The Fall of the Imam (6 page)
I hide my wife behind a veil and make her walk behind me in the streets. She does not know how to write her name, and she cannot read the word of God. Her mind has little substance but her body is full of flesh, her buttocks are heavy and her brain lightweight. God created her out of a gnarled and twisted rib. She was destined to be poor, to be without lineage or family, a woman of low descent. When I married her, God had not opened the doors of prosperity to me and we were bound together in holy poverty, but after I had risen so high and sat on the throne she was no longer a suitable wife for me, she no longer fitted in with this new stage in my life. Besides, the Advisory Council told me that the Imam has the right to a new house, a new cloak of the best material, and a new wife, a woman blonde as honey, with eyes blue as the sea and a tongue that speaks all the languages of the earth. The members of the Council without exception said that this is the absolute right of the Imam, for he is the best and holiest of men. No one could contest my right as Imam to possess the best of wives, a woman without parallel in beauty and knowledge of the world, who will accompany me in my travels and represent me at inaugural functions when required. She will put on the official attire, join in the applause and acclamations of the crowd as she stands by my side in festivals and in celebrations of victory. In defeat she will wear the white uniform of nurses, offer sweets to the wounded and the handicapped, and join the widows of martyrs when they sing an anthem of praise to the dead, as they stand in the Great Hall, their eyes lifted in praise to the picture of the Imam hanging proudly from the monument to victory with his face looking humbly at the heavens.
My lips mutter verses of praise to God seated on his throne in heaven, but every now and then they curl with a quick intimate smile directed at the Devil. In my ears echo the acclamations of the crowd. I raise my right hand in the air, but my lower lip hangs down over my beard with the humility proper to a holy man. There I stand tall and upright on the platform, wearing the face of the Imam. On my forehead is the mark of the faithful to God, those who believe in Him and pray for His forgiveness, and over my chest hangs the Medal of Great Victories. To my right stands my Chief of Security, and on my left is my Great Writer, followed by my Leader of the Official Opposition. Behind are row upon row of Ministers, representatives of great powers, and personalities of State.
‘God is with you.’ Up into the air mounts the shout launched by men and women, children in the uniforms of scouts, girls dressed as nurses, soldiers in their khaki trousers, workers in blue overalls, peasants, their bodies clothed in flowing robes and their heads covered in skull-caps, while popular dance troupes weave their way through the crowds, women dancing and cymbals clashing. A million voices raised in acclamation resound as one voice, which thunders out accompanied by the refrains of patriotic songs and anthems of praise, the beating of drums, rockets fired to the sun, filling space with noise and vivid colours. White pigeons shoot up into the sky in flocks of fluttering wings, followed by planes carrying bombs which have expired many years ago. The sound of the words, God is with you, vibrates in his ears again and again. His eyes, raised to the heavens, asked a question: if Thou art on my side, O God, why have I suffered defeat? Why dost Thou hide from me the secret of the nuclear bomb, and divulge its secrets to the enemy, to the unbelievers? Why deprive Thy humble servants and faithful followers from its benefits? Have mercy on me, O Allah, for I should not be asking Thee to explain the reasons why, or the causes of Thy actions. It is Thy will and Thy will is not to be questioned, for to question is to oppose and to oppose can only bring harm. I thought that this Satan who stands by my side would play his role of opposition within the limits prescribed by my decrees, that he would serve to bestow upon me the honourable reputation of a man of liberty and democracy. But no, he does not know his limits. He has grown arrogant and conceited, filled the newspapers with his pictures and even arranged things so that they are sometimes placed higher than mine. He smiles at me like an angel and then strikes out at me behind my back. He stands close to the representatives of the Great Powers during celebrations and keeps shooting glances at my harem.
My new wife has studied Political Science overseas. She has a theory about the art of ruling, about the art of taming men. She said to me, ‘Hold your stick in the middle and refrain from hitting out with it all the time. Pat people over the shoulder like a mother sometimes, and at other times beat down with it hard on the head. Remember you and I will distribute roles between the two of us. If you hit hard I will arrive with an angel’s smile upon my face. But if you forgive or compromise I will raise the stick high up, or pull on the reins until the bit cuts deep into the mouth.’
