The Committee Part 3

"We won't force you to do anything. You are free to do as you like," the Blond said sharply.

He looked at his watch, thought deeply, and added, "We'll leave now. We can't stay longer. Our comrade," and here he indicated Stubby, "will stay with you until you reach a decision."

He reached out and took the picture of President Carter. Stubby gathered up the index cards with the notes on the American article plus the original notebook I had worked from and handed them to the Blond, who took them in silence. I didn't dare object.

The Blond headed for the bedroom door and everyone else followed. Meanwhile, Stubby remained sitting at my table. When I made to accompany them, he signaled me to stay in my place.

"I'm afraid they'll stumble in the dark. The stairs aren't lit, as you may have noticed. I could help with an electric flashlight," I objected.

He answered me insolently, "They have flashlights and don't need your help."

I listened to their footsteps on the stairs and the noise of the outer door when the last person closed it behind himself. Meanwhile, I was looking at the ugly face that remained with me. I suddenly realized that I had ended up under his thumb.

But at the same time I felt that the coming ordeal, on which my fate depends, would also be the climax of his.

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 subst.i.tute 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 s.a.d.i.s.tic 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 surpa.s.ses 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 p.o.r.nography. 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 w.i.l.l.y-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 a.s.suming 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 pa.s.sion. 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.

While I was brushing my teeth, he took a toothbrush, toothpaste, and perfumed French soap out of his leather case. I quickly finished washing up, then left him the sink. I took this opportunity to pee. Next, I filled some plastic containers from the bath tub tap. Only at night is there sufficient water pressure to supply the top floors, so I always have to collect enough water to last through the next day.

I explained all this to Stubby when he asked me what I was doing. I left him standing in the doorway while I filled several containers. He noticed that as the container filled, the tap water soon turned a mud color, then black. This was normal in my experience, but he expressed surprise, saying that he had never seen tap water that color.

"You must use a water filter," I said.

"Yes, how did you know?" he said in amazement.

Turning the tap off after filling the last container, I smiled, "I have learned many things recently."

I went to the kitchen with him at my heels. I filled several bottles and containers with water for drinking and cooking and shut the gas off tightly. On the verge of making my nightly rounds to close the windows and lock the front door, I stopped short, since it was evident that what I feared, tonight at least, wasn't outside.

We finally returned to the bedroom. He took embroidered silk pajamas out of his suitcase. I suggested that he change in the bathroom, or that I leave the room until he'd finished. Naturally, he didn't agree. I didn't really care, since it wouldn't embarra.s.s me to be naked in front of a man like him. All the more so since this fel low already had knowledge of the most intimate parts of my body.

Having taken off my outer clothes, I stood before him in my underwear. I felt awkward whenever he looked at me. I couldn't resist glancing at his naked thighs. The bulge of what was between them scared me. I supposed that either he was the victim of an old hernia, so that his guts were taking liberties with his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es, or that he was created with unusual generosity.

I wanted to raise the question of sleeping arrangements again. I said, suddenly animated, "Perhaps you'd like to read a little before going to sleep. In that case, we'd have to sleep in separate rooms, because light disturbs me and I want to get to sleep right away."

"Don't worry," he said calmly. "I won't read anything. I also want to get right to sleep."

I approached the bed reluctantly. I heard him ask me in the same calm voice to get into bed first so that he could sleep on the outer edge.

I acceded to his request and lay down on my back next to the wall. He joined me as soon as he put out the light.

Needless to say, I couldn't get the sleep I so badly needed. I had to wake up the next morning refreshed and capable of sorting out the dilemma confronting me. Although I desperately needed to sleep after an arduous day, my ignorance of how far my bedmate would go stimulated all my senses, especially my ears.

At first, the thump of my rapid heart beats drowned out the familiar night sounds. When I calmed down a little, I noticed the pipes rattling, the clamor of the neighbor's children, water splashing into a metal tub in the apartment below mine, and dogs barking in the neighborhood streets.

