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I am sad for him, and for myself: my right hand of steel is limp and useless.

There was a time when nothing escaped his vigilance. He knew everything that went on, down to the moans of the virgins I deflowered between two shots of heroin. Back then Mansour was my sword of Damocles. He kept watch on the fruit and the orchard, and could tell a bad apple before it appeared. He left nothing to chance. His agents were hand-picked. At the slightest suspicion they struck; suspects vanished into thin air faster than a puff of smoke, and I could enjoy my nights in complete peace.

‘Don’t be angry with me, Rais. I haven’t taken my medication for weeks.’

He has hidden from me the fact that he is on medication. And there I was, thinking him unassailable. He looked as if he had never known illness or fatigue. I had even had my best men tail him — his charisma and authority as head of the People’s Guard made him a potential rival. Power is hallucinogenic, so you are never safe from others’ murderous daydreams. It is one short step from the barracks to the presidential palace, and overarching ambition dwarfs the risks … But I had grossly misjudged Mansour: he would have cut his mother’s throat without hesitation if she had ever bothered me.

I gesture to him to sit down.

‘I prefer to stand.’

‘I appreciate the effort you are making,’ I tell him ironically.

‘I’m furious with myself.’

‘You are wrong to upset yourself over a moment’s weakness. I too have a heart beating in here.’

‘Your regard for me is worth more than all the world’s honours.’

‘You deserve it … You are a brave man. You prove it by staying with me.’

‘Only rats desert the sinking ship.’

‘I am merely a ship to you?’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

I look hard at him. He swallows, embarrassed. He came to make amends for his attitude earlier and he realises that he is compounding his errors.

‘I wonder if I’d have done better to stay downstairs.’

‘An excellent question.’

The coldness of my tone crushes him. He nods, his head lowered, and shuffles to the door.

‘I did not give you permission to go.’

He hovers with his hand on the door.

‘Come back, you fool.’

He turns round. The trembling of his lips makes his beard quiver.

‘I feel vulgar, wretched and unworthy to stand in front of you.’

‘What has got into you, for pity’s sake? Is it the jackals roaming the streets outside who have made you lose your nerve, or are you just undecided whether to surrender or kill yourself?’

‘I’m too religious to think of suicide, Rais. As for saving my skin, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to do it. They offered me a gold-plated exile in return for agreeing to surrender. If I’ve stayed, it is because there is no exile more precious than the shade you cast. You are the finest thing that has happened to me. To die for you is an honour and a duty.’

‘I am happy to see my Mansour again.’

My compliment emboldens him. He comes back towards me, seized with feverish energy.

‘I shall prove to you that I am the same man, that this war is just a smokescreen and soon enlightenment will spread over the whole of Libya. I shall exterminate to the last man the barbarians who jeer at you and I shall make of their skin a red carpet on which you will walk straight back to your throne.’

‘There will be no shipwreck, Mansour. It is not just anyone who is at the tiller. We must hold out a few days longer, that is all. Our people will come back to their senses. They will realise that it is Al-Qaeda which is behind this whole performance. Trust me. It is only a matter of time before we shall string up publicly every one of those vultures who are looting, raping and murdering in the name of God.’

He finally sits down in the chair I offered him, confident that I have forgiven him. He is not smiling yet, but his eyes have regained a modicum of alertness.

I let him recover his spirits before I go on.

‘I have had a dream, Mansour. A premonition.’

‘I remember the one you had before the invasion of Iraq. You foresaw everything.’

‘Well, be reassured. The dream that came to me has given me comfort: we shall have won by the end of October.’

‘I cannot picture Libya without you in command, Rais. It makes no sense.’

His voice is too soft — hardly more than a sigh — for his words to have an impact on me. He is as yet still no more than a solitary rush light; as it lights, it goes out. His previous panache is now wrapped in misery, like an old canvas shroud on a lifeless corpse.

I pick up my Koran, lying on the couch’s armrest, open it at random and start reading. My Guard commander is motionless. He sits on the edge of his chair, looking vacant. I read one verse, then another and another … Mansour cannot make up his mind to leave.

I put the Koran down.

‘Do you wish to tell me something?’

He starts.

‘I … I didn’t hear what you said.’

‘I asked you if you had something to tell me.’

‘No, no …’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes …’

‘In that case, why are you still here?’

‘I feel good when I’m with you.’

I give him a sidelong look. He tries to turn away and does not succeed.

‘No letting yourself go, Mansour. Show some backbone, for pity’s sake! You are very close to losing it completely.’

His head lolls.

He is seriously beginning to worry me.

‘What are you thinking about?’

‘About waking up, Brotherly Guide.’

‘You are awake.’

He rummages in his beard, smooths the bridge of his nose and scratches his ear. I have the feeling he may be about to die on me.

‘What do you intend to do when we have dealt with this stupid revolt?’ I ask him, to lighten the atmosphere.

‘Go home,’ he says spontaneously, as though he was just waiting for the opportunity to express a very dear wish he had never revealed to anyone.

‘And then?’

‘Stay there …’

‘At home?’

‘Yes, at home.’

‘Truly?’

‘Truly.’

‘You will not command my People’s Guard any more?’

‘You’ll find someone else.’

‘It is you I want, Mansour.’

He shakes his head.

‘The responsibility has become too great for me, Rais. I don’t have the strength to carry any more than the shirt on my back now, Rais. I’m throwing in the towel.’

‘To pick up a dishcloth instead?’

‘Why not? I feel like retiring. I’ll spend my mornings pottering in my garden and my afternoons praying to be forgiven for the bad things I have done.’

‘Have you done bad things, Mansour?’

‘I must have done. No authority is innocent of abuse. There must have been times when, unknown to me, I was unjust and cruel.’

I cannot stand the tone of his voice.

‘Do you think I have been unjust and cruel?’

‘I’m talking about myself, Rais.’

‘Look me in the eye when I ask you a question!’

My shout nearly finishes him off.

‘Have I been unjust and cruel, Mansour?’

His throat tightens. He does not answer.

‘Go on, speak. I order you to tell me the truth. I shall not be angry with you, I promise. I want to know so that in future I shall not find myself with a rebellion on my hands.’