His Excellency the Director General
Sir,
I have the honor to advise Your Excellency that as an external student I have, this year, obtained the degree of Bachelor of Laws, seeking to acquire more knowledge and to perfect the tools necessary for a government employee. All along, Your Excellency’s genius has been my inspiration under the protection of His Majesty the King, God save him.
Please take note and authorize the enclosed certificate to be kept in my record of service.
I am, sir, with the highest respect,
Your obedient servant
Othman Bayyumi
Archives Clerk
(Incoming Mail)
He had achieved a brilliant record among external candidates. His note addressed to His Excellency would take its splendid course and proclaim to the world his superiority. It would first go to his immediate senior, Sa‘fan Basyuni, to authorize its submission to His Honor the Director of Administration, Hamza al-Suwayfi. That meant it would first be recorded in the Archives’ register of outgoing mail and then recorded again in the department’s register of incoming mail. This done, it would be taken to Hamza al-Suwayfi to approve its submission to His Excellency the Director General. Thereupon it would be recorded in the department’s register of outgoing mail and then in the register of incoming mail in the Director General’s office. Then His Excellency the Director General would read it. He would take it in with his eyes, absorb it in his mind, and maybe it would move him. Then he would sign it and pass it to the Personnel Office for disposal. Whereupon it would be recorded in the register of outgoing mail at the office of the Director General and then in the register of incoming mail in the Personnel Office. Thus action would be taken and a copy would be sent to Archives, where the letter was first issued, for retention in his service record. In this way the astronomical orbit would be completed and those who did not know would know.
He was drunk with happiness for a day. But days went by. What then? Would everything be swallowed up in silence? Nothing happened. The sacred fire burned in his heart. The shrine of al-Husayn bore witness to his prolonged prayers. The path stretched ahead without a single flicker of light. He had finished his studies but his quest for culture never ceased. It satisfied his yearning for knowledge, refining his spiritual qualifications for the position he was one day, by the grace of God, going to fill. It also fortified him in his long and bitter struggle in the jungle of officialdom where everyone in power claimed sacrificial offerings from him. He did not possess the magic of wealth, nor did he enjoy the privileges which belong to a great family. No political power was behind him. Nor was he prepared to play the part of a clown, a servant, or a pimp. He was one of the wretched people who had to arm themselves with every weapon available, seize every chance, rely on God and seek His eternal wisdom which ordained that man should fall on earth in order to rise again, through sweat and blood, to heaven.
With the passage of time in its eternal course a post in grade seven became vacant in the Archives Section when its occupant was transferred to another ministry. Sa‘fan Basyuni said to him, “I’ve recommended you for the vacant post. Nobody in Archives deserves it more than you do.”
He shook his hand gratefully and felt he wanted to kiss him.
The old man spoke again: “You’ve spent seven years in grade eight during which you became a Bachelor of Laws and showed beyond doubt unmatched efficiency.” The man laughed, revealing his black teeth with gaps in between, and went on: “It will be yours for sure. People with connections wouldn’t be interested in a post at an office inhabited by snakes and insects.”
Waiting was long and days went by. Seven years I have spent in one grade, he told himself; at this rate I will need sixty-four years to achieve my ambition. He had not seen the Director General, who had kindled the sacred flame in his heart, since the day he had stood in audience before him among the new appointees. It was his great joy to stand in a corner of the square and watch his procession as he left the ministry with the pomp and circumstance of royalty. That was the goal, the meaning and glory of life.
Work intensified in the department during the preparation of the budget. The Director of Administration needed additional officers from his subordinate sections and Othman was seconded from the Archives. This pleased him and he thought his chance had come. He braced himself for the task with great eagerness. He worked with the auditors and also with the deputy directors. Moreover, he attended meetings with the Director of Administration himself. It was like a volcanic eruption—as if he had just been waiting for the chance ever since his heart had taken fire with sacred ambition. He did not hesitate to place himself at the disposal of his seniors from early morning until midnight. In conditions so critical and delicate the administration was oblivious to everything save true competence. The budget was a serious business connected with the Director General, the Under Secretary of State, the Minister, the Cabinet, the Parliament, and the press. In those busy strenuous days nepotism stood no chance; rather, natural selection prevailed, the competent came to the forefront, and personal ability was recognized, though not, perhaps, rewarded. Othman attracted attention and won full confidence. His extraordinary capacity for work was evident and so was his knowledge of laws and regulations. As if he had not achieved enough success, he volunteered in secret to draft the budget statement which was normally written by the Director of Administration himself. On one occasion he had a chance to see the Director on his own on some business. When he had shown him his papers, he said with great deference, “Director, allow me to present to you some notes I took during work. They may be of some use in the editing of the budget statement.”
Hamza al-Suwayfi did not seem to take him seriously. “You are an excellent young man as everyone says…” he said kindly.
“I do not deserve the compliment, sir.”
“By the way, congratulations! Your promotion to grade seven has been approved today.”
This was Othman’s moment of triumph. “It’s thanks to you and your help,” he said gratefully.
“Congratulations!” the Director said, smiling. “But as for the budget statement, that’s a different matter.”
“Forgive me, sir,” said Othman apologetically. “I wouldn’t dare to handle the budget statement itself. It’s just that I made some notes during work. They’re the notes of a hard worker who has studied law and finance and only wished to be of some service to you when you set about composing the real statement.”
The man took the notes and started to read them while Othman watched attentively. He found the work absorbing. That was obvious. At last he said with an air of superficial calm, “Your style is good.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It seems you are an excellent reader.”
“I believe so, sir.”
“What do you read?”
“Literature, biographies of great men, English and French.”
“Can you do translation?”
“I spend my spare time perusing dictionaries.”
Hamza al-Suwayfi laughed and said, “Splendid! Good luck to you!”
He gave him permission to leave and kept the notes. Othman walked out of the room drunk with happiness, convinced that earning the confidence of the Director as he had just done was more valuable than the grade seven itself.
When the draft budget was printed several months later Othman anxiously read the preamble—and there was the passage he had written with his own hand, apart from a slight alteration of absolutely no consequence. He was thrilled, full to the brim with faith in himself and his future. He was wise enough, though, not to divulge the secret to anybody.
It was not long before a decision was made to transfer him from Archives to the Budget Department. That night he stood behind the window in his room and gazed down the alley sunk in darkness. He lifted his eyes to the sky and the wakeful stars. They looked motionless. But there was nothing static in the universe. He thought God had created the beautiful stars to entice us to look upward. The tragedy was that one day they would look down from their height and find no trace of us. There was no meaning to our life on earth save by sweat and blood.