“We’re on our way to the inn,” he said tersely.
By way of a square we approached the inn. It became visible by torchlight and showed up as no less large and luxurious than the one in Halba. As for the room, it was smaller and simpler but lacked none of the amenities. It was also scrupulously clean. I noticed the presence of two beds side by side and asked anxiously, “What’s the other bed for?”
“It’s for me,” said Fluka calmly.
“Are you going to sleep in the same room with me?” I asked, doing nothing to hide my objection.
“Naturally. What’s the point of occupying two rooms when a single one is sufficient?”
“I would like to be on my own in one room,” I said with displeasure.
“But this is the system followed in our country,” he said, as calmly as before.
“Then I shall enjoy no freedom except in the lavatory,” I complained.
“And not there either,” he said coldly.
“Are you serious?”
“We have no time for idle talk.”
I scowled. “It’s better to cancel the journey.”
“You will not find a caravan for ten days.”
He changed his clothes, donning a nightshirt. Making his way towards his bed, he said, “Everything here is new and unfamiliar, so free yourself from the fetters of bad habits.”
Faced with reality, I was defeated. I changed my clothes and went to my bed. For a long time sleep evaded me because I was so upset, then tiredness overcame me.
With morning I felt uneasy; however, I made as if I were taking things in my stride. Then Fluka led me to the dining room, where we sat at a small table and had a breakfast of milk, pastries, eggs, and crystallized fruit. Both in quantity and in quality it was excellent; I swallowed it down, all except for a small glass of wine, which I did not touch.
“Wine will be served at every meal,” Fluka said. “It’s a necessity.”
“I have no need of it,” I insisted.
“I have known many Muslims who were addicted to it,” he said with his habitual calm.
When I smiled and made no comment, he asked, “Do you really believe that your god is concerned whether you drink wine or not?”
When he saw my expression change, he said gently, “My apologies!”
We left the inn together to make our first sightseeing tour. I cast a general look around, then my eyes trembled with something like fear. I was appalled by the empty space. The square and all the streets debouching from it were without trace of any human being. A city empty, deserted, dead. Exceedingly clean and elegant and orderly, with its vast buildings and towering trees, but without any sign of life. I glanced at Fluka in disquiet. “Where are the people?”
“They’re at work, men and women,” he answered with provocative calm.
“Is there no woman who doesn’t work?” I asked him in astonishment. “Isn’t there anyone unemployed?”
“Everyone works. There are no unemployed and all women work. As for the old and the children, you will see them in the parks.”
“Halba,” I answered, unbelieving, “surges with activity, but its streets are always crammed with people.”
He thought for some time and then said, “Our system is not similar to any other. Every individual is trained for a job and then works. Every individual gets an appropriate wage. It is the sole land that does not know rich and poor. Here there is a justice that no other land can attain even a measure of.”
He pointed at the buildings as we moved from one empty street to another.
“Look, the buildings are all uniform. There are no palaces and no detached houses, no buildings that are vast and others medium-sized. The differences in wages are slight. All are equal other than those whose work sets them aside. The smallest wage is sufficient to satisfy what a respectable person requires in the way of lodging, food, clothing, education, culture, and also entertainment.”
I found it hard to believe, and I answered him with platitudes. Nonetheless the sight of the buildings and streets had delighted me, for in their design they were not inferior to those of Halba itself. Fluka took me to a vast park, reached by way of a large bridge over a broad river. I had not seen a park of such size before, nor one with such a variety of trees and flowers. “It’s a park for those who have become advanced in years and beyond the stage when they can be active and working,” said Fluka. I saw old people of both sexes walking about in the park, taking some gentle exercise, sitting, talking, singing. “In every city there is a similar park.”
He said this with pride and satisfaction, and I thought it a good system, the like of which I had not seen in the other lands I had visited. I was struck by the great number of people over eighty years of age. This did not escape the notice of Fluka, who immediately said, “With us, food is characterized by the abundance of basic nutritive ingredients and an avoidance of luxury foods. Also we play sports at certain times during working hours.”
One of the curious things I saw in the park was a couple on their honeymoon: a widow and widower in their eighties, they were sitting on the shore of an artificial lake, dangling their feet in its water, which had acquired a green tint from the leaves of the overhanging trees that were mirrored in its surface. I enjoyed watching the people and stayed on in the park for a long time until Fluka said, “The time has come to pay a visit to the children’s park.”
A spacious square separated it from the old people’s park. The square was large enough for a small city to be constructed on it. From a distance, as we approached, came the voices of young children. It was a huge place, like a separate land, crammed with children of all ages. It possessed numberless playgrounds and areas for study and teaching, with many teachers, male and female.
“Is it for recreation or study?” I asked my companion.
“For both together,” he answered. “It is here that we discover different talents, and each is directed in accordance with his inclination and the plan laid down for him. The teachers, men and women, substitute for the fathers and mothers, who are engaged in their work.”
