Heart of the Night

7

The office attorney was at the center of activities. He was in charge of minor cases that were quite suitable for a young lawyer at the beginning of his career. I was, in fact, his assistant, and my work revolved around his activities. But my office became the meeting place for my friends, especially those whose opinion I sought while studying law. They were originally distant travel companions, but throughout our regular meetings they achieved the political conquest of my soul.

“I want you to know that I was not totally disconnected from politics, as you might think. Among the numerous guests in my grandfather’s house, I met those who shared the same ideas as these new companions. They praised the elite, who, in their view, must rule for the benefit of the elite, for the masses, and for the homeland. The discussion often revolved around the charter, not as a base for a government of the people, but as a document that validated the elite’s rule and confirmed them vis-à-vis the ruler. It was as if the field of government was available only for the ruler and the elite.

“I admired their grandiose looks, their thick mustaches, and their tidy beards. They would debate quietly, and spoke extensively about knowledge and education, about study missions and the renewal of religious thinking. They never made a secret of their disdain for the riffraff and their rule. They insisted on the necessity of a long-term education for the people, and a continuous awareness that would allow them a modest participation in political life.

“One evening, I heard my grandfather ask them, ‘Politics in your opinion is therefore like Sufism, inaccessible to outsiders?’

“They answered in the affirmative, which made my grandfather wonder, ‘Who would look after the interests of the commoners?’

“‘We are the owners of the agencies that matter,’ they replied. ‘We are the masters of agriculture, trade, and industry. As for the masses, they do not need more than a craft to earn a living, and some services.’

“I was convinced by that theory, and accepted it as the best means to run matters in an orderly fashion. I thanked God for being a member of the elite and not the masses.

“Exciting times arrived then, as the voice of the people rose high and filled the space. The masses demonstrated in large numbers, pouring in like a flood. I watched them from the roof of my grandfather’s palace, surprised and happy.

“Despite all that, I was never drawn to the political realm. I was convinced that I could experience life, its good and its bad, without ever getting involved in politics.

“I became, unexpectedly, strongly involved in politics for the first time, in my office in Bab al-Khalq. I struggled with the concepts of liberalism, socialism, communism, anarchism, the Salafiya movement, and fascism. I found myself in a raging whirlwind that made my head spin. Following my belief in the holiness of the mind, I turned to it for guidance in the midst of that turmoil.

“One day I was reviewing various ideologies with Professor Saad Kabir. His is the only name I will mention, because of the dangerous role he played in my life, while the others had a minimal impact on me.

“‘What are you?’ he asked me.

“‘Nothing,’ I said hesitantly.

“‘It is death,’ he said, furious. He was a very sensitive man, and extremely nervous, despite his intelligence and vast knowledge. I objected, saying, ‘But I am a diligent student who worships the mind.’

“‘Can the mind fulfill its purpose without providing an opinion on the system of human rule?’

“‘But … but politics serve specific interests,’ I said.

“‘Interests guide the average person to his political party, but a bright mind is able to discriminate between good and evil,’ he explained.

“Smiling, I asked, ‘In your opinion, in what direction are my interests guiding me?’

“‘With the mind you should be able to go beyond your position,’ he replied.

“‘I have to give myself more time for reflection,’ I said.

“I shared my concerns with Huda, since she was my best friend. I had no secrets from her. She said without hesitation, ‘I’ve noticed that politics is destructive to the mind.’

“My answer reflected my inner struggle, as I said to her, ‘This depends on the mind itself.’

“She spoke with conviction: ‘In politics, the mind finds itself in an ordeal.’

“‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But running away from it is not the solution.’

“I must admit that thinking had become an intrinsic part of my life, and I was strongly challenged by what I had heard in my office. I started wondering about the significance of all that. Despite the reciprocal and sincere feelings of friendship between my friends and me, I had no doubt that some of them regarded my higher social class with true dislike. As a result, I began for the first time to consider this situation as the source of a socio-political struggle. It was as if I had awakened to find myself lying over the mouth of a volcano.

