The brainwash procedure

THE DEATH SCIENCES – AN EXCERPT

'Ahalen! Ahalen! (Welcome) Called out a stocky bearded man rising to his feet. A surprised and joyous broad smiled spread all over his bearded face, and shaking the ash of the cigarette he was still holding between his right hand fingers – he  extended his arms towards the approaching youth.

The oriental café at the east side of the old town was crowded – packed up with clients, as a matter of fact. No one of its many rounded tables was unoccupied or without a load of half full bottles, glasses, cans or those tiny coffee cups upon them. Groups of guests were huddled together round each table. Shadows covered most of the crowded and noisy square, but the last sunrays were still shining brightly on top of the low opposite buildings.

The youth made his way through the crowded tables in quick long strides, pale and anxious. Most of the guests were foreigners, light haired tourists who kept babbling enthusiastically in their strange language. Sitting on the low and uncomfortable stools and bursting out from time to time in roaring laughter; the slight inconvenience did hardly wane their enthusiasm.

The youth own compatriots on the other hand, were watching him with suspicious and hostile glances. He had never been in that neighborhood before, thus the insecurity that was marked clearly on his pale face, was quite comprehensible. He wasn't a known figure in that remote quarter and there were too many informers, turncoats and other black souls in those somber days! What's worse the Shabac's (the Israeli counter intelligence) blood thirsty hounds mingled in their communities, as if they were born and bred among them; and there were hardly any possible ways or means to point them out, so well they were dug in their midst…

A surging wave of uncertainty was flooding the youth, but bracing himself and grinding his teeth, he walked on towards the bearded man, seeing nothing but his host's fat smiling face. The golden head of a foreign girl that popped up behind his host's bulky figure didn't attract his attention; he simply didn't notice her. With quite an effort he brought a forced smile on his pale and anxious face, and rushed to the open arms of his bearded host.

'Ma lac?' (What's the matter with you?) Whispered into his ear his bearded host, in an extremely cautious manner. Without changing his warm and effusive expression he kept on smiling benignly, his white, even teeth glistening through full red lips and the black fringes of hair that circled his mouth.

'When did you arrive? How are you…? He asked loudly in a clear warm voice, feigning pleasant surprise. 'Tefadal!' (Please) Come, come sit down please.' He muttered on repeatedly. Holding the youth's shoulders with both his hands, embracing him and then pushing him slightly away, to have a better look at him; scrutinizing the youth's pale face with loving eyes.

Releasing himself off his host's rather enthusiastic embrace, Samir thanked him warmly and sat down facing the square. His host still on his feet raised an arm above his head, catching the eye of some far off waiter; with quite acrobatic and peculiar movement of his palm once and once more, hinting his message thus to the latter. The waiter disappeared inside the café and returned almost immediately carrying a loaded platter hurrying towards their table.

Samir sitting with his back to the café's entrance, failed to notice that coded give and take conversation, and when the waiter seemed to appear from nowhere, unloading the platter upon their table with lowered eyes, Samir was caught with a sudden terror; his limbs stiffened and his blood seemed to have frozen in his veins, just for a friction of a second. Getting hold of himself right in time, he managed to face his host before the latter sat down and noticed it.

They carried on their false small-talk, sipping their coffee, his host made some kind inquiries concerning Samir's kin, their doings, their health; while Samir answered according to the general line, with which he was briefed for that certain meeting. The various details of that conversation were vague of course and could be easily denied or confirmed as circumstances and needs might require. In his turn, Samir presented his host with a few questions of the same kind, to give their conversation the right sense of credibility. A quarter of an hour passed. Their tiny coffee cups were empty and shanking his host's hand and thanking him again and again, as traditionally befits a senior, Samir took his leave and was on his way again.

