Read Time:11 Minute, 40 Second

The Muslim BrotheLhood in the Bastille

Now Ebook and Paperback

From Chapter (1)

(…)

Curiously enough, I was no longer eager to rush to the parlour. I kept telling myself that I didn’t need Mr Ammar or any lawyer. It was Mr Aroussi’s idea, not mine. Should I rely on Mr Ammar for my defence, just to please my Boss and demonstrate my obedience to him? I believe the lawyer is pointless. I am working on my Top-Secret report, which will undoubtedly grant my release and, indeed, my promotion. Since I started working in this library, I felt I was becoming a scientist.

– A scientist? You?

– Yes me. Go to hell, Angel!

I learned a lot. I discovered a rat hole that may hide a tunnel to another world in the sky. Who knows with whom the Brothelhood is allied?

– With the whores?

– Nope.

– Who, then? The cooks?

– Indeed. But not only them. They are simple agents.

I mean the power or the superpower behind their conspiracy. Nobody knows about the multinational plot of the Muslim Brothelhood yet. I will soon make the headlines of national and international newspapers.

Bassam Bourasin For Nobel Prize

Wise Scientist New Discovery

Hole in the Wall Leads to New Universe

BrotheLhood Plotting from Prison

Aliens Attack With Multinational Corporation Rats

That’s because I’m not acting blindly. As a scientist, I know that the Brothelhood could not threaten our Beloved General President without an alliance with an extraterrestrial Superpower. I don’t believe the Americans would give a damn about helping the rats against us. It’s none of their business. They just care for oil and gas. That’s it!

As a scientist, I also know that a well-stuffed secret report is far more effective than three dozen lawyers. That’s how things work, not just in our country but also in the USA. Ask the Americans. They passed masters in classified reports about aliens.

This is a matter of statecraft and technicity, gentlemen. If the secret report is well-woven and embellished, filled with numerous plots and conspirators, it will reach the highest echelons of the Administration. And if it is tested and trusted, it may even cause some heads to fall off. Whether or not it is disclosed, its effect is similar to that of a small nuclear bomb, like Hiroshima. Nothing happened! No need for apologies! It is no secret that many high-ranking government officials rose to their current positions because they were skilled writers of classified reports. Many others, in contrast, had abruptly and unexpectedly stepped down from the podium due to a secret report condemning or simply charging them with disloyalty. Staline, for example, was a champion in secret reports. I read history. that’s how I became a scientist. As for our country, we are undeniably a society that values secrets (which is why we don’t have any) and reports (which is why we promote their authors)!

As a government institution of custodianship, the police have nothing to do with all this. However, every citizen of our country must report either to the party’s cell in his district or village or to the party’s headquarters in the Capital. That’s because the party and the fatherland are the same, said Hamda La’war. Therefore, we are all expected to be honest Part-riots.

I define a true Part-riot as someone who is devoted to the party that is leading the motherland. Every citizen in this country is expected to report to the party – even if he is not a member – any acts or facts that he believes are useful to security. No obligation, whether to family, tribe, or employer, overrides the duty we owe to our glorious party. This was a well-established tradition during the king’s reign, which was continued, underlined, and emphasised as the only safety line after the convolution.

We must open our eyes and ears more than ever before: the threats are real. Many foes and vassals of foreign powers (including the aliens), such as that Afghan, or the cooks – or the rats, for that matter – intend to organise a counter-couvolution that will shatter our economy, put an end to the profitable trades born with the new regime, and, of course, overthrow our BGP (Beloved General President). The Prince could then rule the country from his European refuge before returning with the mercenaries and taking control.

Hell! Hassan was correct when he said that I am an excellent strategist! I had no idea, and now I’m even surprised to think so clearly about those various challenges. Because all events in my village have an undeniable international dimension, my long service at ‘Ouja bank opened my eyes to the world stage. Nonetheless, I don’t rule out the possibility that Hassan was flattering me and exaggerating my abilities. I don’t trust him. This is also the lawyer’s opinion, who, as useless as he may be, is not entirely devoid of common sense. I prefer to remain grounded instead of relying on the panegyric endearing of a whimsical adventurer. I’ve never been duped by sycophants whose tricks are as old as the world. I know something about that. I’m not going down without a fight.

Furthermore, I am fundamentally apolitical and unconcerned with the vagaries of those ambitious and greedy individuals who play the treacherous roles of political opposition in the Brothels while threatening the ladies. That does not mean depriving myself of the pleasure of notifying the Administration of their nefarious deception. I do not joke when I write my classified reports. It is my vocation, my second career and my duty in a country where such things can propel one to the top while sending another to the bottom. I am aware that there are numerous dangers. However, as long as I am a PART-RIOT, I will swim to the shore. Now, rather than the solicitor, I’m entering the high seas with my top-secret report as a life buoy.

(…)

From Chapter (5)

(…)

Of all, “freedom” is only a single word, but achieving it took much bloodshed. Because of this, the government has resolved to secure it so well that greedy foreign powers will never again be able to steal it. Our freedom is now well veiled under a black niqab. We know it exists someplace, yet we can’t see it. Nobody can. Invisible Secret police ensured that our freedom became unseen, allowing us to enjoy it freely in bed, under the niqab at night. The law allows us to dream of it. Everything is done for the public good. The law is above all.

