Ibrahim Sonallah - The Committee

My heart beat violently and I stepped back from the door, saying in confusion, "Do come in… Do come in… I hadn't expected… I hadn't expected…"

This was true. I had never ever imagined the Committee might visit me at my apartment. Actually, lately I had been so immersed in my work I had almost forgotten its existence and the real purpose of the study I was so caught up in preparing.

The Committee members didn't wait for a second invitation. They sauntered into my small apartment and immediately scattered throughout it. They looked closely at its contents, poking around behind and under my bits of furniture. That single woman and her elderly companion went over the contents of the kitchen, which was located opposite the front door. Meanwhile, two of the three high-ranking officers closed in on my sturdy refrigerator, a product of Egyptian industry in the '60s, and started comparing it with the new imported fridges.

I closed the door and stood there aghast, unable to comprehend. I looked around for their chairman, the one who couldn't see well and only heard with one ear. I didn't find him and concluded that he either hadn't come with them at all, or couldn't climb the stairs because of his age. I did notice the ugly Stubby and his companion with the light-colored eyes. As had happened the previous time, since I couldn't concentrate, and since I was preoccupied with finding an explanation for their unexpected visit, I couldn't tell how many were there.

In a voice I tried to keep steady and resonant, I said, "Shall I make tea or coffee?"

No one answered me. Silence fell. I watched them assemble in front of the rows of books I had placed systematically on the floor of the hallway leading to the bedroom, then rummage through them. I found this a great opportunity-one that hadn't crossed my mindby which they might detect the scope of my study, especially since the books were in several languages and on a wide range of subjects.

Stubby suddenly broke away from the group and, accompanied by his buddy the Blond, headed quickly for the inner room where I worked and slept. I hurried after them.

There were piles of books, newspapers, and magazines all over, but they ignored them, and homed in on the small table I used for writing. There were some files and newspapers on one side and a pile of books with a dictionary on top at the other. In the center was the notebook I had been working on, and beside it the index cards I had been using, along with the shoebox containing the rest of them arranged according to a system I was proud of.

Stubby walked around the table, sat down, and leaned over the index cards, looking them over with interest, unable to conceal his excitement. As for his buddy, he had stopped, stone-faced, to flip through the files and newspapers.

Pulling a large piece of cardboard from between the files, he suddenly said, "What's this?"

He was indicating some pictures cut from pictorial magazines. I had pasted them skillfully onto a piece of paper so that they appeared to be a single picture. The American president Carter was in the center, facing us, looking over our heads, as suits his lofty position. Right next to him was a very small picture of the Israeli prime minister Begin. I had replaced his long trousers with a child's shorts and the two looked like father and son. In a semicircle in front of them I had pasted a collection of pictures of the more prominent personalities of the Arab world: presidents, kings, leaders, intellectuals, and businessmen, genuflecting as if in prayer, thereby presenting us their rear ends.

I answered, smiling, "This is a hobby I engage in from time to time. I cut pictures of famous people out of magazines and glue them onto cardboard, choosing suitable situations. I add other pictures to complete the situations until I get a perfect scene."

He continued looking at the scene with disapproval. After a moment I added, "As you know, there is a whole school of art whose work is founded on a similar basis. At first this appears extremely simple, but to get worthwhile results you have to successfully link originality and novelty on the one hand with profundity on the other."

He didn't say anything, but put the scene aside as though intending to return to it later and resumed looking through my papers.

Stubby now addressed me, not raising his eyes for a moment from the index cards he was giving the onceover. "We never imagined you could collect so much information. It is as admirable as it is unfortunate."

It didn't surprise me that the Committee knew what I was doing, or that Stubby used Arabic, since I was sure the Committee members had mastered it. But his words really alarmed me. I waited anxiously for him to explain what he meant.

He looked directly at me. I discovered for the first time that he was walleyed, which accentuated his ugliness. He went on to say, "We had thought that the obstacles placed in your path would divert you to another subject. In fact, we were in hopes of that, because… because some of our members pinned great hopes on you."

The blood drained from my face and my eyes hung on his ugly eyes. Meanwhile, abandoning the index cards, he pushed his chair backward.

"You can decide for yourself now, whether to persevere or to change your subject. We don't force anyone to do anything."

"After all this time?" I said in agitation. "The year is almost over."

"This is a trivial point. The Committee has the power to give you as much time as you need," he said forcefully.

I clenched my fists. Triumphing over the disgust he engendered in me, I said in an ingratiating voice, "I've covered a lot of ground and am just finishing up."

One of the officers, who had come into the room during the conversation and so heard part of it, said, "Didn't you think about the significance of what you were doing and its effects?"

Defending myself, I said, "My research was strictly objective. I covered nothing but proven facts and logical explanations. I have almost finished collecting and organizing the required information. I need only distill the important points and weave them into a wellordered analysis."

"This is precisely why we want to give you some advice," Stubby said angrily.

The rest of the Committee members had begun to congregate near me. The two women sat on the edge of the bed, and one of the officers sat beside them. Next to them, another officer sat on the armchair. The third officer and some other members joined the Blond at the table. Others leaned on the arms of the chair, the wardrobe, and the door. Stubby held out some index cards. Among them I noticed the ones with the notes from the American magazines. They passed them around in silence, then began to look at me. They formed a semicircle surrounding me.

I faced them again imploringly, "I chose the Doctor after much thought and scrutiny. The selection of the most luminous personality in the Arab world is an exceedingly difficult matter because of the number of countries, the spread of education, the proliferation of communications, and consequently…"

Stubby interrupted me angrily, "And consequently the existence of many luminous personalities. You admit to it."

I answered heatedly, "We will not find a greater luminary than the Doctor, or anyone with a stronger presence anywhere in the Arab world. It would be enough that the idea of Arab unity is inextricably linked with his name. He is one of its foremost advocates, as is well known. What most people don't know and what I have clearly documented is that during this decade, when the demand for Arab unity has declined, he is one of its most prominent advocates and dedicated believers. Even more strikingly, the unity, which was not achieved in the period when its popularity was on the rise, is now being realized even as its popularity declines. This is not immediately apparent to the observer faced with the difference and dissentions prevailing between the various regimes. But when he looks deeper, he finds under that misleading exterior a strong unity, the likes of which we have never before witnessed. That unity, for which the Doctor deserves all the credit, is the unity of foreign commodities used by everyone.