Arabian Nights and Days (5 page)

“I am as sad as you are,” he said, “but there is nothing we can do about it.”

He was truthful in what he said: his sorrow for Sanaan's family did not dissipate, and the origin of that did not lie solely in passionate love. He had liked the man before he had liked his daughter. He was not always devoid of good sentiments and religious remembrances, but he found no objection to practicing corruption in a corrupt world. The truth was that in the quarter there was no heart like his for mingling black with white. So it was that he invited Fadil Sanaan to his house on a visit shrouded with secrecy.

The young man came in his new attire, consisting of a gallabiya and sandals, the garb of a peddler. Gamasa seated himself beside him in the reception room and said, “I am pleased, Fadil, that you are facing up with such courage to the way things have turned out for you.”

“I thank God who has preserved my faith after the loss of position and wealth.”

Truly impressed, Gamasa said, “I summoned you in deference to our long acquaintance.”

“May God bless you, sir.”

He looked at him for a while, then said, “If it weren't for that I would have allowed myself to arrest you.”

In amazement Fadil inquired, “Arrest me? Why, sir?”

“Don't pretend not to know. Has not the evil that engulfed you been enough for you? Seek your livelihood far from associating with destructive elements who are the enemies of the sultan.”

“I am nothing but a peddler,” said Fadil with a pallid face.

“Stop dissimulating, Fadil. Nothing is hidden from Gamasa al-Bulti, and my first task, as you know, is to pursue the Shiites and the Kharijites.”
*

“I am not one of them,” said Fadil in a low voice. “Early in my life I was a student of Sheikh Abdullah al-Balkhi.”

“I too was a student of his. Many graduate from the school of
al-Balkhi—people of the Way and people of the Prophet's Sunna, Sufis and Sunnis. Some devils who deviate from the Path also graduate.”

“Be sure, sir, that I am as far as can be from those devils.”

“You have very many companions from among them.”

“I have nothing to do with their doctrines.”

“It starts as innocent friendship, then comes degeneration—they are madmen, they accuse the rulers of unbelief and they delude the poor and the slaves. Nothing pleases them, not even fasting in the month of Ragab. It is as though God has chosen them to the exclusion of His other worshipers. Be on your guard against falling into the same fate as your father, for the Devil has all kinds of ways and means. As for me, I know nothing but my duty. I have pledged my loyalty to the sultan, as I have to the governor of the quarter, in exterminating the apostates.”

“Be assured, sir,” said Fadil in a listless tone, “that I am very far distant from the apostates.”

“I have given you fatherly advice, so keep it in mind,” said Gamasa.

“Thank you for your kindness, sir.”

Gamasa began scrutinizing his face in search of points of similarity between him and his sister Husniya. For some moments he was lost in the ecstasy of love. Then he said, “There's one more matter: I would ask you to inform your mother that to present a petition for the return of the family property would be regarded as a challenge to the sultan. There is no power or strength other than through God.”

“That is also my opinion, sir,” said Fadil meekly.

The meeting ended secretly, as it had begun. Gamasa wondered whether one day he would be given the chance of summoning him that he might ask for Husniya's hand.

Perhaps Sanaan al-Gamali's crime was the sole momentous event that occurred during the time Gamasa al-Bulti was in office. No one charged him with being responsible for it, especially after it was known about the genie's intervention in the matter. This, however, did not apply to what
was happening in the quarter at present, for several incidents of highway robbery within the city's walls had followed in succession with disquieting frequency: money and goods were seized and men were assaulted. Gamasa al-Bulti was assailed by the anger of a capable policeman possessed of self-confidence. He dispatched plain-clothed men to outlying places and had patrols out day and night. He himself searched suspect places, but the incidents continued to occur, making a mockery of his activity, and not a single criminal was arrested.

Karam al-Aseel the millionaire said in the Café of the Emirs, “Security was better in the time of the late al-Salouli.”

