Time gives a special knock inside and wakes him. He directs his gaze toward a window close to the bed and through it sees the city wrapped around in darkness. Sleep has stripped it of all movement and sound as it nestles in a silence replete with cosmic calm.
Separating himself from Umm Saad’s warm body, he stepped onto the floor, where his feet sank into the downy texture of the Persian carpet. He stretched out his arm as he groped for where the candlestick stood and bumped into something solid and hard. Startled, he muttered, “What’s this?”
A strange voice issued forth, a voice the like of which he had never heard: the voice of neither a human nor an animal. It robbed him of all sensation—it was as though it were sweeping throughout the whole city. The voice spoke angrily, “You trod on my head, you blind creature!”
He fell to the ground in fear. He was a man without the tiniest atom of valor: he excelled at nothing but buying and selling and bargaining.
“You trod on my head, you ignorant fellow,” said the voice.
“Who are you?” he said in a quaking voice.
“I am Qumqam.”
“Qumqam?”
“A genie from among the city’s dwellers.”
Almost vanishing in terror, he was struck speechless.
“You hurt me and you must be punished.”
His tongue was incapable of putting up any defense.
“I heard you yesterday, you hypocrite,” Qumqam continued, “and you were saying that death is a debt we have to pay, so what are you doing pissing yourself with fear?”
“Have mercy on me!” he finally pleaded. “I am a family man.”
“My punishment will descend only on you.”
“Not for a single moment did I think of disturbing you.”
“What troublesome creatures you are! You don’t stop yearning to enslave us in order to achieve your vile objectives. Have you not satisfied your greed by enslaving the weak among you?”
“I swear to you…”
“I have no faith in a merchant’s oath,” he interrupted him.
“I ask mercy and plead pardon from you,” he said.
“You would make me do that?”
“Your big heart…” he said anxiously.
“Don’t try to cheat me as you do your customers.”
“Do it for nothing, for the love of God.”
“There is no mercy without a price and no pardon without a price.”
He glimpsed a sudden ray of hope.
“I’ll do as you want,” he said fervently.
“Really?”
“With all the strength I possess,” he said eagerly.
“Kill Ali al-Salouli,” he said with frightening calm.
The joy drowned in an unexpected defeat, like something brought at great risk from across the seas whose worthlessness has become apparent on inspection.
“Ali al-Salouli, the governor of our quarter?” he asked in horror.
“None other.”
“But he is a governor and lives in the guarded House of Happiness, while I am nothing but a merchant.”
“Then there is no mercy, no pardon,” he exclaimed.
“Sir, why don’t you kill him yourself?”
“He has brought me under his power with black magic,” he said with exasperation, “and he makes use of me in accomplishing purposes that my conscience does not approve of.”
“But you are a force surpassing black magic.”
“We are nevertheless subject to specific laws. Stop arguing—you must either accept or refuse.”
“Have you no other wishes?” said Sanaan urgently. “I have plenty of money, also goods from India and China.”
“Don’t waste time uselessly, you fool.”
In utter despair, he said, “I’m at your disposal.”
“Take care not to attempt to trick me.”
“I have resigned myself to my fate.”
“You will be in my grasp even if you were to take refuge in the mountains of Qaf at the ends of the world.”
At that, Sanaan felt a sharp pain in his arm. He let out a scream that tore at his depths.
Sanaan opened his eyes to the voice of Umm Saad saying, “What’s made you sleep so late?” She lit the candle and he began to look about him in a daze. If it were a dream, why did it fill him more than wakefulness itself? He was so alive that he was terrified. Nevertheless he entertained thoughts of escape, and feelings of grateful calm took control of him. The world was brought back to its proper perspective after total ruin. How wonderful was the sweetness of life after the torture of hellfire!
“I take refuge in God from the accursed Devil,” he sighed.
Umm Saad looked at him as she tucked scattered locks of hair inside the kerchief round her head, sleep having affected the beauty of her face with a sallow hue. Intoxicated with the sensation of having made his escape, he said, “Praise be to God, Who has rescued me from grievous trouble.”
“May God protect us, O father of Fadil.”
“A terrible dream, Umm Saad.”
“God willing, all will be well.”
She led the way to the bathroom and lit a small lamp in the recess. Following her, he said, “I spent part of my night with a genie.”
“How is that, you being the God-fearing man you are?”
“I shall recount it to Sheikh Abdullah al-Balkhi. Go now in peace that I may make my ablutions.”