“As the grandson of al-Rawi, I belonged to the feudalistic class. This put my interests in agreement with the rule of the elite, and might not differ sharply from the religious Salafi ideology. But I did not agree with popular liberalism. As for the communists and the socialists, they were my natural enemies — it was like the enmity between cat and mouse. This was my thinking, but I wondered if I would be able to use the mind to assess those different sects in all honesty. Or would I be betrayed by emotions and use the mind as a clever slave? I could seek peace by avoiding politics, but I believed that this position was not in any way compatible with the respect and veneration of the mind. Politics was life.

“My dialogue with Saad Kabir continued as I found in his position the true challenge, a forceful confrontation. I told him once, ‘Politics is a vast world whose charms are distributed between all ideologies!’

“His dark face and small features became stiff. ‘You are forgiven your hesitation, because an idea needs an incubation period.’

“‘Be patient with me,’ I said. ‘I find the elite noble, cultured, and possessed of a historical authenticity.’

“‘It is possible, in a fair social system, for everyone to rise to the level of the elite,’ he said.

“I thought about that, then said, ‘There are freedom, values, and human rights of great beauty in liberalism.’

“‘This was all used to serve the interests of a special social class,’ he said.

“I said, with the same sincerity, ‘There is in communism full justice that provides human ideologies with the possibility to open up and thrive.’

“‘That is probably the least that can be said about it.’

“I continued, ‘And in religion there are countless balanced benefits.’

“He lost his temper. ‘Damn it!’ he said.

“Disregarding his anger, I said, ‘We seek the truth no matter how long we fumble.’

“Huda was an authentic libertarian and considered the British system ideal. She was following my reflections with concerned interest. I asked her one day, ‘Why are you worried, Huda?’

“‘Thinking about politics,’ she said sincerely, ‘might be followed by political activities, and it is a matter not devoid of danger.’

“I took a deep breath. ‘Safety is a beautiful thing, but there are in life things more important than safety.’

“‘This is why I sometimes feel that my happy household is facing a threat,’ she said.

“I kissed her and said, ‘Be courageous, as I have always known you to be.’

“‘It is fashionable nowadays for young people to believe in communism,’ she told me.

“‘I only think, my darling, and I am not concerned by what is fashionable in any way whatsoever.’

“And so I went on studying and thinking.”

At this point Jaafar laughed so loudly that his voice disturbed both those sleeping and those roving this historical district.

“What is so funny?” I asked.

“I will tell you a secret I never shared with anybody, not even with my friendly wife,” he replied.

“Truly?”

“It once occurred to me that there were some similarities between my life and that of the Prophet!”

He paused, but when I did not comment, he carried on. “My father died when I was quite young and my mother died when I was hardly five. It was my grandfather who raised me. I viewed my departure from my grandfather’s house as a kind of emigration.”

“But the Prophet did not emigrate for the sake of adventure,” I said.

“Of course not, of course not. It is merely a resemblance, not a conformity between the two lives. There was my marriage to an honorable upper-class woman who was older than me. She provided me with opportunities to study and reflect. I considered all that, but then it occurred to me that I was also a man with a mission.”

“A religious mission?” I asked, laughing.

“Let’s say a mission of a new kind. I was fascinated by the idea, and it quickly enthralled me. I pursued my studies and reflection, and continuously reminded myself of the tricks of instincts and emotions in order to purify my thinking and keep it unblemished.

“My first conclusion was related to our social order, which I found to be illogical, unjust, and responsible for all our ills: our poverty, illiteracy, and sickness. I also concluded that I was not a member of the elite as I had often thought, but a member of a gang. Huda objected to this description and alluded to her ancestors’ honorable origins. I analyzed the sources of wealth — gifts, opportunism, exploitation, oppression, and force — until I was convinced that there was no legal wealth in the strict meaning of the word.

“Saad Kabir encouraged me: ‘This is a good direction and promises a happy ending, but you have to start with argumentative materialism and historical materialism.’

“I told him with confidence, ‘I have the same position regarding all philosophies, and Marxist philosophy is only one of many philosophies. Why does it have to turn into a creed, and why does it impose itself by force and dictatorship?’

