Tallit said, standing midway between Wilson and the priest.
‘I’ve only been here a few weeks,’ Wilson said, ‘and everyone talks to me about Yusef. They say he passes false diamonds, smuggles real ones, sells bad liquor, hoards cottons against a French invasion, seduces the nursing sisters from the military hospital.’
‘He’s a dirty dog,’ Father Rank said with a kind of relish. ‘Not that you can believe a single thing you hear in this place. Otherwise everybody would be living with someone else’s wife, every police officer who wasn’t in Yusef’s pay would be bribed by Tallit here.’
Tallit said, ‘Yusef is a very bad man.’
‘Why don’t the authorities run him in?’
‘I’ve been here for twenty-two years,’ Father Rank said, ‘and I ’ve never known anything proved against a Syrian yet. Oh, often I’ve seen the police as pleased as Punch carrying their happy morning faces around, just going to pounce—and I think to myself, why bother to ask them what it’s about? they’ll just pounce on air.’
‘You ought to have been a policeman, Father.’
‘Ah,’ Father Rank said, ‘who knows? There are more policemen in this town than meet the eye—or so they say.’
‘Who say?’
‘Careful of those sweets,’ Father Rank said, ‘they are harmless in moderation, but you’ve taken four already. Look here, Tallit, Mr Wilson looks hungry. Can’t you bring on the bakemeats?’
‘Bakemeats?’
‘The feast,’ Father Rank said. His joviality filled the room with hollow sound. For twenty-two years that voice had been laughing, joking, urging people humorously on through the rainy and the dry months. Could its cheeriness ever have comforted a single soul? Wilson wondered: had it even comforted itself? It was like the noise one heard rebounding from the tiles in a public baths: the laughs and the splashes of strangers in the steam-heating.
‘Of course, Father Rank. Immediately, Father Rank.’ Father Rank, without being invited, rose from his chair and sat himself down at a table which like the chairs hugged the wall. There were only a few places laid and Wilson hesitated. ‘Come on. Sit down, Mr Wilson. Only the old folks will be eating with us—and Tallit of course.’
‘You were saying something about a rumour?’ Wilson asked.
‘My head is a hive of rumours,’ Father Rank said, making a humorous hopeless gesture. ‘If a man tells me anything I assume he wants me to pass it on. It’s a useful function, you know, at a time like this, when everything is an official secret, to remind people that their tongues were made to talk with and that the truth is meant to be spoken about. Look at Tallit now,’ Father Rank went on. Tallit was raising the corner of his black-out curtain and gazing into the dark street. ‘How’s Yusef, you young rogue?’ he asked. ‘Yusef’s got a big house across the street and Tallit wants it, don’t you, Tallit? What about dinner, Tallit, we’re hungry?’
‘It is here, Father, it is here,’ he said coming away from the window . He sat down silently beside the centenarian, and his sister served the dishes. ‘You always get a good meal in Tallit’s house,’ Father Rank said.
‘Yusef too is entertaining tonight.’
‘It doesn’t do for a priest to be choosy,’ Father Rank said, ‘but I find your dinner more digestible.’ His hollow laugh swung through the room.
‘Is it as bad as all that being seen at Yusef’s?’
‘It is, Mr Wilson. If I saw you there, I’d say to myself, “Yusef wants some information badly about cottons—what the imports are going to be next month, say—what’s on the way by sea, and he’ll pay for his information.” If I saw a girl go in, I’d think it was a pity, a great pity.’ He took a stab at his plate and laughed again. ‘But if Tallit went in I’d wait to hear the screams for help.’
‘If you saw a police officer?’ Tallit asked.
‘I wouldn’t believe my eyes,’ the priest said.
‘I’ve only been here a few weeks,’ Wilson said, ‘and everyone talks to me about Yusef. They say he passes false diamonds, smuggles real ones, sells bad liquor, hoards cottons against a French invasion, seduces the nursing sisters from the military hospital.’
‘He’s a dirty dog,’ Father Rank said with a kind of relish. ‘Not that you can believe a single thing you hear in this place. Otherwise everybody would be living with someone else’s wife, every police officer who wasn’t in Yusef’s pay would be bribed by Tallit here.’
Tallit said, ‘Yusef is a very bad man.’
‘Why don’t the authorities run him in?’
‘I’ve been here for twenty-two years,’ Father Rank said, ‘and I ’ve never known anything proved against a Syrian yet. Oh, often I’ve seen the police as pleased as Punch carrying their happy morning faces around, just going to pounce—and I think to myself, why bother to ask them what it’s about? they’ll just pounce on air.’
‘You ought to have been a policeman, Father.’
‘Ah,’ Father Rank said, ‘who knows? There are more policemen in this town than meet the eye—or so they say.’
‘Who say?’
‘Careful of those sweets,’ Father Rank said, ‘they are harmless in moderation, but you’ve taken four already. Look here, Tallit, Mr Wilson looks hungry. Can’t you bring on the bakemeats?’
‘Bakemeats?’
‘The feast,’ Father Rank said. His joviality filled the room with hollow sound. For twenty-two years that voice had been laughing, joking, urging people humorously on through the rainy and the dry months. Could its cheeriness ever have comforted a single soul? Wilson wondered: had it even comforted itself? It was like the noise one heard rebounding from the tiles in a public baths: the laughs and the splashes of strangers in the steam-heating.
‘Of course, Father Rank. Immediately, Father Rank.’ Father Rank, without being invited, rose from his chair and sat himself down at a table which like the chairs hugged the wall. There were only a few places laid and Wilson hesitated. ‘Come on. Sit down, Mr Wilson. Only the old folks will be eating with us—and Tallit of course.’
‘You were saying something about a rumour?’ Wilson asked.
‘My head is a hive of rumours,’ Father Rank said, making a humorous hopeless gesture. ‘If a man tells me anything I assume he wants me to pass it on. It’s a useful function, you know, at a time like this, when everything is an official secret, to remind people that their tongues were made to talk with and that the truth is meant to be spoken about. Look at Tallit now,’ Father Rank went on. Tallit was raising the corner of his black-out curtain and gazing into the dark street. ‘How’s Yusef, you young rogue?’ he asked. ‘Yusef’s got a big house across the street and Tallit wants it, don’t you, Tallit? What about dinner, Tallit, we’re hungry?’
‘It is here, Father, it is here,’ he said coming away from the window . He sat down silently beside the centenarian, and his sister served the dishes. ‘You always get a good meal in Tallit’s house,’ Father Rank said.
‘Yusef too is entertaining tonight.’
‘It doesn’t do for a priest to be choosy,’ Father Rank said, ‘but I find your dinner more digestible.’ His hollow laugh swung through the room.
‘Is it as bad as all that being seen at Yusef’s?’
‘It is, Mr Wilson. If I saw you there, I’d say to myself, “Yusef wants some information badly about cottons—what the imports are going to be next month, say—what’s on the way by sea, and he’ll pay for his information.” If I saw a girl go in, I’d think it was a pity, a great pity.’ He took a stab at his plate and laughed again. ‘But if Tallit went in I’d wait to hear the screams for help.’
‘If you saw a police officer?’ Tallit asked.
‘I wouldn’t believe my eyes,’ the priest said.
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