As he was doing so and washing his left forearm, he stopped, trembling all over.
“O my Lord!”
He began looking aghast at the wound, which was like a bite. It was no illusion that he was seeing, for blood had broken through where the fangs had penetrated the flesh.
“It is not possible.”
In terror he hurried off toward the kitchen. As she was lighting the oven, Umm Saad asked, “Have you made your ablutions?”
“Look,” he said, stretching out his arm.
“What has bitten you?” the woman gasped.
“I don’t know.”
Overcome by anxiety, she said, “But you slept so well.”
“I don’t know what happened.”
“Had it happened during the day…”
“It didn’t happen during the day,” he interrupted her.
They exchanged an uneasy look fraught with suppressed thoughts.
“Tell me about the dream,” she said with dread.
“I told you it was a genie,” he said dejectedly. “It was a dream, though.”
Once again they exchanged glances and the pain of anxiety.
“Let it be a secret,” said Umm Saad warily.
He understood the secret of her fears that corresponded to his own, for if mention were made of the genie, he did not know what would happen to his reputation as a merchant on the morrow, nor to what the reputation of his daughter Husniya and his son Fadil would be exposed. The dream could bring about total ruin. Also, he was sure of nothing.
“A dream’s a dream,” said Umm Saad, “and the secret of the wound is known to God alone.”
“This is what one must remind oneself,” he said in despair.
“The important thing now is for you to have it treated without delay, so go now to your friend Ibrahim the druggist.”
How could he arrive at the truth? He was so burdened with anxiety that he was enraged and boiled with anger. He felt his position going from bad to worse. All his feelings were charged with anger and resentment, while his nature deteriorated as though he were being created anew in a form that was at variance with his old deep-rooted gentleness. No longer could he put up with the woman’s glances; he began to hate them, to loathe her very thoughts. He felt a desire to destroy everything that existed. Unable to control himself, he pierced her with a glance filled with hatred and resentment, as though it were she who was responsible for his plight. Turning his back on her, he went off.
“This is not the Sanaan of old,” she muttered.
He found Fadil and Husniya in the living room in a dim light that spilled out through the holes of the wooden latticework. Their faces were distraught at the way his excited voice had been raised. His anger increased and, very unlike himself, he shouted, “Get out of my sight!”
He closed the door of his room behind him and began examining his arm. Fadil boldly joined him.
“I trust you are all right, father,” he said anxiously.
“Leave me alone,” he said gruffly.
“Did a dog bite you?”
“Who said so?”
“My mother.”
He appreciated her wisdom in saying this and he agreed, but his mood did not improve.
“It’s nothing. I’m fine, but leave me on my own.”
“You should go to the druggist.”
“I don’t need anybody to tell me that,” he said with annoyance.
Outside, Fadil said to Husniya, “How changed father is!”
For the first time in his life, Sanaan al-Gamali left his house without performing his prayers. He went at once to the shop of Ibrahim the druggist, an old friend and neighbor in the commercial street. When the druggist saw his arm, he said in astonishment, “What sort of dog was this! But then there are so many stray dogs…”
He set about making a selection of herbs, saying, “I have a prescription that never fails.”
He boiled up the herbs until they deposited a sticky sediment. Having washed the wound with rose water, he covered it with the mixture, spreading it over with a wooden spatula, then bound up the arm with Damascene muslin, muttering, “May it be healed, God willing.”
At which, despite himself, Sanaan said, “Or let the Devil do what he may.”
Ibrahim the druggist looked quizzically into his friend’s flushed face, amazed at how much he had changed.
“Don’t allow a trifling wound to affect your gentle nature.”
With a melancholy face, Sanaan made off, saying, “Ibrahim, don’t trust this world.”
How apprehensive he was! It was as though he had been washed in a potion of fiery peppers. The sun was harsh and hot, people’s faces were glum.
Fadil had arrived at the shop before him and met him with a beaming smile which only increased his ill humor. He cursed the heat, despite his well-known acceptance of all kinds of weather. He greeted no one and scarcely returned a greeting. He was cheered by neither face nor word. He laughed at no joke and took no warning note at a funeral passing. No comely face brought him pleasure. What had happened? Fadil worked harder in order to intervene as far as possible between his father and the customers. More than one inquired of Fadil in a whisper, “What’s up with your father today?”
The young man could only reply, “He’s indisposed—may God show you no ill.”
It was not long before his condition was made known to the habitués of the Café of the Emirs. He made his way to them with a gloomy countenance and either sat in silence or engaged only in distracted conversation. He no longer made his amusing comments; quickly dispirited, he soon left the café.