I said to her, ‘You take care of the opposition and of Hizb al-Shaitan.’
‘I will tame the men,’ she said. ‘A man is like a child, even if he lifts the flag of rebellion high up to the sky. But woman is the reptile. Woman is the snake, even if she wraps a veil around her face and joins the ranks of Hizb Allah.’
‘But my enemies are all men,’ said I. ‘Ever since we were children they have nurtured hatred for me deep in their hearts. Amongst the women I have only two enemies. An old woman whom I put aside with my old clothes and other things from bygone times, and an illegitimate daughter born out of a moment of rashness and numerous cups of wine.’
‘Your old wife has broken wings’, she said, ‘and is no longer able to fly, but your daughter is the real danger, for in her heart she bears an ancient grudge and has decided that sooner or later you must die.’
‘But a daughter would never kill her father, even if he rapes her like a wolf,’ said I. ‘She loves me. In her heart of hearts she has always been loyal to me because I am her father.’
‘You’, she said, ‘are the one who is in love, the one who stands under the lights, and the lights are blinding your eyes. Look carefully. There she stands, hiding at the back of the crowd, waiting for a chance to strike, to aim at you and kill you in the flicker of an eye.’
‘No one will try to kill me other than a member of Hizb al-Shaitan, or a mercenary hired by some secret party, or an enemy sent from a foreign land,’ said I.
‘Your enemies are many, Imam, and the higher God helps you to rise, the more numerous they become,’ was her reply. ‘Do not go on to the streets without your bullet-proof vest.’
‘God is my bullet-proof vest,’ I told her. ‘He is my only shield and guide. He is my one and only protector in this life.’
‘If bullets speak, God alone will not be enough,’ she said, looking me straight in the eye, to which I quickly replied, ‘God have mercy on us for what you have said, woman. You are indeed an infidel and have not removed the cross from where it lies deep in your heart. Do you not trust in Allah’s ability to protect me from all danger?’
‘Since the night we consummated our nuptial vows I drove Christ out of my heart and put my trust in you, in Allah and His Prophet,’ she said. ‘I fear for you from your enemies who hide, and I know that to prevent things from happening is better than waiting until it is too late.’
‘But I am not going to an encounter with my enemies,’ said I. ‘I am going to meet my beloved people, my dear soldiers whose hearts are overflowing with love for me and with loyalty to our sacred vows. I can hear their voices join in the mighty chorus, “Long live the Imam, give him long life, O God, that he live for ever.” Do you not hear their acclamations rising to the skies, woman?’
The Bodyguard knew nothing about affairs of state, nor of matters related to the Imamate. His functions were well-defined. They consisted of putting on the rubber face which had been made to resemble the features of the Imam, in using props and other things to give him the tall and upright figure which people had so often seen standing high up on platforms surrounded by batteries of microphones, and in making sure that on all public occasions he remained close to the Imam. No one in the whole land could possibly distinguish between the two, tell which was the false Imam from the true, except the God of heaven and the Chief of Security. Nevertheless, the Bodyguard never allowed his senses to be lulled into a feeling that all was well. His ears kept turning themselves in all directions so that if at any moment he perceived what might resemble the sound of bullets being fired from a gun, he could immediately throw himself in front of the Imam and with his body intercept whatever bullet was destined for the One and Only Ruler. Thus he would die with that feeling of sublime happiness accorded only to he who has chosen to die a martyr for a great cause, who knows that the key to Paradise hanging around his neck will serve him well, and that all he will have to do is insert it in the door and enter, upon which he will find himself in the presence of the Prophet and the other martyrs who have arrived before him. He would also die happy in the knowledge that after death his wife, promoted to the status of Widow of the Great Martyr, would be provided with a special double pension and decorated with an Order of the Third Degree.
