Street of Thieves Read Online Free Page B

He welcomed these companions as if he were Joseph himself returning from Egypt and finding his brothers again. The Propagation of Koranic Thought became a hive of bearded men.
    I was impatient for all this agitation to be over so I could resume my reading and regain my tranquility. The Group was like a pack of caged animals—they kept pacing in circles, waiting for night and the time for action. They had decided to take advantage of the disorder, the demonstrations and the cops to undertake a “neighborhood cleanup” as they called it. Bassam, anxious to avenge his broken nose on the first person to come along, was on the prowl for fights. They went out in bands of a dozen each, armed with cudgelsand pickax handles after a belligerent, eloquent sermon by Sheikh Nureddin, which talked of the campaigns of the Prophet, the Battle of Badr, the Battle of the Trench, the fight against the Jewish tribe of the Banu Qaynuqa; about Hamza the hero, the glory of the martyrs in Paradise, and about the beauty, the great beauty of dying in battle. Then, very heated after this theoretical warm-up, they would move out into the night almost at a run, with Bassam’s nerves and cudgel in the lead. I heard nothing about the result of their first engagements, except that they would come back happy, out of breath, with no wounded or martyrs. Sheikh Nureddin thought that for safety reasons it was important he not take part in this holy war himself, but would look at me in surprise when I said I preferred to keep him company at the Center. After two nights of fights without any losses, he wanted to lead his troops to victory himself; I was finally prepared to stay alone and peaceful in front of the computer, but one glance from Sheikh Nureddin was enough to convince me that I’d better join them; I was given a club which I hid, like everyone else, under my caftan.
    The expedition could have been amusing; our band, hoods on their heads, beards, long coats, haunting the dark sidewalks, wouldn’t have looked out of place in an Egyptian comedy.
    I hadn’t been warned of the goals; the sermon had mentioned fighting against impiety, sin, and pornography, but nothing more precise. The night was cold and damp. There were six of us, we walked in rows, it began to rain a little, which took away whatever charm the expedition had. The struggle against drunkenness and materialism was not a pleasure outing.
    When I saw that we were turning left two hundred meters from the Koranic Thought, I began to get a little worried; there was one possible target, at the end of the avenue, which I hoped was not ours. But it was. It couldn’t be anything else. Everyone seemed to know where we were going but me; Bassam in the lead, the group advanced unhesitatingly. We reached the bookseller’s shop; he hadclosed the display window because of the rain, but light seeped through the door, despite the late hour; I imagined he was in the process of knocking back one or two bottles of cheap wine while leafing through old Spanish or French magazines of naked girls. And he was in the back of his store, with a bottle of red; he raised his head from his Playboy, looking furious, recognized me, and smiled timidly, disconcerted. Sheikh Nureddin’s eyes were full of scorn, he uttered a brief sermon in classical Arabic, you are the shame of the neighborhood, our neighborhood is respectable, respect God and our neighborhood, Infidel, we are the punishment of Infidels, the ruin of miscreants, leave our neighborhood immediately, respect God, our wives, and our children, the bookseller rolled his wild eyes; they darted very quickly from right to left, rested on Bassam, on me, and returned to the Sheikh reeling off his anathema. He still had his glass in his hand, and his incredulous look, wondering if I was playing a bad joke on him or something of the kind. Then the Sheikh shouted The wrath of God be upon you!, and turned to me, Bassam opened his coat to