The Beggar, the Thief and the Dogs, Autumn Quail Read Free Page A

explanation of human behavior than sex does.”
    Omar forgot himself for the first time, exclaiming merrily, “It seems you’ve got chickenitis!”
    After dinner they sat together for half an hour, then Jamila was taken to bed and Buthayna and her mother went to visit friends in the same building. So Omar and Mustapha were left alone on the large balcony, a bottle of whiskey and an ice bucket on the glass-topped table between them. Not a movement stirred the trees and the lamps were covered with a veil of sand. The Nile appeared through the gaps of the treetops, silent, pale, devoid of life and meaning. Mustapha drank alone and muttered despairingly, “One hand on its own does not clap.”
    Omar said, lighting a cigarette, “It’s awful weather, and nothing pleases me anymore.”
    Mustapha laughed. “I remember you couldn’t stand me at one time.”
    Omar disregarded the interruption. “I’m afraid my attitude toward work will continue indefinitely.”
    “If you stick to your diet and exercise, you won’t indulge in despair and let Buthayna down.”
    “I’m going to drink another glass.”
    “Okay, but you’ll have to be stricter in Alexandria.”
    “What do you mean, I couldn’t stand you? You’re a liar like most of those who practice your profession.”
    “You were disgusted with me at the time of my great commitment to art.”
    “I was undergoing an agonizing conflict within myself.”
    “Yes, you were battling a secret urge which you suppressed cruelly, and my commitment must have been alarming to you.”
    “But I never despised you; I found in you simply a tortured conscience.”
    “I respected your conflict and forgave you, determined to keep you and art.” Then Mustapha laughed and said, “You must have been reassured when I decided to forsake art. Here I am, selling watermelon seeds and popcorn via the mass media, while you scale the summit of the legal profession in Al-Azhar Square.”
    Repeated memories as stifling as the summer heat and the perennial dust revolve in a closed cycle. The child imagines he’s riding a genuine horse. “He was exasperated, he is exasperated, be exasperated, so he is exasperated, she is exasperated, and the plural is they are exasperated.”
    “Diet and sports.”
    “You’re a riot.”
    “Amusement is my mission in life, and the plural is amusements. Art had meaning in the past, but science intruded and destroyed its significance.”
    “I deserted art without being influenced by science.”
    “Why did you give it up, then?”
    He’s as aggravating as the summer heat. The night lacked personality and merriment. There was noise in the street. How clever he is, posing questions to which he knows the answer. “Let me ask you the reason.”
    “You told me at the time you wanted to live well and succeed.”
    “So why did you ask the question?”
    A look of recognition flickered in the eyes dulled by a past illness.
    “You yourself didn’t give up art for the sake of science alone.”
    “Enlighten me further.”
    “You couldn’t create art that measured up to science.”
    Mustapha laughed with an abandon bestowed by the whiskey and said, “Escape is always partly caused by failure, but believe me, science has robbed art of everything. In science you find the rapture of poetry, the ecstasy of religion, and the aspirations of philosophy. All that is left to art is amusement. One day it will be no more than a bridal ornament worn during the honeymoon.”
    “This marvelous indictment springs from a revenge against art rather than a love of science.”
    “Read the astronomy, physics, or other science texts, recall whatever plays and collections of poetry you wish, and note the sense of shame which overwhelms you.”
    “Similar to my feelings when I think of legal cases and the law.”
    “It’s only the feeling of the artist out of step with time.”
    Omar yawned, then said, “Damn it, I smell something serious in the air, and I have the horrible