The Fall of the Imam (13 page)
Instead I became just like you, mother. I even became like my father, I met good faith with treachery. I betrayed the woman who was faithful to me and was faithful to the woman who betrayed me. I ran away from the girl who loved and wanted me and married the first woman who spurned my love and refused me, so that I could become the Great Writer by decree of the Imam and so that, of all the women of the world, I could choose to become enamoured of his wife, just as among all the writing of the world I could choose to write what he dictated to me. Perhaps this was a fair way to divide things up between us, mother. He could take possession of the hearts of the people through me, and I could take over the heart of his wife through him. In any case, many was the time when he said to me, ‘A woman is a body, and apart from that nothing in her appeals to me.’ As for me, all I could see in her were her eyes, blue as the sea. They were there looking at me all the time, and even when I looked into the black eyes of my wife they seemed to turn a deep blue and gaze at me. If I took her in my arms her brown body would become soft and smooth and white like the whitest cream, and she would hear me whisper at the moment of ecstasy, ‘Katie.’ ‘Who is this Katie of yours?’ she would ask angrily, and my tongue would be tied for a long moment before I could say, ‘Where did you hear that name?’ And she would reply immediately, ‘That is the name you whispered when you came with me. Was she your first love, O Great Writer?’ And I caught my tongue just in time before it could say, No, she’s my last love, dear.
For my first love was not called Katie, and in fact I can no longer remember her name, nor can I remember what she looked like exactly. All I can remember is that her face was thin and pale, that her skin was dark and marked with scattered patches in some places, and that she was a country girl who had come to the city. When she bent down to clean the floor with water in a pail, the sight of her naked thighs made the blood rush to my head, then rush down to my lower belly and collect in the area around the gland of Satan. You used to lock the door of the kitchen on her, mother, and take the key, but while you were asleep I used to slip it out of your pocket. When her belly became swollen with child you beat her savagely on her bare feet with a stick made of cane, upon which she confessed that my father was the cause of her pregnancy, so I had nothing to fear. In fact I had seen him take the key from your pocket many a time but said nothing, knowing that you would never listen to me, or that if you listened you would let it pass without saying or doing anything. Little by little I had ceased to talk about such things. I even used to hold back my urine until the morning came instead of going to the toilets in the middle of the night and risk seeing him with another woman. Sometimes it would flow out of me in a slow warm trickle which made my father insist that I was certainly sick, since in addition to walking around in my sleep, I had now got into the bad habit of wetting my bed. The day I answered back and said that I had seen him with that woman, you did not believe me, and instead of standing up for what was right, you trembled all over with fear and let him beat me more cruelly than ever before.
Yes, mother, if you had done what you should have done just once I might have learnt from you. But my father was able to do as he wished with me and so as the days went by, little by little I became like him, doing the things he did, even stealing the key from your pocket. When he saw me take the key he said nothing, and if I saw him I also said nothing, and the day when the Big Feast was being celebrated, her picture came out in the newspapers showing her as she was being stoned to death, big black eyes in a thin pale face staring out at us, arms lifted up to the sky in silent supplication, her knees like her hands wide apart, crying out against aggression as they hurled stone after stone at her body, aiming at the brand of Satan right in the centre. The drums were beating for the Big Feast, and rockets kept shooting up into the sky in celebration of victory, but in my mouth was a bitter taste of defeat as she looked out at me with her eyes like two holes of black fire burning through the newspaper.
I stood in the first row under the lights. Nothing stood between me and the throne except the Chief of Security, and next to the Chief of Security, the Imam himself. In my ears echoed a single shout, God be with you, repeated by a million voices as he stammered slowly through his speech. But I was plunged in silence, for my mind kept straying far away. In my ears I heard the acclamations of the crowd and the sound of shots being fired from a gun. Then I saw his face fall off his body where he stands tall and upright under the sun, and almost immediately afterwards my face fell down, landing by its side on the ground, and I could see his face look at my face from under the seat, and just as he used to do in school, he stammered, ‘Can you make head or tail of all this?’