“A wild dog bit him,” Ibrahim the druggist said.
And Galil the draper commented, “He’s utterly lost to us.”
While Karam al-Aseel, the man with millions and the face of a monkey, said, “But his business is flourishing.”
And the doctor Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni said, “The value of money evaporates when you’re ill.”
And Ugr the barber, the only one among those sitting on the floor who would sometimes thrust himself into the conversation of the upper-class customers, said philosophically, “What is a man? A bite from a dog or a fly’s sting…”
But Fadil shouted at him, “My father’s fine. It’s only that he’s indisposed—he’ll be all right by daybreak.”
But he went deeper and deeper into a state that became difficult to control. Finally, one night he swallowed a crazy amount of dope and left the café full of energy and ready to brave the unknown. Disliking the idea of going home, he went stumbling around in the dark, driven on by crazed fantasies. He hoped for some action that might dispel his rebellious state of tension and relieve it of its torment. He brought to mind women from his family who were long dead and they appeared before him naked and in poses that were sexually suggestive and seductive, and he regretted not having had his way with a single one of them. He passed by the cul-de-sac of Sheikh Abdullah al-Balkhi and for an instant thought of visiting him and confiding to him what had occurred, but he hurried on. In the light of a lamp hanging down from the top of the door of one of the houses he saw a young girl of ten going on her way, carrying a large metal bowl. He rushed toward her, blocking her way and inquiring, “Where are you going, little girl?”
“I’m going back to my mother,” she replied innocently.
He plunged into the darkness till he could see her no more.
“Come here,” he said, “and I’ll show you something nice.”
He picked her up in his arms and the water from the pickles spilt over his silken garment. He took her under the stairway of the elementary school. The girl was puzzled by his strange tenderness and didn’t feel at ease with him.
“My mother’s waiting,” she said nervously.
But he had stirred her curiosity as much as her fears. His age, which reminded her of her father, induced in her a sort of trust, a trust in which an unknown disquiet was mixed with the anticipation of some extraordinary dream. She let out a wailing scream which tore apart his compassionate excitement and sent terrifying phantoms into his murky imagination. He quickly stifled her mouth with the trembling palm of his hand. A sudden return to his senses was like a slap in the face, as he came back to earth.
“Don’t cry. Don’t be frightened,” he whispered entreatingly.
Despair washed over him until it demolished the pillars on which the earth was supported. Out of total devastation he heard the tread of approaching footsteps. Quickly he grasped the thin neck in hands that were alien to him. Like a rapacious beast whose foot has slipped, he tumbled down into an abyss. He realized that he was finished and noticed that a voice was calling, “Baseema…Baseema, my girl.”
In utter despair he said to himself, “It is inevitable.”
It became clear that the footsteps were approaching his hiding-place. The light from a lamp showed up dimly. He was driven by a desire to go out carrying the body with him. Then the presence of something heavy overtook his own collapsing presence, the memory of the dream took him by storm. He heard the voice of two days ago inquiring, “Is this what we pledged ourselves to?”
“You are a fact, then, and not a dire dream,” he said in surrender.
“You are without doubt mad.”
“I agree, but you are the cause.”
“I never asked you to do something evil,” the voice said angrily.
“There’s no time for arguing. Save me, so that I can carry out for you what was agreed.”
“This is what I came for, but you don’t understand.”
He felt himself moving in a vacuum in an intensely silent world. Then he again heard the voice, “No one will find a trace of you. Open your eyes and you will find that you are standing in front of the door of your house. Enter in peace, I shall be waiting.”
With a superhuman effort Sanaan took control of himself. Umm Saad did not feel that his condition had deteriorated. Taking refuge behind his eyelids in the darkness, he set about calling to mind what he had done. He was another person; the killer-violator was another person. His soul had begotten wild beings of which he had no experience. Now, divested of his past and having buried all his hopes, he was presenting himself to the unknown. Though he hadn’t slept, no movement escaped him to indicate that he had been without sleep. Early in the morning there came the sound of wailing. Umm Saad disappeared for a while, then returned and said, “O mother of Baseema, may God be with you.”
“What’s happened?” he asked, lowering his gaze.
“What’s got into people, father of Fadil? The girl’s been raped and murdered under the elementary school stairway. A mere child, O Lord. Under the skin of certain humans lie savage beasts.”
He bowed his head until his beard lay disheveled against his chest.
