From his new friends Hisham also learned the real names of the other comrades in his cell: Fahd was Farid al-Madrasi, an employee of the National Commercial Bank in Dammam, and Hasan al-Sabah was Muwafiq al-Mijari, a secondary school pupil. Hisham was astonished that they knew their comrades’ real names, but Zaki explained that he had known Farid before joining the party through his job at the bank and from the fact that he was always going to Dammam on business connected with the bank where Farid worked. It was Farid who had brought Zaki into the party, just as it was Zaki who had later introduced Marzuq to it. As for Muwafiq, he had discovered his name on a party day trip to a nearby farm, during which it was impossible to keep using everyone’s movement names for the duration of the trip. Hisham was surprised that Zaki and Marzuq, who had been friends before joining the party, had been allowed to belong to the same cell, and for that matter Fahd, who had known Zaki beforehand; this was contrary to security regulations. They both laughed at Hisham’s naivete. Zaki explained that things were not exactly as Hisham imagined. When he had brought Marzuq into the organisation it had been through the Union, and only later did Marzuq join the party at the rank of Auxiliary; it had been coincidence alone that had brought them together in the same cell.
The meetings of the three comrades on the beach were a source of renewed anxiety for Hisham. The information they gave revealed just how false were the impressions he had previously formed about the party. It was not as large as he had imagined if it was small enough for Zaki and Marzuq to meet in the same cell, and it was marked by sufficient laxity to organise a group trip for its members during which they all got to know each other, throwing security regulations out the window. What did that mean, if not foolishness and a disregard for the fate of people who had put their trust in the organisation and its principles – or even an actual lack of faith in those same principles, a recklessness which might bring untold consequences? This new worry was mixed with revulsion, and Hisham began to think seriously about leaving the organisation before certain disaster struck.
40
Hisham produced the report that was required of him about the situation in the Arab nation following the Libyan September movement. He tried to make it as scientific as possible, drawing heavily on Marxist-Leninist analysis. Notwithstanding the anxiety and disgust that had gripped him of late, he tried diligently to make his analysis unique, imagining at times that he would become an inspector for the party – a highly attractive idea to him despite everything. In reality, what he wrote was simply a reworking of views he had expressed before, supported by quotations from Marx – in particular his work The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte; Engels’s Anti-Dühring; Lenin’s Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism; Socialism and Man in Cuba by Guevara; Regis Debray’s A Revolution in the Revolution; Frantz Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth; plus various extracts from the Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-Tung and the speeches of Ho Chi Minh and Castro. He was showing off the breadth of learning he was so proud of, and felt confident that the party would respect him for it and give him the position he deserved.
At the next meeting the comrades read out their reports, none of which were on the same level as Hisham’s, who felt the utmost pride as he read out his own weighty, scientific analysis while Hudaijan and Abu Dharr looked on with admiration. Hasan al-Sabah stared and shook his head in disagreement from time to time, while Fahd watched and listened without making any movement other than to drag on his cigarette and drink his lukewarm tea impassively. When Hisham finished reading out his report he folded it and handed it to Fahd, looking round at the faces of his comrades with pride in his eyes.
Fahd took the report and put it to one side. “We, Comrade Abu Huraira, do believe in Marxist philosophy, but we are not Communists. I think you’ve read the Theoretical Principles of the Sixth National Conference and understand the difference between believing in Marxist philosophy and being a Communist, and believing in it and being a Baathist Arab nationalist.” Fahd paused to light another cigarette and take another sip of tea before going on, briefly suppressing a cough. “No one who read your report would have the slightest doubt that you were a Communist. Where are the writings of Ali Salih al-Saadi or Elias Farah in your analysis? First and foremost you are a Baathist, and you must always have the Baath in sight.” As Fahd stopped speaking, Hasan al-Sabah’s eyes were shining with a message Hisham could not fail to understand. Fahd then continued with the rest of the session, but Hisham was oblivious. He was filled with utmost frustration, anger and hatred for the party and everyone else present, even Hudaijan and Abu Dharr.
