Ibrahim Sonallah - The Committee

I sat down on the edge of the bed, lit a cigarette with trembling fingers, and tried to take in the latest turn of events. Above all, I wanted to understand the new situation. I said to Stubby, who hadn't left his place at the table, "I was honored to welcome you, you and the rest of the Committee members to my apartment. However, there is something I'd like to be sure of. To be specific, reaching a decision in this matter will take some time…

"Take however much time you want. What ultimately counts is that you reach a decision."

"It might require a number of days," I said very suavely.

"You must get it into your head that I will stay here until this thing is wrapped up, even if it takes more than a year. Naturally, the sooner the better for you," he said firmly.

Silence fell briefly while I examined his words and their significance. He resumed speaking, "I have no right to stick my nose in this business of your decision, but I am personally in a position to help you."

"Thank you for your generosity. As long as you're offering to help, what do you propose?"

"We suggested you substitute another personality. The Committee will not oppose any alternative whatsoever. Perhaps you could find a suitable format that would allow you to continue along the same lines."

I saw a glimmer of hope. "That's fine with me. So how shall I do it?"

"That's up to you. Think," he answered, and I sensed a touch of sadistic satisfaction.

I couldn't think, although I gave it the old college try. My throat got drier, so I swallowed several times. Finally I suggested we drink some tea.

"If tea will help you think, I've nothing against it," he said snidely.

I got up right away and left the room. He left his seat and followed me. With him behind me, I went down the hall until I reached the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, watching me. I filled the tea kettle from the tap, put it on the stove, and lit the gas.

I didn't grasp the situation completely until I had to take a leak. I left the kitchen and retraced my steps back along the hall toward the bathroom, which was next to the bedroom. I had no sooner gone into the bathroom and turned to close the door than I found that he had followed me and pushed the door all the way open. He stood in the doorway, near me, until I'd finished my business.

"Did you think I would run away from you?" I said, stepping up to the sink and turning on the tap.

"What I believe is none of your business," he answered insolently.

I washed my hands and face, dried them, then went back to the kitchen with him at my heels.

I made the tea and poured it out, then handed him his cup and picked up mine. I automatically preceded him to the bedroom.

I saw him heading for my seat, so I pulled him up short by saying, "I would like to ask a favor of you."

"What is it?" he said cautiously.

"That you sit in this seat and leave me my place at the table." He looked at me a moment, then his gaze wandered over the room, until it settled on the armchair. He examined it carefully as though looking for some hidden meaning in the request, or some dirty trick. Fi nally he shrugged his shoulders and said, "It doesn't matter to me."

I occupied my favorite place at the table, my back to the final wall of my apartment and the door in front of me. I didn't ordinarily have any peace except in this position.

Since the armchair was near the door, between it and the bed, Stubby was eyeball to eyeball with me. This made me instantly regret trying so hard for an illusory sense of security.

I offered him a cigarette, but he said he didn't smoke so as not to damage his health. I hurriedly lit my cigarette, fearing he would make me comply with his way of thinking. But he was engaged in contemplating the picture of a naked woman hanging above my head.

I commented on his interest, "It's a Mahmoud Saeed, as perhaps you guessed. Its beauty surpasses its magnificent colors and balanced composition. Perhaps you also noticed the vagueness of the gaze and the position of the hands. In my opinion, it could be compared with the famous Mona Lisa."

For the first time a twisted smile appeared on his face. I was surprised when he winked one eye at me and said, "Have you other pictures of this type?"

"I understand what you're getting at. Unfortunately, I'm not overly fond of girly pictures. I prefer reading pornography. I have a collection of such books if you'd like to see them."

"Later," he said. "It seems we'll have plenty of time. However, I don't understand why you object to pinups."

"Because they only portray a static moment which has no depth. A book, on the other hand, sheds some light on human behavior. No matter what levels of vulgarity or excesses of imagination the writer descends to, still he is compelled to draw on real experience, and willy-nilly he reveals a side of the human subconscious through what he discloses of his own. The final result may be a source of knowledge, just as much, of course, as it surely is a source of pleasure."

Apparently he had no desire to continue the discussion, and so concentrated on slurping his tea. His gaze shifted between the books and the recordings that filled the several shelves hanging behind me. I took this as an opportunity to organize the ideas raging in my brain.

I was appalled at the thought of starting over on the study, even assuming I could find a personality to replace the Doctor. This personality would have to have an abundance of those qualities that make the Doctor the most luminous contemporary Arab personality and at the same time excite my interest and passion. And who's to say that if I came across another personality, the Committee wouldn't visit me some months later to demand I replace it again?

My devotion to the Doctor amazed me. It was as though his personality had bewitched me, or as though my existence had become linked to his. Bringing all my thoughts to bear, I saw that I had finally found a meaning in life. It had grown out of the cryptic phenomena which had discouraged me during my research, and out of the strange information I had collected. All my gleanings made it easy for me to perceive many things I had not understood before. I wasn't prepared to give up and return to that aching emptiness in which I had been living. Would a drowning man let go of a life preserver? There was nothing for it but to confine myself to the line of thought my guest had just hinted at.

There was a significance to his proposal and to all the recent developments which did not escape me. The freedom of movement and maneuver granted me up to now, which had enabled me to avoid the growing web of constraints, had decreased to the point of disappearing completely.

This idea annoyed me to the point where I couldn't think anymore. I decided to put it all off until morning, it being my custom to seek refuge in sleep.

"It's late and maybe you'd like a bite to eat," I said to Stubby after a bit.

"Not at all. I ate dinner before I came. You go ahead, if you like."

"I'm worn out. I'm not really hungry and I'd like to get to bed now. Where would you like me to make up your bed?"

"Isn't this your bed?" he asked in turn, indicating the bed.

"Yes," I answered, "I can make you up another bed in the hall. Or you can sleep here and I'll sleep in the hall."

"Neither," he said decisively. "I'm going to sleep next to you in your bed." This really set me on edge. I hadn't forgotten what had happened to me at my first interview with the Committee. Sizing him up, I found him strong as a pile driver in spite of his age. I realized I was no match for him and shouldn't tangle with him.

I discovered he'd brought a Samsonite suitcase along. He now opened it, taking out a leather toiletry case, a towel, and cloth slippers. I watched until he closed it, in case I could catch a glimpse of the contents. He waited until ne saw me head for the bathroom, then draped his towel over his shoulder and followed.