He sighed deliberately to show that he wasn’t giving up yet. Then he opened the file in front of him and leafed through it with a shrewd, penetrating eye. As he read, his face became more pensive, more preoccupied, as if this hunt for a clue that would put the interrogation back on course had taken on some more dramatic importance. Suddenly he raised his head and stared at the young man, a passionate gleam in his eyes. He seemed to be on the track of a particularly serious offense. Karim pretended to shiver a little with fear, allowing himself the luxury of spoiling his adversary.
“According to the report of the agent who visited you, it appears that you are working. You make kites. Is that right?”
“It’s hard to make a living, Your Excellency. I do what I can.”
“Well then, tell me a bit about these kites. What do they look like?”
Hatim’s suspicious look — on top of this stupid question — was the height of bad melodrama. Karim hadn’t predicted this. Did the officer imagine he used the kites to photograph military targets? Why not? Anything’s possible in the realm of police fantasy.
“They’re small kites, Your Excellency. Completely humble. What did you think they were?”
“Don’t worry about what I think. But tell me what they’re for.”
“For entertaining children, nothing more.”
Hatim didn’t seem convinced, and Karim was choking painfully from holding back an enormous outburst of laughter. The officer continued to stare suspiciously; he didn’t believe the simple story. These kites had to have some secret purpose, but the terrain was tricky and he hesitated to go too far; there might be traps, and he risked losing ground. He moved his hand as if to swat a fly; it was how he dealt with thorny cases.
“Let’s forget about that for now,” he said. “And tell me what you think of the situation in general. Speak frankly.”
“I think that everything is going well, Your Excellency. Really, I don’t see anything going badly. My impression is that the people are content; they’re the picture of perfect happiness.”
“Well, let me inform you that you’re too optimistic. There are still plenty of bastards out there, bitter people who continue to complain. It seems they’re not content with the new regime, either. What do we have to do to make them happy, I ask you?”
“I don’t know, Your Excellency. I don’t bother with politics anymore. I’m about to get married.”
These last words had a catastrophic effect on Hatim.
“You’re going to get married?” he asked, his face twisted in disgust.
“Yes, Your Excellency,” responded Karim, in the voice of a man who was about to commit suicide.
Hatim snapped his file shut; he seemed to banish the young man from his universe. Already his gaze was distant as he said:
“Well, for the moment you may stay where you are. But watch out: the slightest prank and I’ll make you vacate your apartment.”
Karim was about to thank him when a door opened and the governor himself appeared. Hatim rose, followed by Karim and the whole ensemble of characters who’d been prostrate on the benches. For a few seconds, the governor remained on the threshold of his office, surveying the room with bulging eyes; then he began to walk, trotting on bent legs as if riding a horse. He was just passing by, when Karim — as if moved by a sudden impulse — intercepted him, seizing his hand and kissing it while murmuring a few unintelligible words. Karim returned to his place, panting shamelessly with excitement, as if crushed by the weight of an undeserved blessing. The governor wasn’t the least bit offended nor did he break his pace; he was accustomed to such signs of veneration. Superb on his invisible horse, he trotted on, until at last he left the room.
Karim’s unsettling act had left Hatim totally distraught. Expecting an attack, he’d tried to stop it, but what he’d seen instead was far worse: it was the world turned upside down. This Karim, whom he thought he knew so well, had suddenly become incomprehensible to him. He stared with horrified eyes, as if at a monster. Karim, for his part, was in seventh heaven. He’d risked everything for this simple pleasure: leaving Hatim thunderstruck, with irrefutable proof of his repentance. And there was no doubt he’d succeeded in this exploit.
Hatim signaled for Karim to sit back down.
“By God!” said Hatim. “You surprise me more and more.”
“Why, Your Excellency?”
“It’s hard for me to believe that you would come to this: kissing the governor’s hand!”
“That’s not in the least surprising,” said Karim. “The governor is our father, a father to all of us; at least, that’s how I see it.”
Hatim thought for a second. His interest in the young man intensified. In the horrifying light of the immeasurable degradation here spread before his eyes, he began to see an escape from the private calvary of dutiful public servant. Maybe all was not yet lost.
“So since that’s the way it is, maybe we can collaborate. You wouldn’t like it, would you, if your father — as you put it — were the object of vicious attacks?”
“Of course not. But what can I do?”
“I’d like to know your opinion of certain posters that have recently appeared on the walls of the city.”
“What posters?” Karim asked innocently.
“Allow me to enlighten you,” said Hatim. “These posters feature the governor’s portrait and praise him in glorious terms, too glorious to be sincere. Have you seen them?”
“Those posters, Your Excellency? Those are beautiful posters! Every time I see one, I stop to read it. I’ve learned the text by heart, in fact. Would you like me to recite it?”
“Save yourself the trouble. Instead can you tell me who’s behind them? Who’s printing them? Who’s putting them up on walls all over the city?”
“But, Your Excellency, I assumed it was the government. The posters say nothing but good about our kind governor!”
“You’re mistaken. The government didn’t print these posters! Don’t you think it’s your old comrades who made them?”
“What a thought!” exclaimed Karim. “I don’t know what to say! Why would my old comrades sing the praises of the governor?”
“Maybe they’ve gone mad. I’m trying to understand.”
He was extremely unhappy to reveal to Karim the awkward position the posters had put him in. But the slightest clue could mean an unhoped-for release; if he tracked down the creators of this poisonous panegyric that had the entire police force on alert, his reputation as an astute officer would be beyond all suspicion. In twenty years of working with political offenses he’d never seen anything like this — a problem so serious, and at the same time so delicate, so out of the ordinary, that there was no mention of it in any of the police manuals. Hatim wondered if this wasn’t the beginning of a new revolutionary era — he might have to revise his investigatory technique. A new way of doing things had been born, and there he sat like an idiot, unaware of the birthplace or the identity of the instigators. He was overcome by panic.
“So you know nothing?”
It wasn’t a question so much as a last attempt to seize a bit of the truth. He waited for Karim’s reply without much hope.
“Nothing, Your Excellency,” Karim responded glumly. He gazed at Hatim with an empty, defeated expression.
A painful feeling of failure took hold of Hatim, darkening his already formidable features. The interrogation was ending in weakness and defeat. He had extracted nothing from this repentant revolutionary on his way to the altar, who made kites for the amusement of a bunch of brats. Was it possible to sink lower? He was surprised to feel a sort of regret — in this case particularly absurd. Could he really feel pity for a failed revolutionary? There were plenty of others, all sorts of people seeking revenge, happy to sow the seeds of disorder along the way. And yet something had died: a tiny spark in the raging fire that wanted to set the world ablaze.