew Heykal, too, was touched by the wound that tore at his soul. And yet as always the other man kept his distance, still imprisoned in his pride. What was he doing up there on the podium, like some forlorn creature stranded on a rock? Why didn’t he come close and take his hand in brotherhood? Urfy attempted to speak but the words stuck in his throat, and it was Heykal’s voice that rang out in the silence.

  “May I see her?”

  “She would be enchanted,” Urfy said. Come on.

  He waited for Heykal to join him, then left the classroom with him and walked down the corridor that led to the madwoman’s room.

  The door was open and a faint light shone within. Urfy paused on the threshold, worried. He didn’t see his mother anywhere in the room. It was a sort of cell, with a high window that was boarded up tight—to prevent the crazy old woman from attracting the attention of snooping neighbors. It contained a little iron bed, a chest of drawers, and a small sofa covered in jute; on the floor was a straw mat. An oil lamp, set on the chest of drawers, was the source of the meager light.

  “Mother!” Urfy called.

  There was no response, but Urfy sensed movement in the corner between the bed and the wall. He drew near, followed by Heykal. The old lady was crouched on the ground, seemingly busy patching some rags that were spread over her knees. She showed no surprise at their arrival; it was as if they’d always been there. But her dim eyes brightened at the sight of Heykal, animating her wasted face.

  “I waited for you, my prince!” she said. “I dreamed of you all last night. You were on
a white horse and you were slaying a dreadful dragon. But after each of your blows the dragon was reborn: it wouldn’t die. And you, prince, you laughed and laughed...And I knew why you laughed. Deep down, you didn’t want to kill the dragon; the dragon entertained you too much for you to want it dead.”

  “Mother,” said Urfy. “Get up, and go lie down on your bed.”

  But not until Heykal leaned over and held out his hand to help her would she move. She gripped his hand and rose to her feet as nimbly as a young girl, agile and full of grace. Her cotton dress revealed how skinny she was, and she was as light as a feather. She reached up to arrange the thin white threads of her hair, and, grown strangely coquettish all of a sudden, stretched out languorously on the bed—a pose that was both naive and shockingly shameless—like a courtesan awaiting the tributes of her admirers.

  Now Heykal pulled the bouquet of jasmine from the inside pocket of his jacket and offered it to her. She took it and lifted it to her nostrils, breathing the perfume of the flowers with the elegance of a woman in the habit of receiving such attentions.

  “Prince, you spoil me!” she simpered. “You’ll ruin yourself, for an old woman like me!”

  “It’s nothing, a trifle compared to the happiness you give me,” responded Heykal.

  “Happiness—me?! Prince, you’re mocking my old age!”

  “You know that I would never dare to do that.”

  “But I can tell that you’re a man with a taste for mockery.”

  “Under far different circumstances, perhaps. Here, my heart overflows with gratitude.”

  “Your heart is big, prince. It requires vast spaces. What do you see in this miserable hole! There are marvels outside. Why do you come to waste your time here?”