41
Fahd brought two pamphlets to the next weekly meeting of the cell; both dealt with the events in Libya and the party’s position regarding them, but one was intended for circulation within the organisation and the other for public distribution. The content of the first document went no further than the view already put forth by Hasan al-Sabah and was signed in the name of the party. The second one was signed in the name of the Students’ Union; its content was the same as the opinion expressed by Hisham, Hudaijan and Abu Dharr, minus Hisham’s Marxist analysis. Fahd read out both pamphlets and informed them that the first was secret and for internal consumption only, while the second would be handed out to the people.
“But Comrade Fahd,” said Hudaijan, unable to hold back, “which of the two expresses our position? They’re almost contradictory; the first says we should deal cautiously with the Libyan revolution and the extension of Nasser’s influence, and the second offers unlimited support to the revolution. What’s our real position, comrade?”
Fahd laughed, exhaling cigarette smoke through the gaps between his teeth. “You’re not practised in the ways of the struggle yet, comrade,” he said. “Not all positions are stated openly and broadcast far and wide. Our genuine position is the one laid out in the party’s pamphlet; the union’s pamphlet is for the masses.”
Fahd fell silent after taking a greedy drag on his cigarette and looked at Hudaijan through half-closed eyes. Hisham was overcome with tension. He had learned the art of deceit and how to lie quite coolly and innocently, and that had become part of the struggle and covert activity; but what about hypocrisy? If this practice was not implicit hypocrisy, what was it? Even though lately he had come to care little about what was said or discussed in the cell, he could not contain himself. As he spoke he tried to keep his voice calm, but he did not succeed and his anger was audible. “Why don’t we tell the masses our real position, comrade? I can’t defend two contradictory positions. For that matter, I can’t even take in two contradictory positions.”
Fahd laughed again. “You’re still new to the struggle, comrade,” he said. “And anyway, isn’t contradiction the essence of the Marxism you believe in?” He laughed again. Hasan al-Sabah broke in, saying, “Comrade Abu Huraira, the question is –”
“Sorry, comrade,” Hisham said, interrupting him sharply, “but there’s someone sitting here who’s responsible and he’s the one I’m talking to and the one I want an answer from.”
Hasan al-Sabah shrank back into his corner, looking round at Fahd and the other comrades.
“Generally speaking what you say is correct, comrade,” said Fahd. “But there are special circumstances to the struggle. The masses sympathise with Nasser and support whatever he does; they have a false consciousness and all we can do is to go along with them in order to lead and direct them, until the opportunity arises when we can express our genuine position which is in the interests of the masses, even if they are unaware of their own interests themselves. You know enough about Marxist philosophy to understand the difference between true and false consciousness.”
“So this is hypocrisy!” This last remark escaped from Hudaijan, and Fahd smiled ironically.
“Call it what you like,” he said, “but such moral standards don’t apply to the work of the struggle or political activity in general. Even states don’t do as they say, or say as they do.”
“But we’re not a state,” said Hisham tersely, working up to a fervent pitch, “we’re people with principles, and the masses should know that. That’s when they’ll respect us, with a respect based on morals, and not on evasion.”
“No, comrade, we’re not a state,” Fahd replied severely, “but we will be.” He paused before continuing. “And in order to achieve that we have to do things you don’t like, and leave morals to prophets and philosophers. Read Lenin’s What Is to Be Done? to learn about struggle.”
“You mean politics.”
“There’s no difference. They amount to the same thing. Read the book and you’ll discover the difference between the struggle and utopian dreams,” Fahd said, trying to bring the discussion to an end by shuffling the papers in front of him. But Hisham was not pacified.
“I’ve read Lenin and others, but what you’re saying is straight out of Machiavelli, not Lenin. If we become a state like that, what will be the difference between us and any other state we disagree with?”
Fahd exhaled smoke with exasperation. “We have different aims and principles that we want to apply, aims for the Arab nation and the masses. That’s the difference, comrade.”