In those days I used to supply him with all the answers to the examinations, but now I was at a loss what to say, so I remained lying with my face buried in the ground, pretending not to have heard anything. Slowly, a cloud as dark as night crept over the sky, hanging over us like a threat of death. My body became rigid like a wall of rock hemming me in, and the sound of shots being fired echoed again and again, high above the repeated acclamations of the crowd. I called out to you, mother, just as I used to do when I was a child and you came up to me in the dark like a reassuring light. You leant over me and I could see your face in front of my eyes, and I suddenly realized that I had not seen you for twenty years. I moved closer to you, looked up into your face, smoothed away the sleepless nights that had collected around your small eyes and whispered something to you, but you did not answer. I saw myself standing at a distant window looking out over the silent universe and calling out in a clear ringing voice that I had been here before when I was still a child, and that then my heart had been as big as the sun, loving you as much as I loved the fresh morning milk of the cows. But one night I opened my eyes and I saw my father lying in bed shamelessly naked like Satan, and God punished me for opening my eyes since I should have kept them closed and gone on sleeping. Then I no longer loved the fresh morning milk of cows, nor the light of the sun, and the Imam became my closest friend and I began to believe in God and to shout out at the top of my voice like the others, ‘Glory to God, the nation, and the Imam.’
Noises continue to resound loudly all around me, and the acclamations of the people rise in a mighty shout as I stand high up on the platform delivering my combined Big Feast and Victory speech. My voice echoes in my ears with its familiar tones, but I can tell that it is not my voice; it is the voice of he with whom I share being the Imam. I can see his face up in the sky suspended from the arches of victory under the powerful lights of the projectors. He keeps pulling on the muscles of his face to overcome their rigid immobility, so that his mouth can open in a big smile, big and generous enough to express his love of God and of all His creatures on this earth. I am indeed grateful that I can lie here, away from the lights and from the curious eyes of people. Here I can move my arms freely in the air, and my heart feels deeply happy at the thought that, in so far as my people, the state, and the superpowers are concerned, I continue to be there, standing on the platform delivering my Victory Day speech with my supporters in Hizb Allah, my new wife, my Great Writer, my Leader of the Official Opposition, and those who support him in Hizb al-Shaitan gathered around me; whereas I am actually lying here on the ground at the same time, my mind at peace, no longer burdened with the worries of state, or with the problems of foreign debt, or with defeat in war, or the threat of nuclear radiation, or other problems of that kind.
This way I can continue to relax on my back, or roll over on my stomach, and if I wish I can even take off my official clothes and dress like an ordinary man, walk alone without any need for the protection of the Chief of Security or of his agents, whether devils or djinns or otherwise. I can saunter along slowly under the shade of the trees, inhale the fresh air deep into my lungs, and leave the muscles of my face relaxed, for I am not required to smile or to frown in order to inspire in others the awe that has to go with those who sit on the throne; nor do I need to communicate that feeling of decisiveness expected of the Imam, or exhibit the big smile which speaks of his great love of God, of the nation, and of the masses of ordinary citizens over whom he rules. I move my arms up and down freely in the air as I walk along, for none of those who happen to see me knows who I am. My body feels light without all my medals and decorations, and without the bulletproof vest which covered my chest and belly from the top to the bottom like one of those chastity belts that women wear.
Nobody in the whole wide world knows who I am, and nobody stops me on the street to talk to me, or kneels down asking for my blessings or for a raise or a letter of recommendation. My legs move comfortably in my old pair of trousers made of calico, with a tear in the back. I walk around free as the wind, nothing worries me, and I do not fear that someone will recognize me. The muscles of my face are relaxed, since it is no longer supposed to inspire awe or express courage or fear, or weakness, or strength, or anything at all. Now I know what it means to be imbued with the serenity and happiness of the gods, to be full of confidence that the world can carry on without me, and yet at the same time feel that my voice can still be heard broadcast on the radio or through television satellites to the four corners of this world as well as the next world, that my picture continues to flutter on high, surrounded by flags on every side, and that the acclamations of the crowd continue to reach me from afar as I saunter slowly along, enjoying my situation of Imam without actually being the Imam, hearing the acclamations wafted to my ears, without having to suffer the strain of their loud noise.
