Balthasar's Odyssey Read Online Free PDF Page A

conscience preventing me from thinking straight? Alas, facts are facts — the coincidence is too striking. I have acted very, very wrongly, and I must make amends!
    It didn’t occur to me at once that I ought to follow the book to Constantinople. As a matter of fact, I’m still not sure there is any point in it. But I have allowed myself to be persuaded it’s the best thing to do.
    To begin with, there were Boumeh’s moans and groans. But I expected and was annoyed by them in advance, so they didn’t really affect my decision. Especially as the foolish fellow wanted to set out straight away! To hear him, you’d think all that had just happened was made up of signs from Heaven especially directed at me. And despairing of seeing me interpret them correctly, Providence was supposed to have sacrificed the life of poor Idriss with the sole object of opening my eyes.
    â€œOpening my eyes to what? What am I supposed to understand?”
    â€œThat time is short! That the accursed year is at hand! That death is lurking around us! You’ve held your own salvation and ours in your hands, you’ve had The Hundredth Name in your possession, and you couldn’t hold on to it!”
    â€œWell, I can’t do anything now. The Chevalier’s miles away. That’s the work of Providence too.”
    â€œWe must catch him up! We must set out right away!”
    I shrugged. I didn’t even intend to reply. There was no question of my going along with such childish behaviour. Set out at once? Ride all night? And get our throats cut by brigands?
    â€œAs for dying, I prefer to die next year with the rest of my fellow-men rather than anticipate the end of the world!”
    But the boy wouldn’t budge.
    â€œIf it’s too late to catch him in Tripoli we can still meet him in Constantinople!”
    Suddenly a lively voice from behind us:
    â€œConstantinople! The best idea Boumeh ever had!”
    Habib! Now he was putting his oar in.
    â€œSo you’ve deigned to honour us with your presence! I always knew it would be my unlucky day when you and your brother agreed about something for once!”
    â€œI care nothing for your tales of the end of the world, and I’m not in the least interested in that confounded book. But I’ve been wanting to go to the Big City for a long while. Didn’t you say that when you were my age your father, our grandfather Tommaso, wanted you to see Constantinople?”
    This had nothing to do with the case, but it touched me on my weakest spot — the reverence I’d felt for my father since he died, and for all he’d ever said or done. As I listened to Habib, a lump came into my throat, my eyes glazed over, and I heard myself murmur:
    â€œTrue, true. Perhaps we should go to Constantinople.”
    Next day Idriss was buried in the Muslim cemetery. There weren’t many mourners there — my nephews and me, three or four neighbours, and Sheikh Abdel-Bassit, who conducted the service. When it was over he took me by the arm and asked me to go home with him.
    â€œI’m glad you came,” he said as I helped him over the little wall round the cemetery. “This morning I wondered if I’d have to bury him on my own. He had no one, poor man. Neither son nor daughter, nephew nor niece. No heir at all — though it’s true that if he’d had one he’d have had nothing to leave him. His only bequest was to you. That wretched book.”
    This left me deep in thought. I’d seen the book as a token of thanks, not as a bequest. But, in a way, that was what it was — or had become. And I’d gone and sold it! Would old Idriss, in his new abode, forgive me?
    We walked in silence for a while, up a steep and stony road without any shade. Abdel-Bassit was plunged in his thoughts and I in mine — or rather in my remorse. Then he said, straightening his turban:
    â€œI hear you’re leaving us soon. Where