The strange thing was that these noises, which had so often enraged me and deprived me of sleep, were a source of peace that night, soothing the tension in my nerves.

However, I started when gunshots resounded through the still night in declaration of open season on the dogs.

I knew most of these dogs. Days, I'd see their emaciated bodies in the local streets and on garbage heaps. They were cowards, all bark and no bite. The most they dared do was raise their voices at inopportune times, especially after people retired for the night.

Apparently the barking reverberating through the stillness of the night had hurt the ears of some luminary among the neighbors. So, he hired someone to hunt the dogs down. On most nights, the barking began to be mingled with gunfire until eventually it disappeared.

The following day or the next the barking would re turn to its previous intensity as though nothing had happened. Then the gunfire would resound again.

My bedmate paid no attention to the gunfire, continuing to lie quietly on his back. I held my breath when he suddenly turned onto his left side to face me.

His perfumed scent wafted over to me, gagging me. Presently, from the regularity of his breathing I concluded that he was sound asleep. I turned onto my right side facing him. In the dark, I looked toward his face.

Since I had gotten used to the dark, I could see his eyes. It startled me that they were open, staring vigilantly.

I closed my eyes at once and pretended to sleep, but watched him from under half-closed eyelids.

Suddenly his hand moved. Scared, I held my breath. I had get it into my head that he would touch me. But he didn't, and his breathing remained regular. It seemed to me he'd closed his eyes, but I didn't trust my imagination. Perhaps, like me, he was watching through his eyelashes.

It was difficult for me to sleep with the problems on my rr_ind. Whenever I tried thinking of something else, I would open the Pandora's box I had been trying to lock. Images and memories that had been waiting popped right into my head. Immediately my weaknesses and flaws stood out plainly. My emotions ran wild at the thought of my insignificance, of the mo ments when I had permitted myself to be the laughingstock of others and a plaything in their hands, of how I allowed myself to be sidetracked, and of the small pleasures I had indulged in and allowed to dominate me.

No sooner had I become uncertain about these very matters, than a familiar wave of doubt swamped me, casting its shadows over my life's aims and goals. Nor were the s.e.xual pleasures that occupied a conspicuous place in my emotional life left untouched. In a desperate attempt to save myself, I called upon the memories and fantasies my mind had stored up, which had never yet failed to stir the blood in my veins. Nevertheless, I found myself unresponsive, numb to every promise of pleasure.

Near dawn I must have dozed a little and turned my back to him. I was suddenly alerted by something firm b.u.mping my thigh. I stiffened onto my back at once. I looked toward him and in the thin dawn light I saw him staring watchfully at me. But he was far enough away to make me believe I'd been dreaming. You can see what was running through my mind.

Naturally I couldn't sleep after that. When the sun's rays shone in, I decided to get up. He preceded me, and we got out of bed together. We went along to the bathroom, took a leak, and washed up.

I saw him take his razor out of the leather case. I de cided to shave too, hoping to clear my mind and keep busy until he finished. I was sure he wouldn't let me leave the bathroom any earlier.

We stood together in front of the mirror over the sink. I raised my red, watery eyes. They met his, which were full of vitality and energy, as though he had enjoyed a full night's sleep. A steady gaze met mine, which I was at a loss to explain since he was walleyed. The razor shook in my hand, nicking me under the chin.

Unable to stand the sight of blood or the thought of pain, I began to shake all over. I saw myself staring at the trickle of blood oozing from the wound, with a certain feeling of curiosity.

My companion snapped me out of my trance when, from the leather case, he handed me a small bottle of scented liquid with which to treat the cut. I declined politely and stuck my whole head under the tap, letting the thin stream of water wash the wound and staunch it.

After I had dried my head and stuck a small piece of cotton on the cut, we went back to the bedroom to change our clothes. I contented myself with pants and a shirt. He put on a complete suit, right down to the necktie.