A small distance away he glimpsed a shadow moving on the shore of the river. At first he thought it was one of those members of Hizb al-Shaitan who had recognized him and was lurking there to kill him. He had always had a fear that someone would penetrate his disguise and discover that he was the Imam, although he was even more afraid of being recognized without his disguise. So he quickly hid behind a tree, almost panting with fear, and fastening his frightened eyes on the shadow, he watched it carefully for some time waiting to see what it might do. At the beginning it looked like a rock, since it seemed to rise up from the ground without showing the slightest movement. But when he looked at it more closely he detected what seemed to be a slight movement, as though the rock was rolling on itself very slowly. He kept his eyes fixed on it to make sure that what he had seen was not an illusion, and after a little while he noticed that the rock was held up by what looked like four columns. For a moment he imagined it was a buffalo moving along the shore of the river, but then he realized that it had no horns and that its head was surrounded by something which resembled a white turban, so it occurred to him that it was probably an old man kneeling on his hands and knees to implore the Imam. At this thought he felt at ease, for the man was surely a member of Hizb Allah and did not represent any danger, so he moved out from behind the tree where he had been hiding and approached, but when he got nearer he realized that it was a woman and not a man, and as soon as he saw her he knew who she was.
She was digging deep down into the ground and was so absorbed that she did not feel him as he drew nearer, so he took advantage of this to try to find out what she was doing before she discovered his presence. He saw her smooth out the ground with the palm of her hand, brushing away the stones and pebbles, then cover the ground with soft earth before she wrenched a small bundle away from her breast and laid it down into the pit she had made, making a place for it with the tips of her fingers before she proceeded to flatten the earth around it and shovel handfuls of fine dust to cover it up. He said to himself, she must be one of the slaves of the land whose husband died in the war or in an epidemic. He moved up closer to where she stood, greeted her, and after praising her for her labours, asked her what it was that she had planted.
‘A hazelnut tree,’ she said.
But, knowing that a hazelnut tree does not bear fruit before a hundred years have passed, he said, ‘I wish you good health, but do you expect to taste the fruits of this tree?’
She had not lifted her eyes to look at him when he spoke to her, but she realized immediately that he was the Imam. ‘I shall not live to see it grow,’ she said.
‘Then why make all this effort to plant a tree?’
‘I am continuing the efforts which others have made before me,’ she said. ‘It was not I who started to plant but my mother, and were it not for her I would not have lived.’
He almost said, It was I who gave you life and not your mother, were it not for the fact that he was wearing his disguise and did not want her to know who he was. He controlled his desire to reveal his authority, thinking that it was better if he kept the information to himself so that he could find out whether she was in Hizb Allah or Hizb al-Shaitan. After that I can leave her in the hands of the Chief of Security, he said to himself. So he coaxed the muscles of his face into a smile and, speaking in a gentle voice as though addressing a child, said, ‘Are you in Hizb Allah or in Hizb al-Shaitan?’
She remained silent, neither saying anything nor raising her eyes to his face. It occurred to him that she must be a member of Hizb Allah and was afraid to reveal the fact to him, lest he be the Devil in person or at least one of the evil spirits. She continued to remain silent, and he began to suspect that she was trying to be cunning and thus, without realizing it, had exposed her true self, so that before much time passed he would find out what it was that she was trying to hide. His eyes kept examining her closely, but he was unable to find anything to indicate that she was really as cunning and wily as he had first thought. On the contrary, her face looked as innocent as a newborn child’s.