“‘It is not a philosophy. It was revealed through the heaven of theoretical reflection, to be applied to people’s lives. Let’s give humanity hope. It deserves to be an article of faith.’

“I said, reluctantly, ‘To make an authoritative assertion in favor of materialism is not more powerful, in the realm of the mind, than confirming authoritatively the existence of God.’

“‘You are still an idealist.’

“I shouted, ‘Do not throw strange accusations at me. Stay within the limits of an objective discussion.’

“He calmed down and advised me to study. ‘You need more lessons,’ he said.

“‘But I am not convinced by that theory, while I consider social justice to be obvious without the need for a theory.’

“I devoted more time to my studies. My heart became an arena for a hellish struggle. During this period I spent little time with my wife and rarely played with my children. I was overcome with the idea of a mission as a promising and powerful force, albeit a modest mission, because I vowed to save humanity only in Egypt. I was constantly thinking and rethinking, warning myself repeatedly lest my thinking slide down the slippery roads of emotions and inherited beliefs. Finally I decided to write down my thoughts to ensure clarity in my thinking.”

I asked Jaafar if he had done so.

“Yes,” he said.

“Did you publish them in a book?”

“No, my circumstances did not make it possible.”

“Do you remember their content?” I asked.

He laughed, and quickly summarized his thoughts: “I presented a concise survey of the history of political and social movements, from feudalism to communism. Then I described my project based on three tenets: a philosophical principle, a social doctrine, and a system of government. The adoption of a philosophical principle is left to the interested person to choose, whether it is materialism, spiritualism, or even Sufism. The social doctrine is communist in its essence. It is based on collective ownership, the abolishment of private property and inheritance, total equality, and the elimination of all forms of exploitation. It is guided by the following motto: ‘From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.’ As for the system of government, it is democratic, based on the multi-party system, the separation of power, and the protection of all sorts of freedom — except free ownership — and human values. One can generally say that my system is the logical heir of Islam, the French Revolution, and the communist revolution.

“I gave a copy of the manuscript to Saad Kabir and told him that it contained my opinion. He was surprised and couldn’t believe I’d written it.

“I told him, ‘Your famous characterizations, such as bourgeois, conciliatory, and unifier, won’t deter me. I have the right to formulate a new doctrine if I am not convinced by the existing ones.’

“He became suspicious and said carefully, ‘On condition that you create a real new doctrine and not concoct one out of existing doctrines.’

“‘All doctrines are subject to a give-and-take process,’ I said angrily.

“Saad Kabir read the manuscript in my office in a little over two hours. When he finished, he took a deep breath and muttered, ‘It is no use.’

“I was waiting eagerly for his opinion. He muttered again, as if talking to himself, ‘It is a mixture of fish, milk, and tamarind.’

“‘Explain!’ I said.

“He spoke nervously. ‘Concocted daydreams, imagination, an assemblage of discordant ideas. It is nothing.’

“‘Is this your final opinion?’ I asked.

“‘What did you expect?’

“‘I expected you to be convinced by what I wrote.’

“‘And then?’

“‘Then we can form an association, an organization, or a party,’ I explained.

“He laughed coldly. ‘What a pity!’

“I said, angry again, ‘You all are devoid of a free will and the capacity to think!’

“He replied, adopting a very serious tone, ‘You at least know that my colleagues and I are serious; that we risk our lives and believe in the human being.’

“‘I believe in the human being more than you do,” I said, ‘and I do not believe that a true believer in the human being can accept a dictatorial regime. I, too, am serious, and am willing to risk my life.’

“‘What are you planning to do?’ he asked.

“‘I want to form an association or a political party.’

“‘When he got up to leave, he said sternly, ‘We will come back to this, again and again.’

“Before I called for the formation of an association, I consulted with my wife. She was extremely disturbed, having read the manuscript carefully. She told me, ‘You are a man of law and you know that the constitution of this country considers communism a crime.’

“‘Communism is one thing and my doctrine is something else.’

“‘You are calling for a communist social order, and this is what matters for the law and those who wrote it.’