On the servant list our man was officially described as the Bodyguard. Only people with unique qualities could aspire to occupy this very special post, which entailed great risks and was very important since it required total devotion and loyalty to the Imam and complete faith in him. It was clear that such qualities could only be found in someone who had abandoned all use of his mind or who did not possess a capacity for reasoning at all. It had to be so since any attempt to think could lead to hesitation, and hesitation, even if only for a moment, could mean the end of the Imam. Once a bullet was fired, if the Bodyguard was slow in throwing himself forwards to intercept it with his body, the greatest of catastrophes would ensue. A complete lack of any capacity to think was therefore considered the first and foremost requisite in whoever applied for the post.
The Imam himself chose his Bodyguard. The applicants were made to stand in a line as he sat on his swinging canopy in the palace gardens. The choice was made after careful testing of the applicants’ brain cells, and the results were registered on a sheet of the whitest paper. Any mark or black dot on the paper could immediately arouse doubt as to the applicant’s suitability, since it would signify that one of the cells in his brain was still functioning.
‘Are you prepared to die for the Imam?’
‘Yes, with the greatest of happiness.’
All of them said yes. There was not a single no. But the Imam did not trust what people said. He believed only in the electronic apparatus which alone was capable of distinguishing between truth and lies. It was a difficult test, and only one person in a million could hope to succeed in passing it. After testing of the brain came testing of the body, and this was no less difficult. Many things had to be tested. The capacity of the ear to stretch and strain itself to the full so as to hear the sound of the bullet before it was fired from the gun. The capacity of the body to encounter death and to take on the form and consistency of the Imam’s body so that the two became indistinguishable. The agility required to drop suddenly and die, without drawing anybody’s attention to what was happening or giving anyone the slightest chance to realize that a bullet had been fired from a gun, especially as the sound was usually muffled by the use of one of those modern devices fitted to guns used in assassinating leaders. Besides, the acclamations of the crowd were so high that they made it impossible to hear the gun being fired even if it did make a sound. ‘God is with you,’ they cried.
The Imam lifted his face to the sky and fixed his attention on it, his mind straying for a moment from what was happening on earth. But in this split second of time the gun went off. The Bodyguard leapt to receive the bullet in his body with open arms. He fell to the ground at the Imam’s feet without drawing the attention of any of the people standing around. His body seemed to evaporate, to melt in no time, only to be replaced by another body with exactly the same contours and lines and with exactly the same rubber face which he was wont to wear over his own face so that he remained the living image of the Imam and made it impossible for anyone to distinguish between the true and false Imam, even if it were his own wife.
Every time the Bodyguard walked out of the door of his house he felt it would be for the last time, that he would not return. Yet he walked out of his own free will, his heart overflowing with happiness at the thought that he was going to his death carrying the key of Paradise around his neck. It hung from a fine silver chain and was cut like a fish tail with sharp indentations. Sometimes he used to wonder how he was going to open the door to Paradise with this key. Was Paradise like a house with a door leading into it? Would Radwan, the doorkeeper of Paradise, let him open the door with his key? Many questions went through his mind as he stood there with the acclamations of the crowd echoing in his ears. The cells of his brain kept chasing them away but they would return again. No one noticed how he stood there frowning slightly as though his brain was ticking away. The electric current had been cut off for some time and the electronic detector was not in functioning order.
The Chief of Security fastened his eyes on the back rows of the crowd, but the Imam kept a careful watch on the sky. Meanwhile the head of the Bodyguard maintained itself in exactly the same position as that of the Imam, gazing up into the heavens all the time. When the Imam waved his hand at the crowd, the Bodyguard managed to repeat the same movement without lagging behind. No one could possibly detect any difference between the two. The Imam had a characteristic way of walking over the land. He moved with a slight limp, the right foot coming down more heavily on the ground than the left one, for whereas the bones of his right leg were quite straight, the bones of his left leg were slightly bowed. But somehow the Bodyguard seemed able to advance with exactly the same gait. It was said that the curvature in the left leg of the Imam had been caused by a lack of calcium in his mother’s milk. The poor woman had never heard of the affliction called rickets and thought that the deformity in her son’s leg was caused by the evil eye, so she tied a blue bead round his neck with a string and dressed him in the clothes of a girl.