We went to the kitchen and I made tea. There were only three eggs in the fridge. After asking my guest's preference, I put them on the stove in a little water. I also took out a piece of cheese, another of sesame halva, and some black olives.

We finally sat down facing each other across the dining table. I offered him two boiled eggs out of the three and conferred the third on myself. He didn't comment on this unequal apportionment, but instead applied himself to his food with great relish, whereas I just picked at mine.

We soon finished eating. I poured the tea. My newspapers came, delivered by the vendor as usual to the front doorstep. I gave Stubby one and kept the other.

Lately I had developed the habit of combining four activities: drinking tea, smoking my first cigarette, reading the daily paper, and attending to a bodily need. I'd gotten into this habit when I began my research on the Doctor. I had had to cut down the time between getting up and leaving my apartment in order to spend as much time as possible at the publishing houses of the newspapers and magazines whose libraries I haunted. However, this custom was rooted in an instinctive sense of the appropriate place to read our national newspapers. Like all habits, it came to be a cornerstone of my daily mental routine. Whenever I relinquished it or deviated from it even slightly, my whole day was ruined right from the start.

I didn't feel there was anything preventing me from following my routine that day, especially since I was in more need than ever of all my mental faculties, as well as of whatever time alone I could get. I put my pack of cigarettes and my matches in my pocket, tucked the paper under my arm, picked up my cup, and went along to the bathroom.

I expected him to follow me like always, and so he did. I set my cup on the edge of the sink and confronted him, explaining what I had in mind and how it was contingent on closing the door.

He looked at me derisively, "Have you forgotten I saw your bare backside under conditions less dignified than answering a call of nature?"

"I haven't forgotten. But it's customary for a person to tend to this business by himself. This is a very private moment."

He said maliciously, "If you must wave other peoples' dirty laundry in public, can you expect to wash your own in private?"

Having determined the attempt was futile, I pulled down my pants and sat on the plastic toilet seat. He stood in the doorway watching me.

I picked up my teacup, took a couple of sips, then put it on the floor by my feet. I took out a cigarette and lit it. Then I unfolded the paper and began with the headlines.

But the usual harmony of the morning didn't de velop. Neither the tea nor the cigarette had any flavor and I couldn't concentrate on reading. More important than all that, my bowels wouldn't move.

I had no hope of making any progress by staying in this position. I got up, pulled my pants up quickly, and headed for the bedroom, feeling deeply depressed and frustrated. I sat at my desk while he occupied the armchair.

I lit a new cigarette and reached for the index cards filed in the s...o...b..x. Feeling Stubby's gaze on my face, I began leafing through them.

I had to find some method that would satisfy and be sanctioned by the Committee so I could continue the research I had begun. Could this be done by eliminating certain parts of his biography? Or by restricting my approach to a single aspect of his rich personality? And what would that aspect be? Or should I completely abandon the novel program I had proposed to the Committee and instead employ a traditional biographical format?

The harder I thought the more hopeless I felt. The traditional format was fraught with the grave dangers I had alluded to at the time. On the other hand, it made the connections between aspects of his career and personality clear, so much so that it would be difficult to deal with the two separately.

How is it possible to speak of wealth without alluding to its source? And too, if I ignored the related facts, I would violate the basic principle that Balzac crystalized in his celebrated maxim: "Behind every great fortune is a great crime," which has since become a premise of all modern researchers.

Likewise, it was not possible for me to disregard his humble origin, or his patriotic role and connections with the revolution, or his appeal for Arab unity, socialism, or his diverse economic activities, or his brokering for foreign companies and the international awards he won for this, or his greed for the Gulf petroleum wealth, which goes to its real owners in Europe and the United States via other middlemen. What would be left of him if I did?

Stubby suddenly addressed me in a friendly manner, seemingly uninterested, "Incidentally, yesterday I heard you speak about the important discoveries you had arrived at in your studies on the Doctor. If my memory doesn': fail me, you said you could tear the veil from many mysteries. What did you mean?"