Walking through the narrow and shadowed lanes, so familiar to him revived his spirits a bit. Time and again he had to force his way forward through dense human stream, listening to bits of conversation that kept inadvertently interrupting his own thoughts. But there were also moments when all he was able to hear were his own footsteps, echoing back off the bare walls of a deserted lane. Summing up his first impressions he had a feeling of disappointment, and the nearer he got to his destination the more disappointed he became. The main reason was his host's appearance, which reminded him those middle aged brokers or dealers, and other sorts of loafers who passed their days on street corners prying about for would by customers; sitting all day long in cafés, smoking Narghillas (oriental smoking device) endlessly, gossiping aloud while playing Shes-Besh for hours long. That bearded man simply did not meet his expectations, and the round about course which he was ordered to take, as if he was misleading his own shadow seemed to him rather futile. Although the short briefing and the bits of information he was allowed to know – the little he was told by his cell's leader, for that certain meeting. No, he did not like at all that bizarre affair, from its beginning to its nearing end.

Turning the next corner, the blood rushed in his veins again – he was almost there! A door opened up slightly in the opposite wall and was immediately slammed shut, not entirely though but was left ajar; a long dark cleave in the pale wall, reflecting the last rays of light.

'Yallah, (come on), get in!' Muttered impatiently the bearded man. 'Hurry up!' He added and hastened to shut the door behind the youth. With a swift gesture he pointed to Samir where he expected him to sit, while he himself went to the opposite side of the lone rectangular table. They were sitting in a small and poorly furnished living room, the small square table, the black phone on top of it, the two chairs, seemed to have been mustered particularly for that occasion. These were Samir's conclusions as he sat watching the bearded man, in the few seconds before his host opened up the meeting. The latter had a marked stern look on his bearded face, his time was short it seemed to hint – much too short to spend it on Samir. Undoing his tie, releasing his fat throat, he asked:

'What brought you? What have you got?'

The sudden change in his host's manners, the arrogant self-importance look on his face sent an undeniable message to Samir: The bearded man in front of him was not eager at all to meet him, and what's more he was looking forward to be done with him as fast as possible.

The phone rang suddenly loud and shrill, pounding in Samir's brain over and over again. He could have jumped right out of his own skin. He almost groaned aloud, exhaling the caught air in his lungs with widening nostrils. 

'Hello, who is it?' asked the bearded man, holding the receiver close to his hairy cheek. 'Who…? Whom do you want in the name of Allah? No!' He raised his voice almost to a shout. 'It's not the Anthawee residence and we didn't send any laundry!' Feigning bad temper he hung up decisively and turned back to Samir.

'Well?' He asked in a calm and reassuring smile, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his breast pocket – some foreign brand that Samir did not know of.

'A cigarette?' He asked his young guest with deliberate ease offering it to Samir, while opening the packet – a feat he managed to execute with the fingers of his extended hand.

'So, what was it then?' He asked again as if he were thinking aloud, or scanning his own memory.

Praised be Allah! Thought the bearded man with much relief, watching Samir's slim fingers as he pulled a cigarette out of the open packet. The first phase passed successfully! The young man is clean, nobody followed him and nobody would suspect him. Thus there's no need to cancel the operation, as it did happen already on several occasions before… Taking a deep breath of air, he was swept with a sudden wave of elation. But there isn't any reason to rejoice yet! He reminded himself cautiously. The young man's ability is very doubtful. He isn't an experienced member and he didn't have any training of any sort… and how he would bear with the tasks we have in store for him, Allah and no one but Allah knows… His European appearance is his one asset, and that's it for the time being is seems. Yes, it's a risky business. But enough with it! He scolded himself decisively, cutting his own thoughts briskly. 'All right, you have brought us some information I understand, go ahead talk, I'm listening.'

'I was asked some time ago to collect any information I could get.' Answered Samir, exhaling cigarette smoke and feeling rather encouraged. 'The truth I must say, I haven't managed to collect anything of much importance, but Valid said…'

'There's no need to mention names,' remarked the bearded man interrupting his young guest, not too harshly though – taking care not to hurt the young man's feelings at that early stage. 'Try to talk in general terms, make it a habit of yours. Use phrases like I've heard, I've been informed, without mentioning the source. As long as you aren't asked to get down to details, there's no need to. This way we would all last longer, survive to serve our holy cause.'

