Othman had no intention of seeing him again, nor had he come to say goodbye to him in response to any genuine feeling, but only for fear of being charged with ingratitude. For this reason he was oppressed by his conscience and his fear of God, and he walked away hardly conscious of his surroundings. In spite of himself, his thoughts were focused on grade five, which was due to be vacant in a few days.

His standing with the Director of Administration was now so good no obstacle of any consequence stood in his way.

So he was promoted to grade five that same month and made Head of Archives.

SIXTEEN

Patience, however vacuous, may have its reward. Othman’s new leap forward was a real one and its great advantage lay in the fact that the Head of Archives presented important mail in person to His Excellency the Director General to receive his instructions confidentially and see that they were carried out. God was pleased with him at long last and the celestial gates were now opened to him, leading to the sublime administrative presence. Here was a royal opportunity that required him to exploit all his experience, culture, suavity, and sincerity. Here was the room, vast as a public square, from which he dreamed he would one day rule. It was a dream that had to come true, no matter what offerings must be made at its altar: a dream to which nobody had access save the meritorious who purchased it in exchange for the cheap and ephemeral pleasures of life.

He studied the enormous room meticulously: the smooth white ceiling, the crystal chandelier, the neatly decorated walls, the tiled fireplace, the blue carpet whose dimensions exceeded anything he had ever imagined possible, the conference table with its green felt cover, and the desk facing him with its strong, curved legs and glass top on which stood an array of silver objects: paper holders, inkpots, pens, a clock, a blotter, an ashtray as well as a wooden cigarette box from Khan al-Khalili.

Now he had ample opportunity to cast furtive looks at the lucky Director as he sat on his large chair: sharp dark eyes and a well-shaven face, a dark red tarboosh, a fragrant scent, a black mustache of medium length and width, an aura of vitality all around him, his girth moderate, though his height could not be ascertained with accuracy. Above all an air of solemn and unbending reticence, which made the earning of his friendship an aspiration difficult to achieve.

There he stood in audience before him, conscious of his breathing and within the aura of his fragrant scent, almost hearing his pulsebeat and reading his thoughts. He stood there seeking to learn his wishes and eager to obey his commands before they were uttered. In the light of his smile he read the future; and his dearest dream was always that he would one day sit in his place.