“I take my refuge in God from the accursed Devil,” he muttered.
“These beasts know neither God nor Prophet.”
The woman burst into tears.
He began to ask himself: Was it the genie? Was it the dope he had swallowed? Or was it Sanaan al-Gamali?
The thoughts of everyone in the quarter were in turmoil. The crime was the sole subject of conversation. Ibrahim the druggist, as he prepared him more medicine, said, “The wound has not healed, but there is no longer any danger from it.” Then, as he bound his arm with muslin, “Have you heard of the crime?”
“I take refuge in God,” he said in disgust.
“The criminal’s not human. Our sons marry directly they reach puberty.”
“He’s a madman, there’s no doubt of that.”
“Or he’s one of those vagabonds who haven’t got the means to marry. They are milling around the streets like stray dogs.”
“Many are saying that.”
“What is Ali al-Salouli doing in the seat of government?”
At mention of the name he quaked, remembering the pact he had made, a pact that hung over his head like a sword. “Busy with his own interests,” he concurred, “and counting the presents and the bribes.”
“The favors he rendered us merchants cannot be denied,” said the druggist, “but he should remember that his primary duty is to maintain things as they are for us.”
Sanaan went off with the words, “Don’t put your trust in the world, Ibrahim.”
The governor of the quarter, Ali al-Salouli, knew from his private secretary Buteisha Murgan what was being said about security. He was frightened that the reports would reach the vizier Dandan and that he would pass them on to the sultan, so he called the chief of police, Gamasa al-Bulti, and said to him, “Have you heard what is being said about security during my time in office?”
The chief of police’s inner calm had not changed when he had learned about his superior’s secrets and acts of corruption.
“Excuse me, governor,” he said, “but I have not been negligent or remiss in sending out spies. However, the villain has left no trace and we haven’t found a single witness. I myself have interrogated dozens of vagabonds and beggars, but it’s an unfathomable crime, unlike anything that has previously happened.”
“What a fool you are! Arrest all the vagabonds and beggars—you’re an expert on the effective means of interrogation.”
“We haven’t the prisons to take them,” said Gamasa warily.
“What prisons, fellow? Do you want to impose upon the public treasury the expense of providing them with food?” said the governor in a rage. “Drive them into the open and seek the help of the troops—and bring me the criminal before nightfall.”
The police swooped down on the plots of wasteland and arrested the beggars and vagabonds, then drove them in groups into the open. No complaint and no oath availed, no exception was made of old men. Force was used against them until they prayed fervently for help to God and to His Prophet and the members of his family.
Sanaan al-Gamali followed the news with anxious alarm: he was the guilty one, of this there was no doubt, and yet he was going about free and at large, being treated with esteem. How was it that he had become the very pivot of all this suffering? And someone unknown was lying in wait for him, someone indifferent to all that had occurred, while he was utterly lost, succumbing without condition. As for the old Sanaan, he had died and been obliterated, nothing being left of him but a confused mind that chewed over memories as though they were delusions.
He became conscious of a clamor sweeping down the commercial street. It was Ali al-Salouli, governor of the quarter, making his way at the head of a squadron of cavalry, reminding people of the governor’s power and vigilance, a challenge to any disorder. As he proceeded he replied to the greetings of the merchants to right and left. This was the man he had undertaken to kill. His heart overflowed with fear and loathing. This was the secret of his torment. It was he who had chosen to liberate the genie from his black magic. It was the genie alone who had done this. His escape was conditional on his doing away with al-Salouli. His eyes became fixed on the dark, well-filled face, pointed beard and stocky body. When he passed in front of the shop of Ibrahim the druggist, the owner hurried up to him and they shook hands warmly. Then, passing before Sanaan’s shop, he happened to glance toward it and smiled so that Sanaan had no choice but to cross over and shake him by the hand, at which al-Salouli said to him, “We’ll be seeing you soon, God willing.”
Sanaan al-Gamali returned to the shop, asking himself what he had meant. Why was he inviting him to a meeting? Why? Was he finding the path made easy for him in a way he had not expected? A shudder passed through him from top to toe. In a daze he repeated his words, “I’ll be seeing you soon, God willing.”
When he lay down to sleep that night the other presence took control and the voice said mockingly, “You eat, drink, and sleep, and it is for me to exercise patience!”
“It’s an onerous assignment. Those with such power as yourself do not realize how onerous,” he said miserably.
“But it’s easier than killing the little girl.”
“What a waste! I had long been thought of as among the best of the good.”
