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

sat sunken on one end of the couch, a hand on her cheek, the very image of martyred innocence. She moaned tearfully, heaving heartrending sighs, and calling on God to witness her misfortune.
    â€œWhat a black day! What have I done to Thee, O my God!”
    After glancing several times around the room—such a stupid routine!—Nour El Dine walked toward her with a determined step. He looked weary and ready to imprison everyone.
    â€œStop the act, woman!” he said firmly.
    Set Amina shut up like a charm. She swallowed her complaints and became humble and submissive. She was no fool: it was useless to antagonize the forces of authority. She realized the gravity of the situation; this time she risked having her house closed forever. A crime! It could mean the end of her career.
    â€œWell,” resumed the inspector, “what do you have to tell me?”
    â€œWhat can I tell you, Excellency! On my honor, I don’t know anything. I was out all afternoon with the girls doing errands. When we returned, I went into Arnaba’s bedroom to tell her to get ready. That’s when I saw her lying dead on her bed. I screamed and all the girls came to see what was wrong. May God preserve you from such a sight. I’m still all shook up.”
    â€œThat surprises me from you, woman! So, just like that, you desert the house and go for a stroll in town. How can that be? I thought you were more serious.”
    â€œIt was the girls’ day off. They’ve got to get out for a breath of air.”
    â€œAnd why didn’t Arnaba go with you?”
    â€œI don’t know, Excellency. She was capricious. Since she was new, I didn’t want to annoy her.”
    â€œWhat time was it when you returned?”
    â€œAbout six o’clock.”
    â€œThere was no one in the house besides Arnaba?”
    â€œNo, Excellency! There was no one!”
    â€œDo you think it could have been a client?”
    â€œWhat are you getting at? My clients are all good people. They couldn’t kill a fly.”
    â€œBut you could, you shameless woman! It wouldn’t surprise me if you were the murderer.”
    At this direct accusation, Set Amina raised her arms to heaven in distress and looked like she was going to go back to her weeping, but the inspector stopped her in time.
    â€œTell me, do you know if she had money hidden in her room?”
    â€œShe didn’t have any money. I kept all her money.”
    â€œYou’re sure of that?”
    â€œCompletely, Excellency!”
    â€œVery well, woman. I’ll take care of you later. And I advise you to stay calm.”
    The police inspector wrinkled his brow and seemed deeply perplexed. His first findings had brought him up against a bizarre fact: the murder was not motivated by robbery—nothing was stolen. Nor was it the crime of a sadist. The medical examiner was positive: the prostitute’s body showed no traces of cruelty or defilement. She had simply been strangled in a neat and classical manner. It was a strange business. This was the first time Nour El Dine had been faced with the arduous task of solving the mystery of a motiveless crime. But such a crime in this milieu seemed unthinkable. A motiveless crime implied very sophisticated reasoning, an artful, cunning intelligence, and only an educated individual—perhaps only someone with a European culture—could carry it out. It was the kind of crime found in Western books. Again the inspector’s worried gaze swept over those present, looking for someone sufficiently intelligent to be a suspect. But none of those present answered this ideal description; they were far from offering the slightest resemblance to the imaginary murderer described in books. Nour El Dine felt so alone with this crime on his hands that he was frightened for an instant. He walked over to an armchair near the table, sat down, crossed his legs, then proceeded to light a cigarette.
    A slave to routine,