Albert Cossery - The Jokers

“Karim effendi!” he yelled, pointing to the young man.

Karim rose and went to stand in front of the police officer.

“Hello, Your Excellency!” he said in his humblest voice, his eyes lowered, and in a posture of uttermost contrition.

The officer looked taken aback; he stared closely at Karim as if perhaps he’d mistaken his identity.

“I must be dreaming!” he said. “You never acted like this before. What’s happened to you?”

Karim kept his eyes down and said nothing. He was aware that the entire interrogation would depend on his reply. He was searching for the right words when Hatim resumed:

“Sit down. You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

Karim sat on the chair that the stool pigeon had just vacated and looked up at the officer with an expression of unquestionable sincerity.

“I know I was wrong, Your Excellency! Can’t the police simply forget about me?”

“Forget you!” exclaimed Hatim. “But you left such unforgettable memories! You wanted to destroy everything. You promised to have me hung once you and your friends were in power. Those were your very words, or am I mistaken?”

“That was foolishness,” said Karim. “I was joking, Your Excellency! How could you have thought that I was serious?”

“What are you talking about? Do you take me for an imbecile?”

“No, God help me, Your Excellency! In a moment of madness I might have said such things. And things were different then. You forget, Your Excellency, that was during the old regime.”

“And? Are you a revolutionary, yes or no? Can you explain to me in what way the new regime is more satisfactory than all the others?”

“It’s hard to explain,” admitted Karim, crestfallen. “But you can feel it, there’s no doubt. With a good regime, even the air is different. For example, just now, walking in the street, it seemed to me that it was not so hot as it used to be.”

“Ah! It’s not so hot now! That’s the sole benefit you find in the new regime?”

“I am sure the new regime has brought other benefits, but perhaps I’m not aware of them, Your Excellency.”

Now this was talking! Karim was almost proud of himself for coming up with that one. But the officer looked worried; the young man’s display of humility had thrown him off. Could he be joking? Unlikely. He knew Karim’s mentality very well; nothing about it indicated he’d go in for such trifles. Then what? It was a mystery, and for now he was stumped, but he meant to clear it up before going any further.

Hatim had expected to do battle with a stubborn adversary, and he found himself facing a human worm. Notwithstanding his professional duties, he’d found occasion at every turn to admire the courage — the indomitable revolutionary spirit — that had driven the young man. And he’d been happy at the prospect of measuring himself against him once more. He’d learned a lot from these revolutionaries, things that had been very good for his career. Among higher-ups, Hatim was known for having studied the subject of subversion from every angle; he was considered a highly sophisticated officer, capable of combating the twisted theories of all the young madmen who wanted to overthrow the powers that be. In fact, his whole knowledge of such matters consisted of snippets torn out of political prisoners in the course of interrogation. So he resented Karim’s grotesque attitude. This son of a bitch wasn’t giving him anything positive to display in front of his superiors. Not as hot as it was under other regimes? He was making fun of him, for sure.

Anger boiled up inside Hatim, but he contained it. He examined the young man with the concern of a psychiatrist trying to detect a glimmer of dawning sanity in a patient. But Karim refused to react. He stayed in character: humble, tragically pitiable. Hatim’s eyes widened; he was thoroughly disappointed. He viewed the prospect of accepting the young man’s repentance with genuine displeasure. And he still didn’t quite believe it — it was just too easy. Revolutionaries don’t change, at least not like this. Like cops, they were indifferent to regimes.

He sighed deliberately to show that he wasn’t giving up yet. Then he opened the file in front of him and leafed through it with a shrewd, penetrating eye. As he read, his face became more pensive, more preoccupied, as if this hunt for a clue that would put the interrogation back on course had taken on some more dramatic importance. Suddenly he raised his head and stared at the young man, a passionate gleam in his eyes. He seemed to be on the track of a particularly serious offense. Karim pretended to shiver a little with fear, allowing himself the luxury of spoiling his adversary.

“According to the report of the agent who visited you, it appears that you are working. You make kites. Is that right?”

“It’s hard to make a living, Your Excellency. I do what I can.”

“Well then, tell me a bit about these kites. What do they look like?”

Hatim’s suspicious look — on top of this stupid question — was the height of bad melodrama. Karim hadn’t predicted this. Did the officer imagine he used the kites to photograph military targets? Why not? Anything’s possible in the realm of police fantasy.

“They’re small kites, Your Excellency. Completely humble. What did you think they were?”

“Don’t worry about what I think. But tell me what they’re for.”

“For entertaining children, nothing more.”

Hatim didn’t seem convinced, and Karim was choking painfully from holding back an enormous outburst of laughter. The officer continued to stare suspiciously; he didn’t believe the simple story. These kites had to have some secret purpose, but the terrain was tricky and he hesitated to go too far; there might be traps, and he risked losing ground. He moved his hand as if to swat a fly; it was how he dealt with thorny cases.

“Let’s forget about that for now,” he said. “And tell me what you think of the situation in general. Speak frankly.”

“I think that everything is going well, Your Excellency. Really, I don’t see anything going badly. My impression is that the people are content; they’re the picture of perfect happiness.”

“Well, let me inform you that you’re too optimistic. There are still plenty of bastards out there, bitter people who continue to complain. It seems they’re not content with the new regime, either. What do we have to do to make them happy, I ask you?”

“I don’t know, Your Excellency. I don’t bother with politics anymore. I’m about to get married.”

These last words had a catastrophic effect on Hatim.

“You’re going to get married?” he asked, his face twisted in disgust.

“Yes, Your Excellency,” responded Karim, in the voice of a man who was about to commit suicide.

Hatim snapped his file shut; he seemed to banish the young man from his universe. Already his gaze was distant as he said:

“Well, for the moment you may stay where you are. But watch out: the slightest prank and I’ll make you vacate your apartment.”

Karim was about to thank him when a door opened and the governor himself appeared. Hatim rose, followed by Karim and the whole ensemble of characters who’d been prostrate on the benches. For a few seconds, the governor remained on the threshold of his office, surveying the room with bulging eyes; then he began to walk, trotting on bent legs as if riding a horse. He was just passing by, when Karim — as if moved by a sudden impulse — intercepted him, seizing his hand and kissing it while murmuring a few unintelligible words. Karim returned to his place, panting shamelessly with excitement, as if crushed by the weight of an undeserved blessing. The governor wasn’t the least bit offended nor did he break his pace; he was accustomed to such signs of veneration. Superb on his invisible horse, he trotted on, until at last he left the room.