“External appearances do not deceive me.”
“They were not simply external appearances.”
“You have forgotten things that would bring sweat to one’s brow with shame.”
“Perfection is God’s alone,” he said in confusion.
“I also don’t deny your good points, and it was for this that I nominated you to be saved.”
“If you hadn’t forced your way into my life, I wouldn’t have got myself involved in this crime.”
“Don’t lie,” he said sharply. “You alone are responsible for your crime.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“I really judged you too favorably.”
“If only you’d just left me alone!”
“I’m a believing genie and I told myself, ‘This man’s goodness exceeds his wickedness. Certainly he has suspicious relations with the chief of police and doesn’t hesitate to exploit times of inflation, but he is the most honest of merchants, also he is charitable and undertakes his religious devotions and is merciful to the poor.’ Thus I chose you to be saved, to be the saving of the quarter from the head of corruption, and the saving of your sinful self. Yet instead of attaining the visible target, your whole structure collapsed and you committed this repugnant crime.”
Sanaan moaned and kept silent, while the voice continued, “The chance is still there.”
“And the crime?” he asked helplessly.
“Life gives opportunities for both reflection and repentance.”
“But the man is an impregnable fortress,” he said in a voice clinging to a vestige of hope.
“He will invite you to meet him.”
“That seems unlikely.”
“He will invite you—be sure and be prepared.”
Sanaan thought for a while, then inquired, “Will you promise me deliverance?”
“I chose you only for deliverance.”
So exhausted was Sanaan that he fell into a deep sleep.
He was getting ready to go to the café when Umm Saad said, “There’s a messenger from the governor waiting for you in the reception room.”
He found the private secretary, Buteisha Murgan, waiting for him with his sparkling eyes and short beard.
“The governor wants to see you.”
His heart beat fast. He realized that he was going off to commit the gravest crime in the history of the quarter. Perhaps it worried him that Buteisha Murgan should be acquainted with the circumstances surrounding his visit, but he took reassurance in Qumqam’s promise.
“Wait for me,” he said, “till I put on my clothes.”
“I shall go ahead of you so as not to attract attention.”
So the man was bent on keeping the secret nature of the meeting, thus facilitating his task. He began anointing himself with musk, while Umm Saad watched, nursing a sense of unease that had not left her since the night of the dream. She was held by a feeling that she was living with another man and that the old Sanaan had vanished into darkness. Without her noticing, he slipped into his pocket a dagger with a handle of pure silver that he had received as a gift from India.
Ali al-Salouli received him in his summer mansion at the governorate’s garden, appearing in a flowing white robe and with his head bare, which lessened the awe his position bestowed. A table stood in front of him on which were assembled long-necked bottles, glasses, and various nuts, dried fruits, and sweets, which gave evidence of conviviality. He seated him on a cushion alongside him and asked Buteisha Murgan to stay on.
“Welcome to you, Master Sanaan, true merchant and noble man.”
Sanaan mumbled something, hiding his confusion with a smile.
“It is thanks to you, O deputy of the sultan.”
Murgan filled three glasses. Sanaan wondered whether Murgan would stay until the end of the meeting. Maybe it was an opportunity that would not be repeated, so what should he do?
“It’s a pleasant summer night,” said al-Salouli. “Do you like the summer?”
“I love all seasons.”
“You are one of those with whom God is content, and it is by His complete contentment that we start a new and productive life.”
Impelled by curiosity, Sanaan said, “I ask God to complete His favor to us.”
They drank, and became elated and invigorated from the wine.
“We have cleansed our quarter of riffraff for you,” al-Salouli continued.
“What firmness and determination!” he said with secret sadness.
“We scarcely hear now of a theft or other crime,” said Buteisha Murgan.
“Have you discovered who the culprit is?” asked Sanaan cautiously.
“Those confessing to the crime number over fifty,” said al-Salouli, laughing.
Murgan laughed too, but said, “The true culprit is doubtless among them.”
“It’s Gamasa al-Bulti’s problem,” said al-Salouli.
“We must also increase the exhortations at the mosques and at religious festivals,” said Murgan.
Sanaan was beginning to despair, but then al-Salouli gave a special sign to Murgan, who left the place. Even so, the guards were dispersed throughout the garden and there was no way of escape. But not for an instant was he unmindful of Qumqam’s promise.
“Let’s close the discussion of crimes and criminals,” said al-Salouli, changing his tone of voice.
“May your night be a pleasant one, sir,” said Sanaan, smiling.
