Free Proud Beggars by Albert Cossery, Thomas W. Cushing Page A

streetlamp. With a profound awareness of his hideousness, Yeghen couldn’t aspire to attract the girl, yet he advanced with the joyous look of a man who was sure he was loved. Deep down, he was counting on his extravagant ugliness to command the girl’s admiration.
    Damn! He had forgotten the poem that he’d meant for her. Where was it? He quickly rummaged through his pockets, took out several pieces of paper, and thought he’d found it. “I hope this is it,” he said to himself. If not, too bad—he didn’t have time to check. She’d already reached him like some ethereal being, an apparition born from hashish fumes, so near, so real, and yet so far.
    With a light, precise step, she entered the diffused whiteness of the streetlamp, her head high, her eyes fixed straight ahead, dominating the street with a look of disdain that embraced the whole neighborhood. She was wearing a blue velour beret and a coat the same color fastened at the waist with a black leather belt. This European elegance accentuated the unusualness of her haughty gait. The music books that she held tightly under her arm gave her the air of a studious schoolgirl. Everything about her proclaimed naïve pride and total contempt for her surroundings.
    She passed close to Yeghen without changing her step, pretending to ignore him completely. He almost came to a stop under the streetlamp; he showed his face in full light, his mouth twisted by a grin that was meant to be an engaging smile. But this time the ludicrous dumb show was lost on the young girl. She didn’t even deign to look at him.
    Crushed by this behavior, Yeghen took several more steps, then turned around and ran after her. He felt ready to provoke a riot if necessary. How could she have dared to ignore him!
    â€œYou lost this, mademoiselle.”
    She stopped, disconcerted, looking grave and a little frightened. The affair was growing complicated for her; she hadn’t thought he would have the courage to approach her. Instinctively, she held out her hand. Yeghen gave her the poem and went off quickly, without turning around.
    This took place without incident; he had accomplished his move brilliantly. How would she react after reading the poem? Yeghen looked forward to their next meeting with great pleasure.

4
    POLICE inspector Nour El Dine came into the waiting room, closing behind him the door to the bedroom where the coroner was still examining the corpse of the murdered prostitute. For a moment he stood still, his look severe and full of suspicion; then he surveyed the room with calculated slowness, as if searching for the guilty party. That was part of the routine: the killer was certainly not in the room. Nevertheless, under his icy gaze, all those present shrank into their chairs, and several seconds of formidable silence followed. All the girls of the house were there, as well as three customers who’d placed themselves in this lethal situation of their own accord. They’d had no reason to suspect anything; they had knocked at the door as usual, and a policeman had taken them hostage. Since then, they hadn’t stopped complaining, repeating that they had things to do and that they were in a hurry. But their complaints had no effect on the dreadful policeman guarding the door. Now they were talking among themselves, discussing their respective positions in society, making it known that an error committed against their person could possibly unleash an international scandal.
    â€œI will appeal to the government minister who’s a friend of mine,” said the shabbiest of them.
    The two other men said nothing; they were outdone. They had nothing to top a minister. For a moment they thought of mentioning their relations with the king, but that seemed a little too strong. The best they could do was to speak vaguely of acquaintances in high places.
    Undoubtedly the most spectacular member of this gathering was Set Amina, the madam. She