The Jokers - Albert Cossery [47]
Hatim signaled for Karim to sit back down.
“By God!” said Hatim. “You surprise me more and more.”
“Why, Your Excellency?”
“It’s hard for me to believe that you would come to this: kissing the governor’s hand!”
“That’s not in the least surprising,” said Karim. “The governor is our father, a father to all of us; at least, that’s how I see it.”
Hatim thought for a second. His interest in the young man intensified. In the horrifying light of the immeasurable degradation here spread before his eyes, he began to see an escape from the private calvary of dutiful public servant. Maybe all was not yet lost.
“So since that’s the way it is, maybe we can collaborate. You wouldn’t like it, would you, if your father—as you put it—were the object of vicious attacks?”
“Of course not. But what can I do?”
“I’d like to know your opinion of certain posters that have recently appeared on the walls of the city.”
“What posters?” Karim asked innocently.
“Allow me to enlighten you,” said Hatim. “These posters feature the governor’s portrait and praise him in glorious terms, too glorious to be sincere. Have you seen them?”
“Those posters, Your Excellency? Those are beautiful posters! Every time I see one, I stop to read it. I’ve learned the text by heart, in fact. Would you like me to recite it?”
“Save yourself the trouble. Instead can you tell me who’s behind them? Who’s printing them? Who’s putting them up on walls all over the city?”
“But, Your Excellency, I assumed it was the government. The posters say nothing but good about our kind governor!”
“You’re mistaken. The government didn’t print these posters! Don’t you think it’s your old comrades who made them?”
“What a thought!” exclaimed Karim. “I don’t know what to say! Why would my old comrades sing the praises of the governor?”
“Maybe they’ve gone mad. I’m trying to understand.”
He was extremely unhappy to reveal to Karim the awkward position the posters had put him in. But the slightest clue could mean an unhoped-for release; if he tracked down the creators of this poisonous panegyric that had the entire police force on alert, his reputation as an astute officer would be beyond all suspicion. In twenty years of working with political offenses he’d never seen anything like this—a problem so serious, and at the same time so delicate, so out of the ordinary, that there was no mention of it in any of the police manuals. Hatim wondered if this wasn’t the beginning of a new revolutionary era—he might have to revise his investigatory technique. A new way of doing things had been born, and there he sat like an idiot, unaware of the birthplace or the identity of the instigators. He was overcome by panic.
“So you know nothing?”
It wasn’t a question so much as a last attempt to seize a bit of the truth. He waited for Karim’s reply without much hope.
“Nothing, Your Excellency,” Karim responded glumly. He gazed at Hatim with an empty, defeated expression.
A painful feeling of failure took hold of Hatim, darkening his already formidable features. The interrogation was ending in weakness and defeat. He had extracted nothing from this repentant revolutionary on his way to the altar, who made kites for the amusement of a bunch of brats. Was it possible to sink lower? He was surprised to feel a sort of regret—in this case particularly absurd. Could he really feel pity for a failed revolutionary? There were plenty of others, all sorts of people seeking revenge, happy to sow the seeds of disorder along the way. And yet something had died: a tiny spark in the raging fire that wanted to set the world ablaze.
He leaned his elbows on his desk, covered his forehead with his hands, and said, without looking at Karim:
“You may leave now.”
Karim got up, made a low bow, turned on his heel, and fled. As he left, he nodded right and left to his unhappy successors. But they paid no attention. Quietly closing the door behind him, as he’d seen the orderly do, he left the room.
A little ways down the avenue, which was now nearly