on a felucca. I’m ashamed to have come into the world in that city of ill omen, to have sat at the same café tables as those traitors.’
‘It is not your fault. What does your father do?’
‘He’s retired. He was a postman.’
‘Have you heard from him?’
‘No, sir. All I know is that he has fled the city.’
‘Any brothers?’
‘Only one, sir. He’s a warrant officer in the air force. I heard he was wounded in a NATO air raid.’
His head is bowed so far that his chin is about to disappear into the hollow of his neck.
‘Are you married?’ I ask him, to spare him any more embarrassment.
‘Yes, sir.’
I notice a leather strap around his wrist, which he hastens to conceal under his sleeve.
‘What is that?’
‘A Swahili charm, sir. I bought it in the African market.’
‘For its talismanic properties.’
‘No, sir. I liked its red and green plaited strands. I wanted to give it to my elder daughter. She didn’t like it.’
‘One does not refuse a gift.’
‘My daughter doesn’t see me very often, so she sulks at my presents.’
‘How many children do you have?’
‘Three girls. The eldest is thirteen.’
‘What is her name?’
‘Karam.’
‘Pretty name … When did you last see your daughters?’
‘Maybe six or eight months ago.’
‘Do you miss them?’
‘As much as our people miss their Brotherly Guide.’
‘I have not gone anywhere.’
‘That’s not what I meant, sir.’
He is shaking, though not from fear. This man worships me. His whole being is trembling with reverence for me.
‘I am going to ask Hassan to send you home.’
‘Why, sir?’
‘Your daughters are crying out for you.’
‘A whole people is crying out for you, Brotherly Guide. My family is just one drop in the ocean. To be at your side at this moment is an absolute privilege and joy.’
‘You are a good boy, Mustafa. You deserve to be with your daughters.’
‘If you send me I would disobey you for the first time in my life, and it would wound me so badly I would die.’
He means it. His eyes gleam with the tears that are only ever found in the pure in heart.
‘But go you must.’
‘My place is at your side, Brotherly Guide. I wouldn’t exchange it for a place in paradise. Without you there is no salvation for anyone, let alone my daughters.’
‘Sit down,’ I say to him, pointing to my armchair.
‘I could not possibly do that.’
‘I command you.’
His face is twisted in acute embarrassment.
‘Show me your tongue.’
‘I have never lied to you, Brotherly Guide.’
‘Show me your tongue.’
He gulps again and again, his face slightly turned away. His lips part to reveal a tongue as white as chalk.
‘How many days have you been fasting, Mustafa?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Your tongue is the colour of milk. It proves that you have not eaten for a considerable time.’
‘Brotherly—’
‘I know that my meals are made from your rations and that many of my guards are fasting so that I can go on eating.’
He lowers his head.
‘Eat,’ I tell him.
‘I could not possibly do that.’
‘Eat! I need my faithful servants to stay on their feet.’
‘Strength comes from the heart, not the stomach, Brotherly Guide. If I was starving or dying of thirst or had my legs cut off, I would still find the strength to defend you. I am capable of going to hell and back to fetch the flame that would reduce to ashes any hand daring to touch you.’
‘Eat.’
The orderly attempts to protest, but my expression stops him.
‘I am waiting,’ I say.
He sniffs noisily to work up his courage, clenches his jaws, and a feverish hand comes to rest on a hard biscuit. I sense him digging deep into his soul to find the courage to close his fingers around the biscuit. I hear him breathing shallow staccato breaths.
‘What happened, Mustafa?’
He is choking on the biscuit and still trying to chew it. He does not understand my question.
‘Why are they doing this?’
He grasps the meaning of my words and puts down the biscuit.
‘They have lost their senses, sir.’
‘That is not an answer.’
‘I don’t have any others, sir.’
‘Have I been unjust to my people?’
‘No!’ he exclaims. ‘Never, never in a thousand years will our country have a more enlightened guide or a gentler father than you. We were dusty nomads that a good-for-nothing king treated like a doormat, and then you came and made us a free people that the world envied.’
‘Should I imagine, then, that those rockets exploding outside are no more than firecrackers from a party I cannot quite locate?’
The orderly hunches his neck into his shoulders as if, all at once, he finds himself having to carry all of the traitors’ shame.
‘Surely they must have a reason, do you not think?’
‘I
