Proud Beggars Read Online Free PDF Page B

locomotive. The abuses they intermittently hurled at their unruly children were so loud and powerful as to exclude all possibility of forgiveness.
    Gohar felt dizzy faced with all these barriers blocking his path. He would never manage to push his way through this compact mass, denser than a chain of high mountains. But the thought of the drug and the fear of missing Yeghen made him overcome his weakness. It was a matter of life and death for him, so without waiting any longer, he set off like a blind man and forged ahead oblivious to the cries and curses he stirred up along the way. He felt only that the air around him was growing heavy and that the human debris that barred his route was animated by malicious listlessness. The brothel wasn’t far, but in a strange way it seemed to Gohar that the distance was growing. He advanced like a sleepwalker, one hand gripping his cane, the other stretched in front of him in a childish gesture of defense. A radish vendor called to him by name and invited him, with words filled with nobility, to help himself. Gohar paid no attention; he had better things to do than eat radishes. In his haste to find Yeghen he had even forgotten his usual courtesy.
    A moment later he saw the house in the distance and felt somewhat reassured. Set Amina’s brothel was not a place of pleasure for Gohar. He never went there as a client, but only to fulfill an important literary function. Actually, it was an exceptionally amusing job to which he attached a symbolic value. To draw up Set Amina’s business accounts and sometimes write the love letters of illiterate whores seemed to him work worthy of human interest. So despite his superficial decline, he still retained the role of a powerful intellectual that had been his glory in the past, when he had taught history and literature in the biggest university in the country. But his academic side, already so odious then, here no longer had any excuse for existing. In this milieu where life appeared in the raw, unspoiled by established conventions, Gohar fooled no one; he no longer recited the endless philosophical lies he himself—alas!—once believed. The freedom of thought that accompanied his new job was an inexhaustible source of joy, a boundless, generous joy. The infinite human resources of a brothel in the native quarter kept him in perpetual ecstasy. How far he was from the sterile, deadly games of men and their hazy idea of life and reason! The great minds he had so long admired now appeared to him as vile corrupters, stripped of all authority. To teach life without living it was a crime of the most detestable ignorance.
    From this work—which he accepted as a lesser form of servitude—he made only a slight profit; for his exalted services Set Amina gave him only a ten-piaster piece from time to time. This was his sole income and more than enough to live on. His lodging was cheap and local merchants were happy to give him all the food he needed. They were enchanted by his conversation; some even considered him a prophet and cherished his peaceful vision of the world. But Gohar never took advantage of their kindness. He never asked for anything. If he happened to accept, it was so as not to offend his generous donors.
    Out of breath, he stopped.
    Behind the gate covered with climbing plants, which hid it from indiscreet eyes, was a yellow, two-story, middle-class house with a narrow façade. A little dirt courtyard full of rubbish separated it from the street. Gohar opened the gate, gripped his cane, straightened his tarboosh, then climbed the steps to the first floor with all the assurance he could muster. The door was closed from the inside; he knocked twice with his cane and waited, holding his breath. Nothing moved; the house seemed deserted. An ominous silence weighed on Gohar’s soul. Clearly no one was there. Yeghen might have left long ago! A wave of anxiety swept over him, and all of his organs stopped at once, as