Arabian Nights and Days by Naguib Mahfouz Page A

forces of the police, out for revenge, sparks flying from their blood-red eyes. Qumqam whispered scornfully, “O the suffering of mankind!”
    “All I did,” said Singam apologetically, “was to save Gamasa al-Bulti’s soul from hellfire.”
    “We never once interfered in their lives with things turning out as we wanted.”
    “And to connive with them is more than we can bear.”
    At that moment there passed below them Sahloul the bric-a-brac merchant. Pointing to him, Qumqam said, “I am happy for him that he lives with them as though he too were a human.”
    Sharing his opinion, Singam said, “But he is an angel, the Angel of Death, Azrael’s agent in the quarter. His duty requires of him that he mix with them night and day, and he is permitted to do things that we are not.”
    “Let us pray to God to inspire us to do what is right.”
    “Amen,” replied Singam.
XVII
    The activities of Abdullah the porter were obstructed by an incident that troubled him. He had made his way with a large weight of nuts and dried fruit to the house of Adnan Shouma, the chief of police. He had not stopped mulling over the killing of Ibrahim al-Attar the druggist: how much was genuine holy war and how much anger and a desire for revenge? The path of God was clear and it should not be fused with anger or pride, or else the whole structure would collapse from its foundations.
    Adnan Shouma’s house lay in Pageants and Festivals Street, a shortdistance from the house of government. It was a dignified street, on both sides of which were private mansions and large inns; it also had a garden and an open space where slave-girls were sold. As he entered the house he said to himself, “Your turn’s coming soon, Adnan.” Then, about to leave, he was stopped by a slave, who asked him to go and see the master of the house. He went to a reception room, his heart quivering with unease. The man looked at him with his small, round face and cruel, narrow eyes as he fingered his beard, then asked, “Where are you from?”
    “Ethiopia,” answered Abdullah humbly.
    “I have been told that you have a good reputation and that you don’t miss a single prayer.”
    “It is by God’s kindness and His mercy,” he said, having received the first breath of comfort.
    “That is why my choice has fallen on you.”
    The intended meaning circulated in his head like a strong aroma in a closed room. How many times, when he was chief of police, had he spoken just such words to some man, foreshadowing his recruitment into the organization of spies, the man knowing that to try to slide out of the assignment was tantamount to a sentence of death, that there was no choice but to obey!
    “In this way,” said Adnan Shouma, “you gain honor in the service of the sultan and of religion.”
    Abdullah pretended to be delighted and proud. He gave him such indications as would reassure him, at which the other said, “Be careful of that which brings the traitor to ruin.”
    “It makes me happy to serve in the ranks of God,” he muttered enigmatically.
    “Houses are open to you by virtue of your work,” said Adnan, “and all you lack are some directives, which have been set down in secret records since the time of Gamasa al-Bulti.”
XVIII
    He left Adnan Shouma’s house bearing a new load, a load heavier than the one he had brought. On meeting Fadil Sanaan, he let him into hisnew secret. Fadil thought about the matter for a long time, then said, “You have become two-eyed: one for us and one against us.”
    But Abdullah was immersed in his worries.
    “Don’t you regard this,” Fadil asked him, “as a gain for us?”
    “It is demanded of me that I show my sincere devotion to the work,” Abdullah said gloomily.
    Fadil took refuge in his silent thoughts and Abdullah continued, “I wonder if he summoned me because he suspects me.”
    “They are men of violence,” responded Fadil, “and they have no need of subterfuge.”
    “I agree, but how should I