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“Words which travel
freely between languages, careless of borders and
customs
Words which weave out of the wonder of dream and the
beauty of the flying wings
They fly like butterflies towards the light
But never do they catch fire…
They remain stars that shine on in the darkest
darkness.
These words may be mine, yours, everybody’s… just
say your words and let them dream: let them fly.”
An
Exceptional Day :
I stare at him while he
is talking. It seems to me that today I am hearing
with my eyes. If eyes do communicate, what can
prevent them from hearing such an exceptional man’s
talk?
His small almond-like mobile phone captures fully my
attention, so does his portable personal computer as
small as my handbag, his sun-glasses changing color
following the degree of light around. Wonderful
accessories which heighten the degree of his
exceptionality!
I feel him a real copy of the ideal man’s image that
I have been developing deep inside me from all that
I have admired in men since the very moment when
that hot hormonal torrent ran in my blood. Here he
is now sitting opposite me with the very lovely
sweater that I was dressing him in my imagination
under the influence of the many sweaters that I have
seen on fashion magazines. The lips, themselves, I
have copied out of a celebrated singer. The eyes, I
have stolen them from a TV announcer whose name I
have forgotten but never have I lost admiration of
his eyes.
Our chat is multi-lingual like a beautiful delicious
salad. I lean on the table with my elbow, holding my
face with my hand. I have never expected that he
would be so perfectly sitting before me. He is as
black-haired as I am but he is quite different,
completely different… His liberal thoughts make me
fly up high in the sky… An exceptional man, I
whisper to myself. Of course, he is. Has he not been
living in Europe?
I press my looks down on his eyes and I feel myself
drowning down to his heart as if it was a hypertext
link driving you from page to page via one click on
an active link. His heart turns out to be another
hypertext link leading straight to my heart that has
expected him for such a very long time.
My dear Spider, let me dance on your web. What a
web! The fashionable man is modern in everything
from his head to his toes: his shoes, language,
portable computer, mobile phone, thoughts, glances…I
was wrong to have loved literature. I will leave
that poetry imbued with elegies and nothing but
elegies, those short stories sick with gloom and
sadness and I will learn his new glossary: Software,
Google, Messenger…I feel them weird on my tongue but
I swear to cut it off if it does not learn them. I
whisper them out, whenever I hear him utter them, in
an attempt to learn them by heart: Software, Google,
Web, Microsoft…
I told him:
- I, myself, have an e-mail.
He smiled and told me about so many means of fast
communication. I did not understand much of what he
was talking about but I was nodding all the time in
agreement. It is true that I never agree on whatever
I do not understand but I will change for this
exceptional man’s sake. For his sake, I will leave
all those convictions which have inherited me
nothing but sadness and vain expectations.
I am today’s girl. I am born not before today. For
me, henceforward, there will be no place for any
word called « Before ».
He talks: he has the right to .I listen to him: I
have only old lexicon on my tongue. For him,
masculinity is a pure hormone, feminity is a
hormone, sexuality is an interaction of hormonal
systems, love is a myth, marriage is an enterprise
needing capital and insurance…he talks and talks
while I smile and smile…
The Day of
Explosion :
Hardly had I sipped my
coffee when he pronounced his astrological sign. I
burst out in laughter spraying the whiteness of the
table with black coffee.
How can a man, any man, be a Virgo?! However, he is
not any man. He has just a few moments ago been
talking about extraordinary adventures…he was
talking about conquests bodies, breasts,
satisfaction…them, he is worthy to be a Taurus, a
Leo, an Elephant…
I wiped my fog away shyly. I noticed that I was,
nevertheless, not bothered at hearing the many
female names on his tongue although I am, by nature,
jealous and I hate men taking pride in their
relationships with women.
I took notice that I was nodding as if in approval,
happiness, relaxation…even when he apologizes for
stopping long at certain details, I would gently
say:
- That’s normal, very normal.
That encouraged him more and more, why am I so
forgiving, so tolerant? Is it what they call it
‘‘inter-civilizational dialogue’’? Is it
globalization? Oh, he has a great deal of stories.