“But nothing can replace the tender love of parents,” I said innocently.
“Wise sayings and proverbs that no longer have any meaning in the land of Aman,” said Fluka quietly.
The morning was not long enough for us to undertake any new visits, so we had our lunch in the inn. It consisted of roast meat and cauliflower, and bread and apples. Before sunset he took me to the big square and we stood under a white poplar tree. “The time has come for you to see the people of Aman.”
There were four large streets debouching into the square. With sunset appeared the first signs of human life. It was like the moment of Resurrection. All at once all the streets began to spew forth endless crowds of men and women, each group dressed in the same simple clothes, like an army regiment. Despite the fact that there were successive surging waves of them, they came forward in perfect order, no more than a whisper escaping from them, their faces serious and exhausted, hastening forward, each going to his own goal. One side of the street was given over to those approaching, the other side to those moving away. There was no disturbance, and no merriment either: it was an embodiment of equality, order, and seriousness. It aroused my admiration to the same extent that it stirred within me feelings of anxiety and confusion. The density of the crowd reached its peak, then began gradually to lessen until the empty space won back its total kingdom with the descent of darkness.
“Where have they gone now?” I asked Fluka.
“To their homes.”
“Then they return once more to spend their evenings out?”
“No, they stay at home till the morning. As for the places of entertainment, they come alive on the night of the weekend.”
“Does this mean that our nights will be spent in the inn?” I asked with concern.
“In the inn for foreigners,” he said unconcernedly, “is a place of entertainment where you will find all you want in the way of drink
and dancing and singing.”
We spent the night there, and though I witnessed a strange form of dancing, a new way of singing, and several games of magic, they were not all that fundamentally different from what I had seen and heard in Halba.
On the following day we visited factories, places of business, and centers for learning and medicine. They were in truth in no way inferior to similar ones in Halba in size, order, or discipline. They all merited my admiration and appreciation and shook my firm belief in the superiority of the land of Islam in matters of civilization and production. However, I did not feel relaxed at the morose expression on the faces of the people, their rigidity, and their overall coldness. It was these traits that had made of my escort, Fluka, a person who, though indispensable, gave me no pleasure.
We visited a revered historic citadel, its walls adorned with inscriptions and pictures. “In this citadel,” said Fluka, “there took place the final battle which ended in the defeat of the tyrannical king and the victory of the people.”
He took me to a vast building like a temple. “Here you have the court of history. It was here that the enemies of the people were tried and condemned to death.”
I asked him whom he meant by the enemies of the people.
“The landowners, factory owners, and despotic rulers. The state gained victory after a long and bitter civil war.”
I remembered what my master, Sheikh Maghagha al-Gibeili, had said about not being able to continue his journey because of civil war in Aman. I also remembered the bloody history of Halba in the cause of freedom. And was the history of Islam in our own land any less bloody and full of pain? What does man want? Is it just the one dream? Or are there several dreams according to the number of lands and countries? Is real perfection to be found in the land of Gebel?
“Will you spend tonight in the place of amusement as you did yesterday?” Fluka asked me.
I indicated my lack of enthusiasm through silence.
“Tomorrow the country celebrates Victory Day—it is a memorable event,” he said to cheer me up.
We had supper, then sat in the entrance hall of the inn, enjoying the pleasant summer breezes.
“I am a traveler, as you know,” I said to Fluka, “and it is the custom in my country for a traveler to record the events of his travels. For this purpose I require much information which the sightseer cannot obtain.” He listened quietly, uttering not a word, so I continued, “I would be interested in meeting one of the sages of your land. Can you help me?”
“The sages of the land of Aman,” he answered, “are engaged in their duties, but I can provide you with such information as you want.”
I quickly swallowed my disappointment and determined to tackle him about the matter. “I want to know about your political system,” I said. “How are you ruled?”
“We have an elected president,” he replied without hesitation. “He is elected by the small group of the elite who made the revolution—that is, the elite of all the towns, including scholars, sages, and men of industry and agriculture, of war and security. After that he holds the post for life. But if he deviates, they remove him.”
That reminded me of the system of the caliphate in the land of Islam, though it also reminded me of the tragic events of our gory history.
“What are his mandatory powers?”
“It is he who is in charge of the army and of security, and of agriculture and industry, of science and art. With us it is the state that owns everything, while the subjects are employees, each working in his own field, there being no difference in this between the sweeper and the president.”
“Does no one assist him?”
“His consultants, and the elite group who elected him, but he has the last word. We are thus secured against chaos and indecision.”
After some hesitation I said, “But he is too powerful to be made answerable if he deviates.”
For the first time he departed from his original emotional coldness.
“The law here is sacred!” he said sharply. Then, before I could say a word, he continued, “Look at nature, its basis is law and order, not freedom.”
