The Jokers - Albert Cossery [10]
“Look. You see these kites; I made them. There are no others like them, not even abroad. I have orders from every corner of the world. Soon I’m going to have to take on some help.”
The policeman, who still didn’t want to believe this story, stared at the two kites like objects in a dream. As much as he wanted to write a positive report, he knew he could never demonstrate that the manufacture of kites constituted honest work. And yet, he thought, these kites—someone made them; they didn’t grow on trees. But how could he tell his superiors that a former revolutionary, a subversive spirit, had devoted himself to such a pursuit, without drawing any suspicion to himself?
“It’s not serious,” he said. “If I put this in my report, I’ll be the one accused of making fun of the authorities.”
“But why? There’s nothing bad about it. It’s a modest living, of course, but it gives joy to thousands of children who play with kites. How can you hold it against me, Your Excellency, that I’m interested in making children happy? Today’s children are tomorrow’s heroes, right? I understand that to a casual observer these kites seem like a childish pastime. But when you think about it, you begin to understand that in practicing this peaceful sport, the children acquire a robust constitution and a healthy view of society, which helps to turn them into good, law-abiding citizens. In other words, as you can’t help but see, I labor in the national interest.”
The policeman listened to this long outburst with growing discomfort; this young man surprised him more and more. If he wasn’t a revolutionary, he had to be, at the very least, quite mad. The policeman thought about his report; he foresaw problems.
“If I may,” broke in Karim after a silence.
“Please.”
“Do you have children?”
Now he was asking personal questions. What next? Was his wife pretty?
“Yes, I have children. May God preserve them.”
“How old are they?”
“The oldest is thirteen.”
“What a marvelous coincidence! Would you permit me to offer them one of these kites? It would be an honor as well as a pleasure.”
The policeman resisted, but politely, not making a fuss.
“If I’m not mistaken, this is an attempt to bribe an officer of the law. I will be obliged to mention it in my report.”
“To bribe you!” exclaimed Karim. “May the sky fall on my head! Your Excellency, you’ve hurt my feelings. Believe me, I love children. So much so that whenever I see one, tears spring to my eyes. I don’t understand how you could misconstrue my offer as an attempted bribe. It was an impulsive gesture; my intentions were noble and pure. I’ll be insulted if you reject my humble offering.”
And, once again, his eyes filled with tears!
This was a terrible test of the will. The whole investigation was disconcerting—it was so out of the ordinary. Could the young man be in earnest? The policeman thought it was possible. Those proud, stubborn revolutionaries would never talk like this, let alone break down and cry. That was evidence enough that he wasn’t mistaken. But strangely this certitude—he didn’t know why—made him sad. What would happen to the world if all the revolutionaries repented and reformed? It seemed to him that a light, somewhere, would go out.
Karim had put one of the kites back on the pile; he held the other out to the policeman, in a beseeching gesture. His face wore an expression of intolerable moral suffering.
“You can’t do this to me!”
The officer’s compassionate character made him vulnerable. He felt vaguely guilty of impoliteness. The most basic civility demanded that he not refuse a gift offered with such fervor.
Perhaps it was the very meagerness of the gift that finally convinced him to accept. He coughed to clear his voice.
“Well, then, thank you. But I’ll take the smallest one.”
“I am your servant,” Karim blurted out. “You do me unspeakable honor.”
Taking the policeman by the arm, he invited him to choose. The policeman, after a moment