'Thank you, that's exactly what I shall do from now on. With you permission I'll continue.'

As his host just kept on watching him in silence, Samir went straight on: 'I've been asked to collect information on movements and habits of personalities – I mean enemy personalities and I've brought with me such material.'

'What personalities? What kind of personalities?' Asked his host in a rather flat and indifferent voice, as if he was uninterested in the whole matter.

'My ex rector.'

'You took your time didn't you? Made sure to graduate first;  passed the ceremonies and all, got a diploma hanging on the wall I bet!' Retorted the bearded man suddenly, with unhidden contempt.

'What, beahiat Allah (in God's life I swear)! I'd no such thoughts ever…' Stammered Samir, entirely shocked. 'He's an old man I could've ever imagined he would interest anyone!' He went on vehemently. 'I thought I would have made a laughing stock out of myself, that's what I thought – that's what I was sure of, and if I wasn't asked to bring along the little I've got on him, I wouldn't have come… Beahiat Alllah, I wouldn't have come!'

'He must be the very kind who wouldn't harm a fly no doubt, that ex rector of yours.' Echoed right after him the bearded man adding fuel to the fire, with rough sarcasm that harbored quite an amount of reproach.

Bewildered Samir watched the hairy mocking face of his host. He didn't agree to come to this meeting just to let that man humiliate him – mock him openly, laugh straight in his face; whatever that man's rank and position might be. He was getting very angry and frustrated. 'Well yes, he didn't hurt or harm me.' He answered his host's challenge, looking straight into his host's eyes. 'What's more, I've found him very useful… and now having no more use for him, he doesn't bother my thoughts anymore.'

Though he stood up to his host defiantly, he chose on purpose the last phrase to appease him. Without losing his face and without offending his host, finding the right path back to obedience.

Fine, fine indeed! Thought the bearded man quite pleased. That's exactly the type of man that we need. If he will be prepared carefully, he might be persuaded to carry out any task… Yes I'll better finish it right away, the act of persuasion – thus delays, hesitations and doubts, which end up usually in withdrawals, cancellations or worse in total failure – shall be avoided at last. Yes, I must conclude it tonight, and thus prevent any possible leakage – that's the right and only way to succeed!

'There's one thing I would like to understand first, why didn't you report that man when you were still his student? We were watching you all these years, you were aware of it, weren't you?' Scrutinizing Samir's face intently, he made a short pause and then went on: 'You do remember that everyone in your cell was ordered to collect whatever bits of information he could lay his hands on, while leaving us to decide its level of importance.'

An oppressive silence ensued. The reasoning Samir had brought forth at the beginning of the meeting, which dealt with the advanced age of that certain person – became groundless all of a sudden, and again he fell into deep embarrassment.

'The bare truth is…' He opened up hesitantly. 'I couldn't find any reason in collecting trivialities, and I didn't wish to bother anyone with it. Nevertheless, I've no intention to deny the pains I took to graduate… without needless risks. I couldn't jeopardize my future, which isn't my future, for it's dedicated to the organization. I might have been wrong, I know. After all any of my colleagues could have come forth with the same claims, or some similar reasons; but I knew very well that all those bits were collected by the other cell members… I mean my colleagues.'

Exposing his very thoughts and his feelings at the same time was not easy at all! But it was his only choice, his only way to defend and justify his lack of activity in those years; and above all, that bearded man in front of him was reading him like an open book, through the many personal details that the organization had amassed no doubt, on each one of its members. Thus, it was much wiser to gain his host's trust, than make him pull new embarrassing facts out of his sleeve, which would very easily topple Samir's standpoint right away.

'I see…' Said his host calmly, astonishing Samir once again. 'I do accept your argument with some misgiving, though I won't come forward with any claims or demands concerning your past deeds. Well then, let's get back to your report.' The bearded man concluded the matter with much ease. 'Go ahead talk.'