“And is it for the good of the nation that we lie to it from the outset?”
“It’s not like that. When we have a state things will change.”
“If that’s what we do when we’re freedom fighters, how will it be when we’re politicians?”
“This is the problem with intellectuals,” Fahd groaned loudly to the other comrades, “they’re not suited to the struggle.” Levelling his bloodshot eyes at Hisham, he went on angrily, “A lot of discussion and arguing is no good in the work of the organisation.”
Hisham was about to retort, but Fahd stopped him with an abrupt wave of his hand. “You should be aware, comrade, that you are not in a debating society,” he said quickly, practically spitting as he spoke. “The important thing in the organisation is putting things into practice, not discussing them. We’ve talked about everything before, and now it’s time for implementation.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “And in order to demonstrate your commitment to the party and its decisions, it will be you who distributes the union’s pamphlet at the school.”
Hisham took this in with a shudder and felt a sharp cramp in his stomach. He was unable to speak as Fahd stared at him intently. Hasan al-Sabah was smiling ambiguously and Hudaijan and Abu Dharr looked at him blankly without comment.
“Tomorrow,” Fahd said, “Comrade Khalid will call you and give you an envelope with the pamphlets in it, and you must distribute them in the pupils’ desks. This is an order from the organisation, understood?”
Hisham, gripped by fear, gave no reply. He had not imagined that he would ever have to distribute pamphlets himself. As far as he was concerned, the organisation was simply a matter of turning up at the sessions and discussing things, but as for distributing pamphlets ... The session ended without Hisham’s taking in another word.
When he met Marzuq and Zaki on the beach his fear was quite apparent. They assured him that the matter could not be simpler, that there was no need to be so anxious, but he kept repeating, “I didn’t join the organisation to distribute pamphlets that I don’t even believe in.”
These words touched something inside the other two. Marzuq’s thoughts drifted off as he watched the reflection of the great red disc of the sun in its descent towards the waters of the Gulf. “We all feel like that, my friend ... We all feel like that,” he murmured, as though to himself. After a short silence he continued, “I hate the Americans. I learned to hate them from my father, who was treated badly by Aramco; that’s why I joined the organisation. I love Nasser,” he added, laughing bitterly, “and my father does, too. Have I ended up fighting him?” He began to laugh harder; Zaki looked at him wretchedly and said in a faint voice, “I was always against the class system, ever since I first became aware of it in our village. My father was a nakhlawi; he’d get up at dawn and go to work on the farm till dusk, and then when the dates were ripe he’d take most of them to his master, and all that was left for us was what the master didn’t want. The best dates and almonds and spring onions and other vegetables always went to him. I don’t care about the Baath or Nasser or Libya,” he said with a wry smile. “What I care about is justice; that’s why I joined the organisation. And it looks like I took the wrong way.” All three of them fell silent, watching the sun go down towards the sea and turning blood red for a few minutes before the armies of darkness began their advance.
42
“The ionic bond between two particles is formed as a result of one of the particles losing one or more of its electrons and the other particle gaining one or more electrons ...” Mr Wasfi was giving a chemistry lesson when the classroom door suddenly opened and Rashid Abd al-Jabbar put his head round, with his wide, exaggerated grin and his big moustache, asking the teacher’s permission to call out one of the pupils. The teacher paused reluctantly and looked at his watch. there were only about ten minutes of the lesson to go. Hisham realised he was the one concerned and once again felt the old pain in his stomach.
“Hisham Ibrahim al-Abir, wanted in the headmaster’s office,” Rashid called out, looking at the class. Hisham heaved himself to his feet and made his way past the teacher, asking if he could leave.
“What is it with you and the headmaster, Hisham?” Mr Wasfi asked in astonishment, but Hisham simply waved his hand, tightening his lip and raising his eyebrows without saying a word or stopping in his tracks.