“But man, unlike other creatures, always strives for freedom.”
“It is the voice of carnal greed and illusion. We have found that man’s heart is contented only through justice, and so we have made justice the basis of our system, and we have placed freedom under surveillance.”
“Is this what your religion orders you to do?”
“We worship the earth, being, as it is, the creator of mankind and the supplier of his needs.”
“The earth?”
“It has done nothing for us, but it has created for us the mind, which makes anything else unnecessary.”
Then he continued proudly, “Our land is the only one in which you will not come across illusions and superstitions.”
Secretly in my heart I asked God’s forgiveness for having heard such words. One may find an excuse for the heathenism of the land of Mashriq, likewise that of the land of Haira, but the land of Aman, with its magnificent civilization, how can it worship the earth? It is an extraordinary land. It aroused my admiration to the greatest degree, as well as my disgust. But what saddened me even more was the state to which Islam in my country had sunk, for the caliph is no less despotic than the ruler of Aman. He practices his forms of corruption blatantly, while the religion itself is beset with superstitions and trivialities; as for the people, they are ravaged by ignorance, poverty, and disease. Glorified is He who alone is praised in adversity.
That night I slept in a state of exhaustion and had unpleasant dreams. Then came the day of the feast. As it was a public holiday, the capital took on a look of warmth and liveliness during the whole day. Fluka led me to the palace square. I found that the palace was a lofty citadel, an incomparable architectural masterpiece. In front of it was an immense square, large enough to take thousands upon thousands of people. We took our place in the middle, and the people began arriving and standing in orderly ranks on the perimeter. I looked into their faces with great curiosity. What recurrent pictures they made in their clothes, their faces and bodies! Complexions untouched by a burning sun, bodies strong and slim, faces wreathed in smiles of greeting for the feast, despite their constant scowling aspect on all other days. The beauty of faces in Halba was undoubtedly of a higher order, but the sameness here was itself a matter for astonishment. So it was that one read in people’s eyes a certain deep-rooted contentment, also something mysterious that bespoke apathy.
A trumpet was blown to announce the beginning of the festival. From the farthest point of the perimter facing the palace a procession of girls in the bloom of youth came bearing flowers. They walked in four rows towards the palace, then stood in two single files facing each other in front of the great entrance. The groups burst into song, all singing the same anthem, with exciting power and beauty. The sound rose up harmoniously, drawing the groups together into a single ecstatic moment inspired by shared intimate memories. It ended with loud clapping, which went on for two minutes. Fluka nudged me with his elbow and whispered in my ear, “The president is coming.”
I looked towards the palace and saw a group of men approaching from shadowy depths. As they drew nearer their features became clearer. The president was walking in front, followed by a group of the ruling elite. He walked on, facing into the perimeter so as to exchange greetings with the crowds nearby. When he passed by me, no more than a few handspans separated him from where I stood. I saw him to be of medium height, excessively fat, and with coarsely distinct features. The members of his retinue were no less fat. This attracted my attention forcibly and I was convinced that the president and his men enjoyed a regime of food which deviated from that to which the people were accustomed. I imagined the sort of conversation that could take place between Fluka and me on that subject. He would tell me that Aman’s system was not devoid of privileges reserved to individuals in accordance with their above-average performance in learning
or in work, and that it was natural that at the head of such people should be the elected president and his assistants. These privileges were granted within narrow limits that did not permit the existence of any class distinctions and, for understandable reasons, had no connection with the privileges of families, tribes, and classes in other societies ruled by injustice and corruption. The fact is that I did not find in that anything to contravene the just code in force in the land of Aman, and I did not find in it any point of resemblance with what occurs in other countries, the land of Islam at their head, in the form of shocking disparity in the way people are treated. It occurred to me that I was seeing things more clearly than previously. Yes, the land of Halba has a target that it has painstakingly realized, and the land of Aman too has a target that it has painstakingly realized. As for the land of Islam, they announce a target and achieve a different one, thoughtlessly, shamelessly, and without reckoning. Is perfection really to be found in the land of Gebel?
The president returned and ascended to the dais in front of the palace. He began addressing his people, expounding to them the history of their revolution, their victory battle, and what had been achieved for them in the different spheres of their life. I concentrated on following the emotions exchanged between the man and the people, and I did not doubt their enthusiasm and the way in which they shared single hopes and a similar vision. They were not a nation that was downtrodden and helpless, nor one that had lost its consciousness and breeding. Perhaps it lacked something important, perhaps its happiness was flawed; nevertheless I saw it as a cohesive nation with a message that was not without a faith of some sort.
When the president finished his speech a troop of cavalry forged its way into the square. On the tips of their lances were human heads. My heart turned over at the awfulness of the sight. I looked towards Fluka and he said brusquely, “Rebellious traitors!” There was no time to discuss the matter. The people again sang the anthem and the festival ended with general cheering.