Albert Cossery - The Jokers

“Forgive me for making you wait,” said Heykal. “Have you been here long?”

Khaled Omar emerged from his reverie.

“Ten minutes, if that, but it’s nothing. I’m happy to see you. I recognized you right away.”

The waiter approached. A glass of whiskey and a small plate of loukoums were already on the table.

“What can I get for you, bey?” asked the waiter, addressing Heykal.

Heykal ordered a whiskey, and the waiter left. Khaled Omar grabbed the plate of loukoums and offered it to the young man.

“Please, help yourself.”

“No thanks,” said Heykal, “not right now.”

“Then forgive me for eating in front of you,” said Khaled Omar. "I adore sweets of all kinds.”

He took a loukoum and popped it into his mouth, then licked the traces of powdered sugar from his fingertips.

Khaled Omar ate his loukoum , bobbing his head and gazing rapturously at Heykal.

“I recognized you right away.”

“I have to admit that pleases me,” responded Heykal.

“You were sure I would, weren’t you?”

“What makes you think so?”

“Well, I thought it strange that you wanted to meet this way,” said Khaled Omar. “I couldn’t see why you’d want to make things difficult — our friend Karim could easily have introduced us. But in any case, his description of you didn’t steer me wrong. I don’t mean that he described the way you look or your clothes; no, he spoke only of your ideas. And that was enough for me to recognize you.”

“So my ideas show on my face?” asked Heykal.

“It’s hard to explain. I saw you walking across the square, and I said to myself: That’s him. You had the look of someone who knows more than everyone else.”

“I know two very simple things,” Heykal said. “The rest is of no importance.”

“I wonder if they’re the same two things I know myself.”

“I’m sure they are. It’s why I’m here, and it’s why we can speak frankly.”

“So tell me what the first thing is. I’m listening.”

Khaled Omar hastily re-knotted his tie and smoothed his well-groomed mustache with his fingers, as if whatever he was about to hear merited an impeccable appearance. There was a gleam of amusement in his eyes and a hint of anxiety on his face.

“Number one is that the world we live in is governed by the most revolting bunch of crooks to ever defile the soil of this planet.”

“I couldn’t agree more. And number two?”

“Number two is that you must never take them seriously, for that is exactly what they want.”

“Agreed!” said Khaled Omar, and burst into a long, resounding laugh.

The laughter was contagious. As it spread to the surrounding tables, it grew even louder, outrageously loud. Khaled Omar turned from one neighbor to the next, winking as if to thank them for participating in his hilarity while encouraging their continued pursuit of such joyful delirium. Finally he got hold of himself; the others, however, were still convulsed with the mirth he’d so inconsiderately unleashed. Heykal had been unmoved by the general hilarity; he remained seated, stiff and aloof, observing his new friend with satisfaction. He was utterly delighted with this jovial little potbellied man, with his gleaming pomaded mustache and strong smell of violet-scented perfume. How unusual! A man whose success hadn’t corrupted him one bit. He acted just as he had when he’d gone barefoot and even slept in the street. His bizarre outfit was only a disguise; all the riches in the world would never tame the crude joy and artless affability of his every gesture. His big, mocking laugh was an outright defiance launched in the face of power.

“You see?” Khaled continued. “There’s all you need to know!”

“Yes,” said Heykal. “But still, not enough people get it.”

“Who cares? Don’t tell me you’re the kind who wants to make the world a better place?”

“God, no!” Heykal responded. “I have no interest in bettering anything. There’s nothing worse than a reformer. They’re all careerists.”

“I thought you’d say that, but I’m relieved to hear it,” said Khaled Omar. “I had the misfortune of encountering that kind in prison. They were no better than my jailers. So righteous — and as full of themselves as pregnant women. They made prison such a depressing place!”

“They’re utterly tiresome,” said Heykal, with something close to hatred. “All they want is to replace one government with another, ostensibly more-just one. They all dream of becoming ministers. Ministers! Can you imagine a filthier ambition! Please, I beg you, don’t speak to me of those people!”

“You’re right. So listen: I want to be clear about why I’m here. I’m sure our friend Karim has told you how destiny magically transformed me from a jailbird into a rich and respectable businessman. A beautiful story — very instructive — and I’ll tell it to you some day in all its glorious detail because I know you’ll appreciate it. But the short version is I earned all my money in such a crazy, ridiculous fashion that my eyes were opened to the madness of the world. Now I’d like to put this money to use — in a way that isn’t sensible or just. I’d like to make a contribution to the madness of the world. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly: a cause that is neither sensible nor just. I couldn’t put it better myself.”

“It goes without saying that everything that is mine is yours. He placed a brotherly hand on Heykal’s arm. I’m eager to know: What are your plans?”

Heykal remained silent. He wasn’t surprised by the businessman’s offer, it was just that something in his heart stirred whenever he was reminded of his ability to sway others. This man, whom he barely knew, had just offered him his fortune. What did he want in return for such extravagance? This illiterate businessman was a strange character indeed. What was it he’d said? To make a contribution to the madness of the world!

Heykal was almost scared to find so much lucidity in such an unrefined mind. Had he just met his master? And what did Omar want from him? What untold delights did he hope would result from this mad pursuit to which he had just pledged his entire fortune? His entire fortune! That was more then Heykal had asked for. As if it cost a fortune to entertain yourself! All you had to do was look around: the spectacle was free.

Khaled Omar lifted his hand. His rings flashed, and the waiter approached.

“Let’s drink to our mutual understanding,” said Heykal, raising the glass the waiter had set down on the table.

Khaled Omar raised his own glass, and they toasted each other.

The street was packed with evening strollers enjoying the cooler air at the end of the torrid day. There were the working stiffs, upright and formal; the dignified family men flanked by wives and children; the occasional pair of young newlyweds, who clutched each other’s hands in a grotesque show of commitment. But none of the drinkers at the Globe paid any attention to this mundane procession. They weren’t there to look at humanity in all its mediocrity; they were waiting for a luxuriantly curvaceous woman to show up and arouse their desire. From time to time a metallic squeal, sharp and deafening as a siren, signaled the ambling approach of a tram. The drivers of horse carts, who were so skilled at maneuvering through traffic jams, lashed out at the indolent mob filling the street, impervious to anything but the welcome sea breeze. Heykal tried in vain to locate a single bum, a single happy-go-lucky derelict who had managed to escape the clutches of the police. Not one. Reduced to the contributing members of society — in other words, the depressed and overworked — the city’s streets were becoming strangely sinister. Wherever you went, you were surrounded by public servants. Heykal couldn’t help but remember how the beggar had responded to his invitation to come collect his monthly sum at the house. That a starving beggar would refuse to be seen as an employee: what an insult to posterity, which only recognizes those who make careers of following the rules! History’s full of these little bureaucrats who rise to high positions because of their diligence and perseverance in a life of crime. It was a painful thought: the only glorious men the human race had produced were a bunch of miserable officials who cared about nothing but their own advancement and were sometimes driven to massacre thousands of their own just to hold on to their jobs and keep food on the table. And this was who was held up for the respect and admiration of the crowd!