Outside in the empty corridor Rashid took out a large school envelope and quickly shoved it at Hisham, saying hurriedly, “Distribute them during the break, one in every desk,” before dashing off back to the office. As Hisham took the envelope he felt a shiver pass through his entire body; he slipped it under his vest next to his skin and retraced his steps to the classroom, feeling dizzy and breaking into a sweat.
When he opened the classroom door the bell was ringing, marking the end of the lesson and the beginning of the break. Mr Wasfi was gathering up his papers and stuffing them into his case, while the pupils were noisily crowding around the doorway. Hisham remained outside without moving until most of the pupils had left; then Mr Wasfi passed him and gave him a genuine smile; Hisham tried to return it, but could only force a feeble expression to his lips similar to a smile and yet manifestly not one. Mansur came out after the teacher, also smiling, but Hisham looked at him indifferently as a wave of nausea swept over him. As he entered the classroom he almost bumped into Adnan, the last person to leave. He told Adnan he was sorry but he could not go with him to have something to eat, saying that he had a headache and would rather rest for a while in the classroom before the next lesson began. Adnan tried to find out from him why the headmaster had summoned him, but Hisham managed to brush him off, saying he could not speak because of his headache and promising to meet him in their usual place once he had had a chance to relax for a bit.
At last the classrooms were completely empty of pupils. Hisham’s heart raced. He was almost paralysed with terror, about to do something that could land him in prison.
Finally he removed the envelope from under his vest and opened it with a trembling hand. It contained a collection of fine, translucent pieces of paper printed in poor blue ink. Hisham put a pamphlet in his own desk first of all, then Adnan’s and Mansur’s, then the rest. He moved on to the other classrooms, casting glances sharply in all directions, his nausea almost overwhelming. He opened the first desk in the classroom next to his and deposited a pamphlet, then the next, and so on until he completed that room. But when he got to the next classroom he suddenly lost his nerve and could no longer control himself; his hands shook violently, the perspiration flowed and the dizziness accelerated so that he felt about to faint. Then his body went strangely cold. Hisham grabbed a handful of pamphlets and threw them up in the air, scattering them in all directions. He did the same thing in the remaining classrooms, and when he had got r
id of the last bunch he felt an enormous sense of relief. He threw the envelope in the nearest bin he could find and shot off down the staircase to the courtyard.
As Hisham trotted down the first steps he looked back impulsively and got a terrible fright: someone was coming out of the lavatory at the end of the corridor, near the headmaster’s office. The terror returned in an instant. Someone had seen him, he knew; someone must have been spying on him. The image of his mother appeared before his eyes, weeping from beyond some rusty steel bars, and he nearly collapsed. He managed to regain composure and hurried down to hide under the stairs: he had to know who the spy was. In fact, he did not have to wait long, as the sound of flip-flops slapping against the soles of someone’s feet came nearer. Hisham shrunk back, trying to conceal himself completely, and then his ‘shadow’ appeared, looking nervously in every direction before hastily making his way out into the courtyard. Fury and disgust quickly took the place of fear as he made out the features Comrade Hasan Al-Sabah, aka Muwafiq al-Mijari, spy.
By the time Hisham reached Adnan he had calmed down a little. Adnan had finished his own food and put his friend’s and a glass of Coke to one side. Hisham began chewing his sandwich mechanically, staring into the distance at Muwafiq, who was laughing with one of the other pupils and looking at Hisham in what seemed a peculiar way.
43
The pupils’ discovery of the pamphlets did not provoke any unusual reactions; pamphlets were an ordinary occurrence those days, like the numerous organisations to be found everywhere. Before joining the party Hisham himself had read pamphlets from the ‘National Liberation Front’, the ‘Arabian Peninsula People’s Union’ and the ‘Democratic Front’, whose pamphlets he had been accused of distributing by the headmaster. The strongest reaction this time came from the headmaster’s office, which found itself in an unenviable position particularly, as Rashid told Hisham ecstatically a while later, since the Secret Police had become involved in the matter and had reprimanded the headmaster for his inability to control the school in an official letter couched in the severest terms.
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