Proud Beggars Read Online Free PDF Page A

not the time for gaiety. Instead, he had to take the opportunity to show Gohar that there were serious matters in life. He suddenly became vehement.
    â€œIt’s dreadful!” he said. “What barbarians!”
    â€œYou think they’re barbarians?”
    â€œYes, and the government exploits their ignorance.”
    â€œBut they just taught your government a superb lesson.”
    â€œFirst, Master, it’s not my government,” El Kordi said hotly. “And then, I envisage other methods for fighting oppression. You will admit that there are serious matters in life.”
    â€œWhere do you see anything serious, my son?”
    Instinctively El Kordi looked around in search of an example of austerity or grandeur, but his gaze found only a little cigarette-butt scavenger, dirty and covered in rags, roaming near their table listening to their conversation. He was performing his work with the solemnity of a meticulous rite and carrying his search for cigarette butts into the most out-of-the-way corners. Irritated by this behavior, El Kordi rose and placed his chair so as better to allow him to inspect the ground. But the child didn’t go away; he seemed tied to them with a cord. El Kordi sat back down, and, looking at the child, said with stinging irony, “Well, my friend, are you going to have coffee with us?”
    â€œNo, thank you,” the child answered. “I just had coffee at the Bosphorous Café.”
    The Bosphorous was a swanky café where El Kordi had never set foot.
    â€œSon of a bitch!” he bellowed. “Get out of here or I’ll strangle you.”
    The child left, making a disdainful face.
    When he was some distance away, El Kordi broke out laughing. “Did you hear that, Master? What spirit! That child is fantastic.”
    Gohar smiled and looked at the young man with gentle irony. What pleased him was his utter frivolousness. El Kordi was a revolutionary. He had ideas about the future of the masses and the liberty of the people, but he was frivolous, for he couldn’t get beyond this absurd world. Believing that he and his people were persecuted, he would fight against oppression—but in vain, for as soon as he was left to his own instincts he became superficial, delighting in the most trivial actions.
    Now he seemed relieved of his bitterness. The incident with the little scavenger had soothed his worries; he abandoned himself to a childish joy. He was intensely happy with Gohar; everything became easy with him. Gohar’s presence rendered illusory all of life’s difficulties; the worst catastrophes assumed an air of extravagant drollery. El Kordi rediscovered his childhood in his company.
    â€œAnd this journey, Master?”
    â€œI’m considering it, my son.”
    â€œYou should go,” El Kordi said fervently. “It would be marvelous for you.”
    When anyone mentioned this journey, Gohar would close his eyes, as if the yearning for a distant countryside demanded all his attention. To leave, to take the train for Syria! This was the dream he’d long cherished, the only dream he allowed himself, because it was linked to the very source of his bliss. Drugs were legal in Syria. Hashish grew abundantly in the fields like ordinary clover; one could grow it oneself. One day Gohar had learned these extraordinary facts by chance and had not stopped dreaming about it ever since. This little neighboring country seemed like paradise. It was truly unjust to be condemned to live here, when only a few hours away drugs were at everyone’s doorstep. Gohar considered the full extent of this injustice; he could never forgive fate for his having been born on this side of the border. He was firmly convinced he would never go there, yet he already lived there in his mind. For him, Syria consisted of a verdant pasture, whose grass was nothing but the drug in its raw form, its first growth. At certain difficult moments, when he’d