I stayed silent, not saying a word.
“Hello…” she said, with some hesitation. “I wonder if you happen to have another copy of it?”
“I have one with me.”
“Would you be so kind as to bring it to me?”
“So you can send it to him?”
“Of course.”
“I was hoping to get this resolved quickly.”
“How long will you be staying in Beirut?”
“Another week, perhaps.”
“Alright, then we’ll see. When will I see you?”
“Whenever is good for you… tomorrow morning, for example. At ten?’’
“Okay,” she said in English. “I will be waiting for you. Do you know where the publishing house is?”
“Wasn’t it destroyed?” I asked, confused.
She laughed. “The explosion was on the ground floor,” she explained, “where the warehouse was. The offices themselves didn’t get much damage. We’ve repaired them and they are back to what they were.”
“That quickly? I will find out how to get there.”
“At ten o’clock, then,” she added.
I put back the receiver and lit a cigarette. It was still early in the day, but I felt like I needed a little drink, so I poured myself a glass of gin. I sat down and flipped through a large volume about the Lebanese Civil War.
Around noon Wadia called me to say that he would be dining with one of his friends. He told me to help myself to the contents of the refrigerator to make my own lunch.
I fried an egg and ate it with some olives and salad, as I scanned an ad in yesterday’s paper inviting Arab citizens to join armed groups in Libya, “the revolutionary core of the united Arab nation”, in order to confront “the vicious assault the Arab nation faces from imperialism, Zionism and Arab reactionary forces”. Next to the ad, I discovered a small news item about the widening scope of Libyan involvement in Chad on the side of Chad’s head of state, Oueddei, against his rival, Habré, who was supported by the United States. There was also an allusion to an editorial in the Cairo-based al-Ahram newspaper, demanding that America “regain its prestige and standing, and shoulder its responsibilities to preserve peace, confront aggression, and stop the escalation of conflict, the rejection of authority, and the terrorization of populations through incursions and outside interference”.
After eating, I felt a desire to rest a little. But I roused myself, got dressed, and left the house.
A taxi took me to Antoinette’s building. An armed man walked me to her office. I found her with a stocky man around fifty years old. He occupied a chair next to her desk.
She brought me over to him, saying, “Abu Nadir. The head of the PLO film office. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”
I shook hands with him warmly, saying, “Who hasn’t heard of him?”
The guerilla operation he had led in downtown Tel Aviv was legendary. The Israelis had arrested him afterward and condemned him to death. He had been critically wounded, which kept him immobile for a long time, but afterwards was able to escape.
I sat down opposite him as he continued his conversation with Antoinette. “Movement in the playing field is limited now. Tomorrow’s events will prove to you I’m right. You know how my predictions come true. It’s something like a hunch. Did I tell you about the Tel Aviv operation?”
She bowed her head, but he went on talking, turning toward me: “There was an Israeli soldier in front of us carrying a machinegun. His finger was on the trigger, preparing to open fire at any second. But I got the feeling he wouldn’t do it, and I confidently headed toward him, until the mouth of his gun touched my chest. Then I put out my hand and took the gun.’’
He changed the subject, suddenly. “How is Egypt?” he asked me. “I visited it once in ’68, and met Gamal Abdel Nasser. I should have gone again in 1970 if it weren’t for the Russians.”
“How?” I asked, confused. “I mean, why?”
He smiled. “In my first commando operation, we snuck into the occupied territories from Jordan,” he said. “Do you know who opened fire on us? The Jordanians. At the time, I told my comrades: ‘Our misfortunes always come from our friends, not our enemies.’”
“… but the Russians…” I stammered.
He cut me off. “I know what you’re going to say. Believe me, all we get from them is a lot of hot air.”
Antoinette jumped into the conversation, adding, “Sadat says the same thing. As though they should be taking up arms instead of us.”
“We’re just pawns in the game between the Russians and the Americans.”
“If Begin heard you, he’d jump for joy,” she snapped at him.
His smile widened.
“When they arrested me,” he went on, “they asked me about my position on the Russians, so I told them the truth. That didn’t stop them from condemning me to death. But enough about me: Antoinette tells me you like the film?”
“I really do,” I replied.
“Do you think it would be a success if it were shown in Egypt?”
“Generally, documentary films aren’t popular in Egypt. Plus, Sadat’s media has succeeded in killing off people’s interest in Arab causes.”
He turned to address Antoinette.
“Didn’t I tell you that books are better than movies?”
He turned back to me, adding, “Do you know that I wrote a major novel? Everyone who read it was astonished by it and told me I missed my calling.”
He looked back and forth between the two of us, then stood up.
“I’ll be going now,” he said, “and let you get to work.”
After he left, Antoinette told me, “Abu Nadir is an exceptional person, even if he has his opinions. Did you find the material I gave you helpful?”
“Very. But I want to see the film again.”
“Of course. I reserved the screening room for you today.”
She stood up while gathering some papers on her desk. She was wearing the jeans I had seen her in the first time, but she had traded her jacket for a light floral-design blouse with half-length sleeves.
She walked out of the room ahead of me, and we went upstairs to the top floor. We entered a screening room the size of a living room. It had several rows of cushioned seats, in the middle of which was a small table with two ashtrays. The seats were two steps away from the screen, which covered one wall completely.
I took a seat in the front row and lit a cigarette. Antoinette walked over to the projection booth and spoke to the projectionist. Then she turned off the light and sat down in the seat next to me.
The show started immediately. I found myself better able to follow the film’s shots than I had been the last time.
The air was warm, so I took off my jacket, and tossed it on the seat next to me. I rested my right arm on the armrest of my seat. I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt. I could feel her bare arm near me. At the first movement from her, our arms touched.
Our arms stayed that way for a few moments, and then she gently pulled her arm away.
I focused my attention on the film, and it wasn’t long before I became absorbed in its images. I wasn’t aware of the passage of time until I read the words “The End”.
Antoinette got up and turned on the light. She put her hands in her pants’ pockets as she turned around and walked toward me. She stood in front of me, bending one of her knees as she rested it on the edge of the seat she had just occupied. I noticed that her pale face was now a little flushed.
I offered her a cigarette and she took it. She pulled out a gold lighter from her pocket and held it up to me. I lit my cigarette, saying: “There are a lot of title cards: they should be incorporated into the voiceover. I’ll have to work with the scenes playing in front of me.”