“‘I can change the phrasing of the second clause. I find the word socialism acceptable, and though I believe in God, I do not want to impose religion on anyone. Furthermore, I am attached to the democratic system as it is applied in the West. Won’t all that protect me from suspicion?’

“‘I do not think so, my darling,’ she said. ‘I see you truly as a pure communist in the fundamental matter, which concerns the haves and the have-nots.’

“‘The problem, Huda, is that you do not believe in me.’

“‘I believe in democracy,’ she said, ‘and I consider the democratic system missing only the humane protection of the masses in order to reach perfection. I have no doubt that an English citizen, for example, has a better life than a Russian citizen.’

“‘I do not share that belief,’ I said.

“She replied, somewhat despondent, ‘Well, we have agreed on everything up till now; I suppose it is time for us to disagree!’

“Meanwhile, Saad Kabir was trying to convince Huda to adopt Marxism.

“Huda and I often invited our friends to dinner at our house. I invited Muhammad Shakroun to join us, but he did not appreciate their company and found their discussions boring.

“You should probably know more about Saad Kabir. He was among the friends who came to my office for discussions. They represented all doctrines, even the feudal system of the past, but Saad Kabir was most concerned about my fate. He was a proselytizing lawyer, well versed in his field, extremely cultured, and greatly appreciated in debates and lectures. He was irascible by nature, tenacious, clinging obdurately to his beliefs. He was one of those single-minded people who never hesitated to destroy his enemy by any means, whether through rhetorical skills or illogical arguments. His destructive tendencies upset those, like myself, who respected the mind and worshiped it.

“I noticed in Huda’s eyes a certain admiration for him. She easily gave in to his forceful and enthusiastic arguments.

“One day, Muhammad Shakroun told me that he did not like my friends.

“‘They are kind,’ I said.

“‘Maybe,’ he replied, ‘but the man called Saad Kabir is not kind.’

“‘But he is an excellent man in every sense of the word.’

“‘Maybe, but he is more clever than necessary.’

“I laughed and agreed with him, but he went on, saying, ‘Do not open your door to just anybody.’

“I felt in his words a kind of warning. Curious, I asked him what he meant.

“He tried to dodge the question, saying, ‘I simply do not trust him.’

“‘Explain,’ I said vehemently.

“‘He is the conceited type and is not worthy of your trust.’

“‘You mean more than what you are saying.’

“‘Not at all, and I swear by the head of al-Hussein!’

“After this conversation, I could not go back to my previous trust of Saad Kabir, and started observing what was going on around me, carefully and suspiciously. My dignity did not permit me, however, to change the order of things. Had I done so, I would have upset Huda, a decent lady, and I would have lost her respect. But I continued watching Saad Kabir when he was at our home, consumed by anxiety and vigilance. He would get absorbed in his discussions with Huda, and she with him. I noticed that she liked his rhetorical style. It invigorated her, and she seemed always eager for more. At the end of one of those evenings, I said to her, ‘I won’t be surprised if you suddenly tell me that you are a communist.’

“She asked, smiling, ‘Were you fooled by my interest in his conversation?’

“‘And the way you were moved by it,’ I said.

“‘He is an excellent man,’ she replied. ‘That is why I feel sorry for him.’

“Huda was in her early fifties at that time, and Saad Kabir was in his thirties. Though I had nothing left in my heart for Huda but a deep friendship, I worried. I wondered what Shakroun had meant, if he had noticed more than I did, and if he hid anything from me. Was Huda going through a midlife crisis? But she had always been a model of wisdom and poise, and continued to be. I could not find any reason to suspect Saad Kabir. Not a glance, a gesture, or a word. Despite all that, my sacred mind was shaken, and I fell victim to mysterious, brooding emotions.

“Then the tragedy hit me like an earthquake, without any warning.”

Jaafar fell into total silence.

I repeated, “A tragedy?”

He laughed, but did not utter a word. I asked again, “A tragedy?

What did you say?”

“The tragedy occurred as I was getting ready to form my political party,” he replied.

“What happened?”

