The Jokers - Albert Cossery [28]
Like any intellectual worthy of the name, Urfy had also fought for the people in his youth. But his unassuming air, his shyness and fear of attracting attention made him all but invisible to the police, who cared more about revolutionary looks than about actual revolutionary fervor. As a result, he’d never gone to jail. Now his curiosity was piqued; he realized he could learn from Karim’s experiences. He pressed Karim’s shoulder, encouraging him to continue.
“Tell me about it.”
“Well,” resumed Karim, “I’d seen the people as I’d wanted to see them, consumed by hatred and dreaming of revenge. And I wanted to help them carry out that revenge. I thought they were oppressed—but then I realized they were freer than I was. You wouldn’t believe how they laughed when I tried to explain that I was in prison because of my political ideas. It was a disaster; they thought I was an idiot. And I thought that by announcing my revolutionary position—how I was declared an enemy of the government—I’d earn their respect! How presumptuous! They’d always known that the government was a joke. But with all of my intelligence, I’d taken it seriously! I felt like an ass, playing the martyr to the working class. I was the only one who took the government seriously.”
“What a blow to your ego!” Urfy observed. “I bet you weren’t happy about it.”
“At first, no. But then my position began to seem silly. Soon I was laughing at everything, too, and in the end I was converted. And there was plenty to laugh about, believe me. It’s amazing the different characters you meet in prison! Their ideas about the government were fantastic—it was nothing more than a bunch of perverts. I loved everything I heard.”
“So prison was a decisive experience for you.”
“It was a start. And then I met Heykal.”
At the mention of Heykal, Urfy flinched. He withdrew his hand from the younger man’s shoulder and went back to contemplating his worn-out shoes. He thought of the pleasure Heykal must have felt hearing Karim talk about his time in prison; it was a story that would feed right into his endless appetite for the ironic. Urfy refused to be seduced by the strange buffoonery of the world; he actually fought against the temptation of enjoying it too much. He was well aware that the world was ruled by idiots and crooks who deserved no respect, but this gave him no pleasure; instead, he felt the full bitterness of the situation. Unlike Heykal, he would try at times to find a semblance of sincerity or justice in human institutions. Sadly, facts always proved Heykal right—he triumphed at every turn. And it wasn’t just that he triumphed; he shocked Urfy with his mania for seeking out the sick, risible side of every activity—as if to find the slightest grain of sanity in the whole comic routine might spoil his happiness. But Urfy was often incensed. In spite of everything he held on to a vague hope, and this condemned him to moral isolation from his friends—men whom he loved and admired.
“So,” he finally said, “tonight’s the night? You’ll be able to do it?”
“I’ll print enough,” Karim said, “for us to start postering tonight. But we should get going. I’ll need your help—to correct the proofs at least.”
“Where’s the printshop?”
“In a warehouse near the port that belongs to Khaled Omar. He should be coming with Heykal to meet us there this evening.”
“So Heykal’s coming?”
“For sure. He has to give us his final instructions. Did you know this is only the beginning, that Heykal has other projects in mind? Just thinking about it keeps me up at night!”
Karim’s enthusiasm for Heykal’s genius prevented him from noticing the look of sadness on the schoolmaster’s face. Karim was so happy to be caught up in the whole giant hoax that