When he returned to the house that evening, he found everyone gathered in the hall around the teapot. As well as the regular members of the household, there were three newcomers. He already knew Salim al-Sinnur and Salih al-Tarthut, whom he had met before in Qusaim, and he was introduced to the third man but instantly forgot his name. Muhanna al-Tairi sat in the middle and everyone hovered around him. He was talking about the latest Rogers peace initiative, and the reasons that had induced Nasser to accept it. Muhanna was not enthusiastic about Hisham’s presence. He had looked at him with suspicion when he came in and only got up sluggishly to greet him. The smile on his face was obviously forced as he said, ‘Greetings to the newcomer! Greetings to the shepherd of Marx!’ Hisham gave an equally forced smile. They exchanged cold kisses, then Hisham said, ‘How nice to see you, brother Muhanna!’
‘May you have good health, brother Hisham … Or should I say “comrade”?’ Muhanna sniggered. He reminded Hisham of a cornered rat, the way his gaze shifted round everyone. Then he went back to where he had been sitting, while Hisham chose a place in the circle between Muhaysin and Muhammad. Before Muhanna started talking again he studied Hisham, frowning.
‘By the way, brother Hisham,’ he asked, ‘are you still a communist?’ While speaking his eyes once more shifted around the gathering, then he turned back to Hisham who answered coolly, trying to hide his anger.
‘Who told you I was a communist? I’m a socialist. Isn’t Gamal Abdel-Nasser one too?’
‘Yes,’ answered Muhanna. ‘But he’s not an atheist like you. I mean, like the communists.’
‘Who told you I’m an atheist? Or is that an accusation?’ retorted Hisham angrily. Muhanna was silent for a moment, then started talking about the Rogers initiative again, and how wise Nasser had been to accept it just at this precise moment, now that the war of attrition had achieved its objectives. Hisham listened silently, his thoughts returning to the time of the organisation.* He was furious, not hearing a word of what was being said around him, until Muhaysin dragged him out of his gloom. ‘Are you really a communist?’ he asked in a whisper.
‘You asked me before, and I gave you an answer.’
‘It was a vague answer. I want a precise answer, yes or no.’
‘There is no definite “yes” or “no” here. Yes, Marxism attracts me. But no, I am not a communist.’
‘What’s the difference? The one implies the other.’
‘Not exactly. It’s a long story. We’ll discuss it later.’ At this point, Muhammad, who had been listening to their whispering, interrupted.
‘Do you really not love Nasser?’ he asked, also in a whisper. Before Hisham could reply, Muhammad added, ‘I can’t imagine that there is anyone who doesn’t love Nasser ... except for traitors and agents. And sorry, I don’t think you’re one of them.’
‘It’s not a question of love or hate, but a matter of principle. I don’t hate Nasser personally. On the contrary, I love and admire him totally. But he doesn’t satisfy me intellectually, that’s all there is to it.’
Hisham was whispering without paying attention to the blazing looks Muhanna was directing at him. He soon felt their heat, however, when, in a voice clearly betraying intense anger, Muhanna challenged, ‘What’s all this whispering, friends? If you don’t want to talk to us, why don’t you go elsewhere?’
Muhammad and Muhaysin were silenced by Muhanna’s outburst. They lowered their heads and stared at the ground. But Hisham was unable to bear the insult. He couldn’t curb his headstrong nature. With wide eyes and reddening cheeks he said in a voice quivering with rage, ‘Brother Muhanna. You are simply talking to yourself. You’re giving a lecture, and I, for one, am not obliged to listen.’ He got up, making as if to leave, but Muhaysin grabbed him by the hem of his tob.
‘Hisham, stay,’ he begged. ‘It’s too early to leave.’ Then he looked at Muhanna. ‘He’s our guest, Muhanna,’ he said weakly. ‘At the very least, he’s my guest.’
‘Yes, yes, he’s a guest, Muhanna,’ repeated Muhammad and Dais. Muhanna sighed stagily, glaring at Hisham, who smiled evilly and sat back down. Now Muhanna could not remember where he had left off, and started to flounder and stop before reaching the ends of his sentences. He got up suddenly and made for his room, adding in a tone he made as sarcastic as possible, ‘Reading is better than all this time-wasting. I’m going to reread the 30 March Declaration, the best political document of the age.’ He gave Hisham a filthy sideways glance.
As soon as Muhanna had shut his bedroom door, Salih al-Tarthuth shouted, ‘Cards! Cards! Who will play?’ Then the company became heated and began to shout. Muhammad got up to get the playing cards from his room, while Dais went into the kitchen to make tea.
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* While at school, Hisham joined an ill-fated illegal political organisation. See Adama.