The Jokers - Albert Cossery [54]
“Heykal effendi,” he began. “I came here—”
“I know why you came,” Heykal interrupted, speaking in a soft voice, raising his hand in a gesture of peace. “That can wait. First let me simply enjoy the pleasure of your company.”
“What infinite generosity!” Taher resumed. “But that’s enough for now, I’m sorry to say. What I want is an explanation. I’ve already told this turncoat”—he pointed at Karim—“just what I think of what you’ve done. It’s a complete disaster. The police think we did it, and that’s an insult to our honor as revolutionaries. What kind of game do you think you’re playing?”
Heykal bore up under this brutal, but impulsively frank, attack with a smile of exquisite politeness. So Taher had come to defend his revolutionary honor! He didn’t want the police to take him for a joker—that was all he cared about. And what ardor and enthusiasm his voice revealed when it came to the insult to his honor! He needed those criminals to respect him! How pathetic for a rebel! Even he couldn’t break out of the vicious cycle of power. He played the game of honor and dishonor, just as he’d been taught to do. He’d never escape. He was more of a prisoner than a prisoner in a cell because he shared the same myths as his adversary; they grow and grow and surround everything like unbreachable walls. Heykal hoped that his gaze wasn’t too visibly ironic; he didn’t want to let his guest down.
“Games,” he said, looking pensive. “You’re right to talk about that. Because we’re all playing a game, aren’t we, Taher effendi? I profoundly regret that my game has given you offense and caused you trouble. But any man has the right to express his rebellion in his own way. Mine is what it is; at least it doesn’t harm the innocent.”
“How infantile!” Taher retorted disdainfully. “I don’t doubt your intelligence, Heykal effendi, not in the least. But excuse me if I tell you that you’re just having fun while the people are suffering from oppression. Fun is no way to fight. Violence must be met with violence. And forget about innocence!”
“Violence will never get to the bottom of this absurd world,” Heykal responded. “That’s just what these tyrants want: for you to take them seriously. To answer violence with violence shows that you take them seriously, that you believe in their justice and their authority, and it only builds them up. But I’m cutting them down.”
“I don’t see how! There is no historical basis to what you do—to your insipid farces!”
“How? It’s easy. By letting the tyrants lead the way and being even stupider than they are. How far will they go? Well, I’ll go farther. They’ll have to prove themselves the greatest buffoons of all! And my pleasure will be that much greater.”
“But the people!” cried Taher. “The poor people! You forget about them. They’re not laughing!”
“Teach them to laugh,” Taher effendi. “Now that is a noble cause.”
“I don’t know,” said Taher in a strangled voice. “I’ve never learned to laugh. And I don’t want to.”
He said it regretfully, as if ending a painful and impossible love. Heykal felt his happiness melt away. It was true Taher didn’t know how to laugh—one look at him and you could see it. In a state of constant tension about the battles to come, always plotting and scheming, worried out of his mind by the thought of the misery of the people—he was doomed to unhappiness. He was the perfect manager of the revolution. Nothing mattered apart from his job: that of a predestined savior, walled in by self-regard. Pure egotism! The worst kind of egotism, since by definition it depended on a multitude of other people—whole groups of people—in order to thrive and prosper!
“Well,” Heykal said, “I’m afraid the tyrants will make