The Jokers - Albert Cossery [22]
“That’s all over. Now we’re going to inaugurate an unprecedented campaign of subversive propaganda, the likes of which no secret police in the world has ever seen. For starters, I’ll print posters featuring the governor’s portrait with some words in his praise. The text will be so ridiculously laudatory, even the most naive citizens will laugh. With the help of some friends, we’re going to put them up on every wall in the city. Do you understand the impact this will have?”
“Of course. Everyone in the city will think the governor had the posters printed to bolster his image.”
“And why not! Has anyone ever known revolutionaries to attack a government with praise? Another thing: the governor himself will assume it’s the work of some well-meaning supporters. He’ll be flattered—that’s for sure. He’s too stupid to get it right away. But even if he did understand, it would be hard for him to take action against us. We’ll go on soft-soaping him indefinitely—and what’s the risk? They won’t dare charge us with praising the governor too much—although I’ll happily praise him in front of any tribunal. But it won’t come to that.”
“Your words fulfill my every hope!” said Khaled Omar. “By Allah, I don’t know what to say!”
“And that’s not all,” Heykal went on. “These posters are only the beginning. I have other ideas. In a word, we’re going to make the governor infamous across the country. He’ll become such a laughingstock that the government will have to strip him of power.”
Khaled Omar was wriggling in his seat, ever more captivated by his companion’s diabolical perversity. And yet there was an important flaw in Heykal’s logic. To plot the destruction of a man as entertaining as the governor: Wouldn’t that work against their common desire? The thought silenced him momentarily.
“Let me ask you: Do you really want him to disappear?”
“To tell the truth, no. Where will we find a buffoon to match him? But in the end, unfortunately, we’ll be forced to give him up. There’ll be no choice.”
“I’m getting the feeling,” said Khaled Omar, “that I’m finally going to have some real fun.”
A young goddess sailed toward the terrace, her breasts bobbing in her blouse like a ship on the high seas. Then, like a fleeting vision of debauchery, she was gone, leaving innumerable passions stranded in her wake. Right away the customers at a neighboring table started analyzing her beauty like real connoisseurs, and when they got to her rear end, it was as if they’d discovered the fundamental truth of the universe. A vigorous debate rich in imagery ensued, and no insult was spared when any disagreement arose in the course of their critique, which extended to the most intimate details of the unknown young woman’s body.
“Women,” said Heykal. “Aren’t they enough for you?”
“I love women,” responded Khaled Omar. “But they’re nothing compared with the delights you propose.”
“Are you married?”
“Of course. I’m a respectable businessman! But I should explain: It’s not always the same model. I’m not one of those rich imbeciles who changes his car each year while keeping the same wife. Me, I change wives each year—and I don’t even own a car.”
“I’m happy for you,” said Heykal.
“Sometimes I get rid of them even quicker. Women age faster than cars, believe me.”
After a pause, he began again.
“Let’s get back to business. What do you need from me?”
“What I need,” said Heykal, “shouldn’t be very difficult to find for a man with your resources. First I need a printing press, then a private place to do our work. Can you provide that?”
“Anything you wish. You’ll have the printing press in two or three days at the latest. Isn’t there anything else I can do?”
“That’s all for now. Thank you. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“I assume you’ll write the text for the poster?”
“No, not me. I’m going to ask one of my friends to do it. A schoolmaster named Urfy. Maybe you know him.”
“I know him very well. I’m one of his students; I’m going to him to learn to read.”
“You’re going to Urfy’s school!” exclaimed Heykal with genuine admiration. “My word! You’re a remarkable man.