“There wasn't a single highway robber at that time apart from himself,” said the doctor Abdul Qadir al-Maheeni, laughing.

“Gamasa al-Bulti,” said Ugr the barber, “is the worst possible.”

He, after all, saw for himself how such gentlemen behaved when he brought them his services as a barber to their homes.

“Security,” said Ibrahim the druggist, “is the very lifeblood of trade, while trade is the livelihood of the people. I propose that some of us go as a deputation to al-Hamadhani, the governor of our quarter.”

Khalil al-Hamadhani summoned Gamasa al-Bulti to the house of government.

“The city is going to rack and ruin and you're snoring away fast asleep,” he said severely.

“I haven't been sleeping and I haven't been lax,” said the chief of police in a frustrated tone.

“One judges by how things turn out.”

“My hands are tied.”

“What do you want?”

“The vagabonds who had previously been arrested are now beginning to take revenge.”

“It has been established from Sanaan's confession that they were innocent.”

“Which is why they are taking revenge. They must be re-arrested.”

The governor said heatedly, “The vizier Dandan was annoyed at their being arrested the first time and won't allow it again.”

Gamasa al-Bulti said sadly, “In any case I'm waging a battle against a force that doesn't let up.”

“You've got to have security under control or I'll dismiss you.”

Gamasa al-Bulti left the house of government feeling demeaned for the first time in his life.

He was angry about being insulted and his strong and defiant nature took control of him. His tendencies toward good became submerged and disappeared to faraway depths. He reacted to the defeat with the savagery of a man who regards anything as permissible in defense of his authority. Authority had completely absorbed him and had created of him something new so that he had become oblivious to the goodly words he had learned at the hands of the sheikh in the prayer room in the time of innocence. Quickly he gathered his aides and poured upon them the stream of invective he had endured in the hall of the headquarters, opening wide the windows of hellfire. Whenever a new incident took place he arrested tens of people and tortured them unmercifully. As a result of this, his pursuit of the Shiites and the Kharijites decreased so that they were able to redouble their activity. They composed secret newssheets that were full of indictments of the sultan and the men in charge of affairs and which demanded that the Quran and the Prophet's Traditional Sayings should become the basis for legal rulings. Becoming frantic, he also arrested many of them, so that an air of dread hung over the whole quarter and all went in fear and trembling. Al-Hamadhani found the violence of the steps being taken shocking. Yet he closed his eyes in his desire to find an end to the incidents. Despite all that, they increased in number and violence.

Though defeated, Gamasa al-Bulti refused to admit it. He began spending many nights at the police headquarters until the pressure of work affected his unusual strength. Once, overcome by sleep in the room where he worked, he yielded to it like a wounded lion. He did not achieve the hoped-for rest, however, but was cast under the weight of a being who took over his entire body.

“Singam!” he whispered in bewilderment.

The voice came to him, invading his very being, “Yes, chief of police.”

“What has prompted you to come?” he asked him, in loathing.

“The stupidity of those who claim they are intelligent.”

Suddenly Gamasa's mind saw the light.

“Now we know,” he said, “the secret of the brigands of whom no one can find any trace.”

“Now only?”

“How could I guess that you are their master?”

“Admit, despite your conceit, that you are stupid.”

He asked Singam defiantly, “How is it that you are so little worried about stealing people's property when mention of God is constantly on your lips?”

“My anger has fallen only upon that group of people who take advantage of other human beings!”

Gamasa sighed and said, as though talking to himself, “I shall lose my job because of this.”

“You too are of the corrupt group of people.”

“I am incomparable in the way I perform my duty.”

“And money come by dishonestly?”

“Merely the crumbs that fall from the tables of the great.”

“A shameful excuse.”

“I'm living in the world of humans.”

“And do you know about the great?”

“Every tiny detail. They are nothing but thieves and scoundrels.”

“Yet you protect them with your sharp-cutting sword,” the voice said, scornfully, “and you attack their enemies, who are honorable people of sound opinion and judgment.”