He sighed, then explained: “I was getting ready to embark on a battle, to defy the left and the right. I was alone in my office with Saad Kabir. Our conversation was heated, a normal thing for him but unusual for me. He said, ‘You think that you are the author of a metaphysical social political doctrine, but any doctrine would require a whole life to formulate. The reader, on the other hand, gleans all the different doctrines during a year or two, and might consider participating in an election that he believes to be an exercise in rational thought, whereas it is merely a process to combine all the contradictory doctrines that people can conceive. This would provide us with as many doctrines as there are literate people in the world.’

“‘Insolent, rude!’ I shouted.

“He looked at me in shock. ‘What?’

“I repeated, ‘Insolent, rude.’

“‘Have you forgotten that you are talking to your teacher?’ he said angrily.

“I jumped at him and slapped him, and he slapped me back. We engaged in a frightening fight, and there was no one to separate us. I was stronger than he but he was younger than me, and when I started gasping, I grabbed the letter opener.”

Jaafar was silent for a long time. When he spoke again, I tried to imagine the scene as he described it: “I can’t forget his face. I mean, after I dug the sharp letter opener into his neck. His face slowly lost its life and fell into the depths of darkness. He stopped fighting back and submitted to the unknown, leaving behind his debates, his bright mind and glory. Everything came to an end.”

“You killed a man, Jaafar!” I shouted.

“Yes, Jaafar al-Rawi had become a killer.”

“What a pity!” I said.

Jaafar went on describing the crime scene: “I stood there, looking at his body lying between the desk and the leather sofa, in a state of eternal icy dazedness. I felt as if I had unloaded in one move all of life’s burdens and emotions. Then I plunged, suddenly, into the depths of the world of knowledge; and I saw through a crack in its crumbling wall the phantom of the tragedy running away from me, running to a different and opposite universe with which I had no human contact. Then I heard a voice, maybe my own voice or maybe someone else’s, shouting, ‘Oh my blessed mind, why have you abandoned me?’”

“What a pity,” I said again.

“From the head of a party to a life sentence.”

After a short but intense silence, I asked him, “Was there an excuse for the murder?”

“On the one hand, there is always a justification for killing; but on the other hand, nothing justifies a murder.”

I rephrased my question. “I mean, did you find anything to confirm your suspicions about your wife and therefore justify the murder?”

“Believe me, there was nothing at all. My wife’s breakdown over her concern for me confirmed my stupidity. It was as if the tragedy had occurred to ridicule the worshiper of the mind, that was all.”

“Was there any mention of your suspicions during the trial?” I asked.

“No, and I categorically refused that approach. The case was presented as a struggle between two communists that led to murder. In prison, I insisted on the status of a political criminal, but they considered me plainly and simply a killer. To this day I consider myself a political criminal. What do you think?”

“You are probably a semi-political criminal,” I said.

“But if it were not for politics, the crime would not have occurred.”

“Maybe. But what was your grandfather’s reaction?” I asked.

“A few days before the accident, Muhammad Shakroun informed me that my grandfather was very ill, and suggested I visit him together with Huda and my children. I discussed the matter with Huda and she welcomed the idea. We postponed the visit to Friday, but the crime occurred on Thursday evening, and I never received a word from him. I do not even know if he learned of my crime.

“Though I requested to be treated like a political criminal in prison, there is no difference between the treatment of the political criminal and of the regular criminal. My request made me the subject of ridicule and jokes, and I was punished with lashes for causing commotion. Huda visited me only once.”

“Why did she stop after that?”

“She passed away,” he said.

He continued telling me his story: “I was very sad and I worried about the children. But Muhammad Shakroun told me that the children’s maternal aunt had offered to care for them and had taken them to Minya to live with her. I have no doubt that they forgot me very quickly, as I had forgotten my mother. In a second visit, Shakroun told me that he was going on a tour in North Africa, and that was the last I heard from him. Jaafar al-Rawi died, and so did the world outside the walls of the prison.

“I promoted my new doctrine in prison, but was faced with ignorance, passivity, and sarcasm. I even extended an invitation to join my party to the prison warden, who was kind to me because of my family background, my profession, and my bad luck.

“My eyesight weakened in prison, and I contracted many illnesses. I left in the condition you see me in today.”