But EVERYONE in our country knows we are free even if we don’t see freedom: radio, television, newspapers, and political speeches keep repeating it – and that is why the State must protect our freedom with police, army, spies, electronic control, and monitoring microwaves. Any citizen in our nation has the fundamental, undeniable right to be observed day and night by a secret police agent whose duty it is to assist the citizen in being free – not an easy job – and to ultimately remind us that we are living in a free country because the Free State is so attentive and concerned to make us feel that we are being looked after, even if one is not a Minister or a senior official.

In fact, I had no idea that our security system had advanced so far that some of its personnel had become invisible. Sometimes I hear voices talking to me at work or home. To ensure I wasn’t going crazy, I looked everywhere—ceilings, walls, curtains, furniture, etc.—for bugs and other devices that might be sending signals. I never discovered a shred of proof. Now that I have given it some thought, I see that the situation is more nuanced than I first thought; because if I had to believe that the police could be invisible, then I may as well believe that the Jins, the ghosts, and other angels and spirits are working for the government. That ethereal nature would explain why my two guardian angels appear to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

That the Jins and the invisible police exist has been shown beyond a reasonable doubt. My guardian angels may be Jinni security officers (since the Jins are also enlisted by the State police). There may be no physical evidence, but we don’t need it to believe in the intangible aspects of our lives. To think I can fool anybody with my inflated sense of my own intelligence is a monumental folly. After all, we are all invisible when no one is looking at us. I’m also invisible since you can’t see me right now while you read these words. Just picture me talking to myself in your mind, and you’ll be right on the money. Still, I am as unnoticed by you as you are by me. As a result, anybody may be a Jinni, ghost, shadow, ghoul, phantom, angel or invisible cop. It’s not difficult; you just conceal. Nonetheless, if you want to be a bank clerk, it would take you years only to master the fundamentals of the job.

(…)

I am watching the Afghan. He is getting more influential in my chamber. He even attempted to convert me to his ominous sect, the jackass! Absolutely incredible, right? As he prayed with his followers ten times a day, he asked me:

-Why don’t you pray with us? How could you possibly be faithful?

He dared!

But I couldn’t admit that I don’t give a damn. Not wanting to start a fight with the Afghan, I refrained at the last moment from asking whether he saw himself as God or just his Prophet. Instead, I said:

-I am apolitical.

– My inquiry is not directed at your political beliefs but at your religious obligations. Have you got any religion?

This sleazy taunt infuriated me to the point that I dared to answer:

– No, Mister Mohamed, I have none.

I lied out of anger. But the man reddened and seemed bewildered. He must not have anticipated such a response, as he is used to being obeyed rather than resisted. Nevertheless, he maintained his composure and resumed his attack, asking:

– Are you against God?

– Which one?

– There is only One God, you dog son!

I didn’t add anything.

He eyed me with disdain and exclaimed:

– You wicked enemy of Allah! You poor, errant dog, may Allah never have mercy on your damned soul!

(…)

My commitment to the secret police and the whole Administration thus established, I hope that the allegations bearing on my shoulders are washed away as fast as the evidence convicting the State agents of torture was. I believe the proposal I am making is a reasonable Win-Win deal. Besides, I had already shown my innocence by admitting I was not a singular being but a collection of guys sharing the same face.

Indeed, that’s pretty amusing, no doubt about it. Now that I have given it some thought, I realise Dalila is utterly unaware of this fact. No doubt in her mind that she is still engaged to a single guy. In a word, that’s me. I wonder how she would react if I told her she is committed to at least ten different guys.

– 10? She would say incredulously. What do you mean?

– 10 at least, Dalila. So you understand I am much more than a “little tricky affair” guy.

She would look at me bewildered. Then, I will hammer the iron while it is still hot.

– Now, is there a chance you may still see me as crazy?

Unfortunately, I can’t. When she called me insane, I thought I was all by myself. One individual may be completely deranged. I propose instead that we form a ten-person crew. Indeed, not everyone here is insane.

In this sense, I belong to a gang. Nay, I am a gang.

The situation has become more complex. Not a “little tricky affair”. My next preoccupation is, which of us will end up marrying Dalila? Knowing and controlling such an issue is a challenge. What is the best way for me to approach this? What if everyone in the group falls in love with Dalila and wants to tie the knot with her? In that case, I’d be in many problems, and I know it’s because of the internal conflict I’d be experiencing. If we can agree that one of us, and only one, will marry Dalila, and we will let her choose freely, then maybe I should sit down quietly and discuss the subject with them. If we can’t come to an understanding, we’ll let the guns decide. The conflict will occur inside the gang itself. Maybe one of us will turn out to be another Al Capone, or maybe Al Capone himself, and he will win in the end. Honestly, I may say I will be that guy one day. My time here at the hotel has prepared me well for the exciting life of a gangster, and not just any gangster, either; I want to emulate the life of Al Capone. Here’s another career ready for me. All I have to do is walk in wearing the grey suit.

***

To be sincere, my desire surprises even the old me. That came out of nowhere. I never even thought about being Al Capone. If I’d understood what I know now about being a criminal, I definitely would have stolen a bank. I don’t need to hang around till the cops come and throw me in prison on some made-up charge. Things would be much fairer if I had looted the bank earlier. I feel bad about that mistake now. That was another thing Dalila was concerned about; being locked up without a proper accusation is deplorable. I won’t even pretend to be pleased with it. When I am arrested again, it will be for a good cause.

(…)