Heart of the Night (12 page)

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.”