“The fact is that I invited you for more than one reason.”
“I’m at your disposal.”
“I would like to marry your daughter,” he said confidently.
Sanaan was amazed. He was saddened too about an opportunity that was fated to miscarry before it was born. He nevertheless said, “This is a big honor, the greatest of happiness.”
“And I also have a daughter as a gift for your son Fadil.”
Chasing away his bewilderment, Sanaan said, “He’s a lucky young man.”
For a while the other was silent and then continued, “As for the final request, it relates to the public welfare.”
There gleamed in Sanaan’s eyes an inquiring look, at which the governor said, “The contractor Hamdan Tuneisha is your relative, is he not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The point is that I have made up my mind to construct a road alongside the desert the whole length of the quarter.”
“A truly excellent project.”
“When will you bring him to me here?” he asked in a meaningful tone.
Feeling how ironic the situation was, he said, “Our appointment will be for tomorrow evening, sir.”
Al-Salouli gave him a piercing glance and inquired with a smile, “I wonder whether he will come duly prepared?”
“Just as you envisage,” said Sanaan with shrewd subtlety.
Al-Salouli laughed and said jovially, “You’re intelligent, Sanaan—and don’t forget that we are related!”
Sanaan suddenly feared he would summon Buteisha Murgan, and he said to himself, “It’s now or the chance will vanish forever.”
The man had facilitated things for him without knowing it by relaxing and stretching out his legs and turning over on his back, his eyes closed. Sanaan was immersed in thoughts about the crime and hurling himself into what destiny still remained to him. Unsheathing the dagger, and aiming it at the heart, he stabbed with a strength drawn from determination, despair, and a final desire to escape. The governor gave a violent shuddering, as though wrestling with some unknown force. His face was convulsed and became crazily glazed. He started to bring his arms together as though to clutch at the dagger, but he was unable to. His terrified eyes uttered unheard words, then he was forever motionless.
Trembling, Sanaan stared at the dagger, whose blade had disappeared from sight, and at the gushing blood. With difficulty he wrested his eyes away and looked fearfully toward the closed door. The silence was rent by the throbbing in his temples, and for the first time he caught sight of the lamps hanging in the corners. He also noted a wooden lectern decorated with mother-of-pearl on which rested a large copy of the Quran. In all his agonies he pleaded to Qumqam, his genie and his fate. The invisible presence enveloped him and he heard the voice saying with satisfaction, “Well done!” Then, joyfully, “Now Qumqam is freed from the black magic.”
“Save me,” said Sanaan. “I abhor this place and this scene.”
The voice said with sympathetic calm, “My faith prevents me from interfering now that I have taken possession of my free will.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” he said in terror.
“Your fault, Sanaan, is that you don’t think like a human being.”
“O Lord, there is no time for discussion. Do you intend to abandon me to my fate?”
“That is exactly what my duty requires of me.”
“How despicable! You have deceived me.”
“No, rather I have granted you an opportunity of salvation seldom given to a living soul.”
“Did you not interfere in my life and cause me to kill this man?”
“I was eager to free myself from the evil of black magic, so I chose you because of your faith, despite the way you fluctuated between good and evil. I reckoned you were more worthy than anyone else to save your quarter and yourself.”
“But you did not make clear your thoughts to me,” he said desperately.
“I made them sufficiently clear for one who thinks.”
“Underhand double-dealing. Who said I was responsible for the quarter?”
“It is a general trust from which no person is free, but it is espe-cially incumbent upon the likes of you, who are not devoid of good intentions.”
“Did you not save me from my plight under the stairway of the elementary school?”
“Indeed it was difficult for me to accept that you should, by reason of my intervention, suffer the worst of endings without hope of atonement or repentance, so I decided to give you a new chance.”
“And now I have undertaken what I pledged myself to you to do, so it is your duty to save me.”
“Then it is a plot and your role in it is that of the instrument, and worthiness, atonement, repentance, and salvation are put an end to.”
He went down on his knees and pleaded, “Have mercy on me. Save me.”
“Don’t waste your sacrifice on the air.”
“It’s a black outcome.”
“He who does good is not troubled by the consequences.”
“I don’t want to be a hero!” he cried out in terror.
“Be a hero, Sanaan. That is your destiny,” said Qumqam sorrowfully.
The voice began to fade as it said, “May God be with you and I ask Him to forgive both you and me.”
Sanaan let out a scream that reached the ears of Buteisha Murgan and the men of the guard outside.