 The file of the chosen victim was known to the bearded man up to its last detail, nevertheless, he sat listening to Samir's report attentively; comparing it with his own data and at the same time, pondering Samir's weight in professional terms. For even if that green horn would carry out successfully his planned mission, it might be his sole and last contribution to the organization in that certain area. He did know that the organization's priority concerning the youth, was to exploit his gifts in the academic domain. He was destined for political or rather diplomatic career, to represent the Palestinian cause in foreign countries, at the U.N., or other international institutions. Who knows, he might develop into an influential figure or an international celebrity… In that case, thought the bearded man, he had rather keep a close touch with the youth adventures and personal progress.

The heat in the narrow room was almost unbearable. Their cloths were soaked with perspiration, and both of them kept wiping their brows time and again.

A fine purifying furnace that meeting is going to be for him. Thought the bearded man contentedly, pulling another cigarette from the open packet.                        

The oral report reached its end and silence dominated again the narrow and smoky room. His host seemed to have fallen into deep thought, watching Samir like a huge black bird of prey, waiting with patience its imminent turn to come.

'So you must have known him rather well.' Remarked at last the bearded man. 'How many times did you pay him a visit at his home?'

'A dozen times more or less, but I was accepted as one of them, as part of the household I dare say. I hope I'm not expected to renew my contacts with him.' He added with a hint of surprise.

'There's no need to and I don't believe you or anyone else, would be able to do so in the very near future!' Guffawed the pleased bearded man sarcastically. But he changed right away his expression, staring at Samir with a meaningful hard look, which left no doubts in his young guest's heart.

'You don't mean to say… it's impossible!' Muttered Samir utterly shocked. 'Just how can the death of such an old and useless man serve us?'

'Living among them left marked traces of their influence upon you, it seems; that's what one would gather from such talk! Have you really been contaminated with their squeamish mentality?' Lashed at him venomously the bearded man. 'The mentality of wailing women fit for weaklings alone! If we were to lose such men, at such age, of such position, it would have been hardly noticed. He isn't an admired leader; he isn't a political figure of any importance – one whose fall would cause alarm or unrest, not among us. But how does it appear in their eyes?' He asked rhetorically to emphasize his point. 'I'll tell you how they look upon him, or upon his kind: in their eyes he's the crowned intellectual, the famous pedagogue, the great man of science and research, whose achievements are revered with awe as the symbols of wisdom no less! That's why such men are ideal targets to our cause, and their fate shall be concluded according to our needs alone!' He made a short pause to catch his breath, and went straight on. 'It's his turn now that ex-rector of yours, to serve our purpose. Yes, it would be a hard blow for them to bear – that's our estimate. The elimination of their intellectuals or any of their spiritual elite, should crush their moral, should shake the earth under their feet, should cause a nation wide outcry so typical of their distorted mentality. That's our aim, our exact aim. We're neither interested in his personality nor are we impressed by it – or his merits and his charitable character!' He added mockingly in a whining voice, as if he was whimpering himself. But straight away he changed his tone into a thunderous roar: 'The only thing that matters to us in his case, are the advantages that his death would add to our struggle!' Out of breath almost through his oral and mental efforts, he nevertheless marked his last sentence with a flourish; crushing what was left of his cigarette in the ashtray in front of Samir's eyes – with  a swift resolute movement of his right hand. 'I hope I didn't hurt the budding flower of your soul.' He added suddenly ending the phrase in a mocking giggle, but resumed his monologue without giving his young guest the slightest chance to react. 'I used on purpose that notorious literary expression of theirs, as there's no other one in their loathsome language, which so properly describes their contemptible mentality of wailing women. THEY'RE NOT MEN AND THEY DON'T DESERVE TO BE HONORED LIKE MEN!!!' He ended his harangue shouting, but only for an instant. 'And what in the name of the prophet did he find in you?' He hissed venomously at his young guest, before Samir could collect his wits.

'Was he some sort of a pervert?'

'Oh no, not really… I don't think he was, he had a family.'

He had a family… Echoed Samir's answer in the bearded man's brain, he could hardly hide his joy.