“I am executing orders and the path I tread is clear.”

“Rather are you pursued by the curse of protecting criminals and persecuting respectable people.”

“Any man who thinks when doing such a task as mine perishes.”

“Then you're a mindless instrument.”

“My mind is solely in the service of my duty.”

“An excuse that tends to nullify the humanity of a human.”

An idea flashed within him and doors and windows opened before him.

“The fact is that I am not satisfied with myself,” he said ruefully.

“Sheer lies!”

“I have never succeeded in uprooting noble inner voices. They always converse with me in the silence of the night.”

“I don't find any trace of them in your life.”

“I require,” he said slyly, “some force to support me when I need it.”

“But you are chasing away the noble voices just as you do honest men.”

“I put myself on trial,” he said challengingly.

“Make plain what you mean.”

“Put your power to supporting me rather than thwarting me.”

“What do you want?”

“To do away with the criminals and to rule the people justly and honestly.”

A peal of laughter rang out, filling the universe.

“You would like to double-cross me in order to realize your hidden dreams of power and authority.”

“As a method, not as a goal.”

“Your heart is still sunk in bondage.”

“Try me out if you wish.”

“I am a believing genie and I never overstep the bounds.”

“Then remove yourself in peace from my path,” said Gamasa once more, in despair.

“The fact is that I thought tranquilly on top of the mountains of Qaf and was persuaded that you had rendered me a service that cannot be gainsaid, even though unintended. I have thus decided to return the favor with a like one and not to overstep the bounds.”

“But you are doing the very opposite of what you intended.”

“How stupid you are!”

“Explain your purpose to me,” he pleaded.

“You have a mind, a will, and a soul.”

He was about to plead more with him but the genie let out a scornful laugh, then quickly withdrew his presence and vanished.

Gamasa al-Bulti awoke to a knocking at the door. His deputy walked in to inform him he was summoned to meet the governor al-Hamadhani.

He wished he had been left to himself to think things over, but he had no choice but to go. He expected no good at all to come from the meeting. The flashes of hope in the autumn sky disappeared and the drums of victory fell silent. He would seesaw for a long time between the governor and Singam's pranks. He plunged into a bottomless pool of speculation as he rode on his mule along the road to the house of government, the way filled with movement and sound. He was encompassed by life's demands, followed scornfully by people's eyes. No joys or delusions: the days of pride had come to an end. A despised person feeding off ignominy—that is what Singam had persuaded him he was. His sole consolation was that he was the sword of state. But the sword had become blunt and security had broken down, so of what consequence was he? A murderous robber, protector of criminals, torturer of innocent men. He had forgotten God until he had been reminded of Him by a genie.

He found Khalil al-Hamadhani standing in the middle of the reception hall like a spear ready for battle.

“The peace of God be upon you, O Emir,” said Gamasa gently, to which the governor shouted in a voice trembling with rage, “Peace with your presence is nonexistent!”

“I work myself to death.”

“And so the jewels of my women are stolen from within my own house!”

This was more than he expected. He wondered what Singam had been up to. He was dumbstruck.

“You're nothing but a useless hashish addict, an associate of thieves.”

“I'm the chief of police,” he said in a gruff voice.

“We'll meet up in the evening,” shouted the governor, “or I'll sack you and cut off your head.”

What was the point of searching? What could his men do in the face of Singam's power? He would be dismissed and would lose his honor, also his head. It was a fate to which he had often dispatched other people, so how could he blame him? But Gamasa would not accept his fate without defending himself—and fiercely too. Here was his life spread out before his eyes like a page: a concrete and terrifying testimony. It had started with a pact with God and had ended with one with the Devil. He had to topple it before death. The thought of the sheikh came to him like a stray breeze on a scorching summer's day: it blew, borne along on pure thoughts of nostalgia. He said to himself, “This is his time.” He drew him forth from his deepest depths when his sorrows had ripped apart the solid crust besmirched with blood.