At midnight he heard a call to prayer chanted from the minaret of a tiny
mosque in the neighbourhood. The muezzin's voice irritated him. He
did not wish to pray, and he did want to sleep. He swore that it was
insanity for these fools of Mohammedans to declare that prayer was
better than sleep.
Then the thoughts that had agitated him during the walk returned to him.
The Rue des Soeurs was still noisy with merry-makers, and it seemed to
him that if he could only join them he would be happy. But he had no
money, and one can do nothing without money!
Then there came back to him the face of the Englishman he had seen
talking to the violinist of the Paradiso. He hated the man because he
was ugly and rich. These English were all rich, and yet they seemed to
him a miserable race, mere ignorant bullies. He remembered how often he
had come to the help of the English travellers who filled Egypt. Why had
he, he asked himself, for the sake of a miserable reward, prevented them
being cheated, when he, with all his talents, was condemned to starve?
Even his child, he thought, would grow to hate him if he remained poor.
Pages:
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172