He talks about them with respect, in refined
language even when they are naked, drunken: they are
gentle pretty women:
- We share body. Body is the best means to dialogue
with.
How pretty is his neutrality and understanding! I
feel my life thirsty and dry with no hot sensational
details in them. When he surprised me with his
question, I blushed. I told him I experienced love
only once when I was a student at the university. I
loved a fellow student. No, not that? We only
exchanged confessions, dreams and Nizar Kabbani’s
poems. When each of us withdrew his sterile
university certificate, both of us withdrew from the
life of the other.
I know that you do not like such dry, short, cold
stories. I understand that but I cannot create hot
stories for you. You see being here is different
from being there. What I have told you I consider it
a top secret. Please, do not laugh. Do not. Believe
me. When my girlfriends used to talk about their
love –affairs, I would remain quiet swearing in
silence not to tell them a word about mine. Not
every body understands such feelings and desires and
you know that being here is different from being
there.
He nods lightly encouraging me to continue. When I
stumble, out of shyness, over my words, he smiles to
me. I feel his beautiful smile gently telling me:
- That’s normal, very normal.
The Day of
Emptiness:
I drink my bitter coffee. There is no sugar lumps
left on the table and the chair opposite me is
empty. I feel empty deep inside me… Nature fears
emptiness: that is right. I am thinking about Virgo.
he cannot be that one.
He put the cup down on the table .he took the ring
out of his finger and put it down next to the cup.
He paid his own bill, picket up his small
almond-like mobile phone and his portable computer:
-‘‘So, go and marry your fellow student’’, he said
before leaving. “Never bare your emotional secrets
to any man, no matter what he was”.
« Silence is gold, chatter is zinc »
« Transparency is crime »
«Ambiguous is life »
Where have I read or heard that? In a book? In a
story? In an advice from a mother to her daughter?
in a feminine chat in a public bath ?
There is wisdom everywhere, why was I so careless to
it all?
Damnation! That black-haired man can also have black
thoughts in his head too why was I careless to it
all?
A Normal Day:
I vomit my vast deception. I get out of my heart the
man I have been building in my imagination since the
moment when that burning hormonal torrent blends
with my blood. The very normal man in his talk, look
and utters very impolite words:
- I was a magnetic playboy. I have known many girls.
Easy girls are the only girls in this country.
I hate normal and ordinary things starting with
ordinary flour and ending with ordinary love, I
whispered to myself:
Your love is too still,
Your love is too ordinary,
And I get bored with ordinary love.
Now, I understand Latifa’s song very well. Perhaps,
we share the same context. Again, he tells stories
in the same boring expected details but I never nod
neither in agreement nor in disagreement and when
his talk is over, I will so stupidly say:
- That’s normal, very normal to any man…
My love adventures? No, never. Please, do not offend
me .I was busy studying and working. My
responsibilities were enormous. What do you mean?
No, never. I am giving you this opportunity only
because you look respectable. Please, it is time for
me to go .it is not my habit to come home too late
and I do not love to go to cafés. Now that we got
acquainted, what can be the next stage?
I will put it severely, without hesitation and I
will wait for one day, one mouth, one year
Open doors
Open windows
…
Closed doors
Closed windows
…
And I,
Behind the sun,
Behind the moon,
Am waiting *
---------------------
* (‘‘Waiting’’, a
poem written by the Arab poet Saleh Harbi, in his
‘‘I See Women Watering Corpses’’, a collection of
poems)
***********
* The
translator, Mohamed Saïd Raïhani, is a Moroccan
translator, scholar & short-story writer, born on
December 23rd 1968 in Ksar El Kébir. He published in
Arabic "The Singularity Will " (Semiotic Study on
First-names) 2001, "Waiting For the Morning" (Short
stories) 2003, "Thus Spoke Santa Lugar-Verde" (Short
stories) 2005, "The Season Of Migration to Anywhere"
(Short stories) 2006. he is getting ready for
printing:"Beyond Writing & Reading " (testimonies)
and "Kais & Juliet" (An E-Love Novel).
*"Normal" is the sixteenth narrative text in the
"The Moroccan Dream", An Anthology of Moroccan new
short story directed by Mohamed Saïd Raïhani.
***********
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