Skip to main content
Read page text
page 62
THE SHORT STORIES OF ZAKARIA TAMER Hamida al-Sammakh had many husbands. She married the first one and discovered after a few weeks that he was a gambler and a drunkard. Then she married a man who pretended to be generous and contemptuous of money, but to her surprise held her accountable every evening for the matches she used in the kitchen. He said that he who does not guard his sheep night and day will be devoured by the wolf along with his sheep. Then she married another man and discovered from the first night that he did not like women. Then she married someone who was said to be an educator of new generations, but she could not even cough without asking his permission. Then she married a militant who kept on being transferred from one prison to another and she became weary of waiting by prison doors. She divorced him and lived single for the rest of her life with a cheerful cat for a companion. Riyad al-Allal inherited from his father a huge fortune which he spent on charitable deeds and lived the rest of his life like others of God’s creatures who toil from dawn till dusk. It was said that he had been rewarded with two wings that would allow him to fly from hell to heaven but would not allow him to fly away from a harsh and savage hunger. Hassan al-Tabbal was walking in a deserted street after midnight and was stopped by a police patrol who asked what he was doing in the street so late at night. He said he was walking for pleasure enjoying the moonlight. The policemen then gaped at him and at the moonlight and arrested him on the charge of planning to rob one of the houses of the village. Jabr al-Masud dreamed of becoming a famous television announcer, and was told his face was more appropriate for horror films. He rushed to see film producers, who told him that horror films do not exist in Arab cinema and that daily life was itself a sufficient horror. TRANSLATED BY IBRAHIM MUHAWI Published in Arabic in Al-Quds al-Arabi newspaper in 2014 60 BANIPAL 53 – SUMMER 2015
page 63
The Neighing of the White Horse The room of the worn-out man is devoid of light – silent, black, a small box of humid stone. I return to it without a bit of nostalgia after wandering for hours through streets drenched in light cast from storefronts on both sides, and from coloured neon hoardings. At that time, the night is a ragged, warm, long song. In the darkness of its caves, it tenderly embraces the sweetness of spring and the ferocity of a hungry tiger. I was an old blind bat with broken wings, not finding my bread or my happiness. I am unaware of my bread and my happiness. The cacophony strikes me wherever I go. It terrifies me so much the noise of creatures creeping around me on the sidewalk. It pulls me away from myself, from a black spot perched inside me – cold, sad, like a dead star. I am nothing but a lost creature in the crush of a big ancient city. I am no Don Juan. I don’t have a car, or an imposing building on a street beyond the reach of the poor. My forehead has never touched the carpet of a mosque. I am not a prize boxer or wrestler. The readers of magazines and newspapers are not familiar with my face. I work eight hours a day. I get tired. I wolf down my food much too fast. I throw myself into futile arguments. My bets are always pitifully tiny. I laugh like an idiot. I flirt with women. I curse God. I go with prostitutes. I tell the tale of my unhappy love sadly. I listen to the symphonies of Sibelius. I read books. I loiter on the winding streets. I gulp down cheap alcohol: without it, the night becomes a crushing melancholy. I felt a yearning for the dark forest of numbness and dizziness and staggering . . . my feet led me to a bar that serves bad whiskey at cheap prices. The owner knows me. I am his languid, silent drunk. I drink. Everything is meaningless and stupid. With a despairing movement of my hand I emptied the glass of whiskey down my mouth in a single gulp, then wiped my mouth with the back of my BANIPAL 53 – SUMMER 2015 61

THE SHORT STORIES OF ZAKARIA TAMER

Hamida al-Sammakh had many husbands. She married the first one and discovered after a few weeks that he was a gambler and a drunkard. Then she married a man who pretended to be generous and contemptuous of money, but to her surprise held her accountable every evening for the matches she used in the kitchen. He said that he who does not guard his sheep night and day will be devoured by the wolf along with his sheep. Then she married another man and discovered from the first night that he did not like women. Then she married someone who was said to be an educator of new generations, but she could not even cough without asking his permission. Then she married a militant who kept on being transferred from one prison to another and she became weary of waiting by prison doors. She divorced him and lived single for the rest of her life with a cheerful cat for a companion.

Riyad al-Allal inherited from his father a huge fortune which he spent on charitable deeds and lived the rest of his life like others of God’s creatures who toil from dawn till dusk. It was said that he had been rewarded with two wings that would allow him to fly from hell to heaven but would not allow him to fly away from a harsh and savage hunger.

Hassan al-Tabbal was walking in a deserted street after midnight and was stopped by a police patrol who asked what he was doing in the street so late at night. He said he was walking for pleasure enjoying the moonlight. The policemen then gaped at him and at the moonlight and arrested him on the charge of planning to rob one of the houses of the village.

Jabr al-Masud dreamed of becoming a famous television announcer, and was told his face was more appropriate for horror films. He rushed to see film producers, who told him that horror films do not exist in Arab cinema and that daily life was itself a sufficient horror.

TRANSLATED BY IBRAHIM MUHAWI

Published in Arabic in Al-Quds al-Arabi newspaper in 2014

60 BANIPAL 53 – SUMMER 2015

My Bookmarks


Skip to main content