Ibrahim Sonallah - The Committee

I searched in vain for a solution, until I remembered that one of the largest daily newspapers maintains an extensive archive, which is the pride of its founders and includes detailed information on important Arab personalities. Rumor has it that the Committee has obtained a copy of this archive and relies on it heavily in its work. I assumed that what this archive contains on the Doctor would be of great help to me.

Not just any member of the rank and file is granted access to the archive. I really had to hunt to come across someone to recommend me to its director, after which the said file was at my disposal in no time.

It wasn't as large as I expected. In one corner was the emblem of the publishing house and the complete name of the Doctor, in highly ornamented calligraphy.

I opened the folder, my fingers trembling from ex citement. It revealed a white sheet of paper with a date from tie early '50s at the top and nothing else. I turned it over and saw a similar sheet of paper.

Quickly, I examined the sheets of paper in the file and saw that they all lacked everything but a date. At the top of each sheet I discovered a trace of the glue that had stuck down clippings from newspapers and magazines.

The clerk in charge was surprised when I showed him the file, but he didn't let me in on anything. I was about to leave when it occurred to me to make a note of the aforementioned dates. I could go back to the newspapers and magazines they came from and so get access to the contents of the file in a relatively simple manner.

I jotted them down immediately and went to the next room to explain my problem to the attendant and get the volumes matching my first date. I was surprised at the _ack of anything about the Doctor. When I got to looking carefully, I found small sections had been carefully cut out of the pertinent issues with a razor blade. I noticed that some of them were on the pages devoted to crimes, movies, and television.

I had misgivings about this matter of missing sections. I decided to continue the research to confirm my suspicions. When I returned the next day, I was surprised by a new sign prohibiting nonemployees from using the library.

The same thing happened lock, stock, and barrel at the other newspapers, from the secret razor to a decree preventing me from using their libraries.

I resorted to the National Library and gave the authorities a list of the issues I wanted to see from the daily papers and weekly magazines. After waiting a few hours, I was informed the issues I had requested were currently at the bindery.

I had no more doubts, so I started thinking up a devious stratagem. I went to the offices of one of the weekly women's magazines and asked to see the issues published a week or two before my dates. When the clerk asked what I was working on, I took the precaution of saying I was researching famous crimes in contemporary Arab history. Each week, these magazines customarily cover important incidents and have a "police beat" column for criminal news as well as a separate column for news of the arts.

I dug into my work enthusiastically, my interest kindled primarily by the unexplained phenomena that leapt out at me. Luck was on my side when I discovered a picture of the Doctor as a young man in an issue published close to my first date. There he was-a new face in the film industry, with a successful comedy production under his belt.

Within months of my second date, I came across an article recounting the details of a strange crime: a young man had attacked "a well-known artistic personality," whom the magazine described as "a dedicated patriot." I extrapolated from the article that this person had something going with the assailant's sister. That very day she had been found dead under mysterious circumstances and her brother suspected this person. Nobody attached any importance to the accusation, so the brother had no choice but to shoot him. However, he wounded him only slightly.

It was strange that during the inquiry the injured party accused the defendant of being a member of a leftist organization, then made up with him and gave him a job in a company he managed.

A little voice kept whispering the real name of this artistic personality. My hunch was confirmed when the article gave his background and mentioned that before the revolution he had been a member of one of the extremist nationalist associations that played a prominent role in the struggle against English imperialism (this is a well-known fact of the Doctor's life), and that he abandoned his studies in 1947 to rush to Palestine at the head of a regiment of his enthusiastic comrades. There they fought in the war against the Zionists, who in turn fought desperately to create an Israeli state. After the revolution, he finished his degree and got involved in producing films.

This discovery cheered me up. I continued working along the same lines and was able to gather some valuable information, although it took quite a bit of time.

I learned that on the eve of the Tripartite Aggression against Egypt, he cofounded a carbonated beverage company, and that he was among those who stepped forward to buy up the foreign companies taken over after the aforementioned attack.

I came across the text of a speech he had delivered during an economic conference held in Damascus in the early days of the UAR He portrayed Arab unity as the lofty calling of every Arab in this century. He also attacked the Communists, accusing them of treason in consenting to the 1947 partition that authorized the creation of two states in Palestine, one for Arabs and the other for Jews.

I found some relatively unimportant, scattered items concerning him from this time period. Then fortune, which only rewards the persistent, smiled on me. By chance I came across a small bit of news in the social column, alluding to the lecture he delivered at a women's club in Algeria on the "Arab concept of socialism." For the first time, I found his name preceded by the title the Doctor. In an issue dated some months later I came across a full-page statement from a subcontractor in the public sector, congratulating the president of the country on his triumphs. Below it, the Doctor was listed as the director of the firm.

There was a long dry period, until I came across a statement published in the summer of 1967, which referred to a series of articles by him in one of the daily newspapers. The series analyzed the reasons for the defeat and attributed political responsibility for it to the Soviet Union.

During this period, he married for a third time. She was a daughter of an Arab oil potentate, known for her strange caprices and escapades. Naturally, considering the slant of the magazine, news about her soon eclipsed news about him. In the following years' issues, I found only brief hints at extensive achievements and huge projects undertaken in various areas of the region, especially after the October War. In these projects, the Doctor was the connecting link between foreign financiers and local consumers.

I felt that I'd gotten all I could out of the women's magazine, and that it was time to move on. When I thanked the library director for his help, he introduced himself to me.

I was surprised, because his had once been a well known name among newspaper columnists. I muttered, "But how?…"

He answered my brief question, "Ask the one you are researching."

This really got to me and I quickly asked, "Whoever do you mean?"

He smiled, "Don't be afraid… I won't say anything at all to anyone."

"I'm not afraid. I'm backed by influential circles I'm not at liberty to disclose."

His smile widened, "I wouldn't blame you if you were afraid."

"How did you know?"

"From you. When you have sat in my place as long as I have, you can tell at first glance the nature of the people frequenting the library to examine old volumes. When I noticed you were different, my curiosity was aroused. It wasn't difficult for me to trace the pages you paused at or to deduce your interest in him."