14 قصة قصيرة / قل وداعا ولا تقل إلى اللقاء

[قحطان الخطيب]

(14) قصة قصيرة :
قل وداعا ولا تقل إلى اللقـــــــاء !
بقلم: قحطان فؤاد الخطيب

اعتصر قلب (نبال) ألما ومرارة حينما بارح
فارس أحلامها منزلها دون ترديد عبارتــــه
المألوفة : (إلى اللقاء) ، تاركـا إياها فريسة
الهواجــــــــس وطعمـــــا للتأويـــــــــلات .
مجرد عبارة لم تطلقها شفتاه أحالتهــــا إلى
أسيرة للتشــاؤم ، في خضم الوساوس التي
احتوتها من الجهات الأربـــع بإحكـــــــام !

نعتت يومهــا بالأربعــاء المشئوم ، وكأنهـا
عرفت ثمة ما يخبأه لها الغـــــد من مصائب
سلفــــا بصورة دراماتيكية . ففي الصباح
نعت أصوات نحيب الجيـــران مصـرع فتـى
السبعة عشــر ربيعـــا برصاصـــــة طائشـة
عميـاء فقأت عينـه اليمنى بوحشية قاتلـة ،
واخترقت رأسـه الصغير المشبع بكــــــــل
الطموحات والآمــال الكبيرة ، محيلــــــة
إيــاه إلــى جثــة هامــدة في بحــر ثوان .
لقد كان وحيد أسرتـــه ، على رأس أربـــع
بنات ، والذي فيه وضعت أملها المنشود ،
كونه فتى اجتمعت فيه كل الخصال الحميدة،
المحببــة إلـى الله وعبـــاده : كله بر وورع
وتقوى ومثالية .......، تحلف نسوة الزقاق
برأسـه حين يختلفن في أمر ما . كان أشبه
بالقديس ، إذ راق لنبال ذات يوم ، خطيبا
لولا صغر سنه ! فيما شـــغل حيزا غير
محدود في مخيلتها ، كابن جار لا يمل ، لنقاء
سريرته. حقا ، لقد استشهد ، بيد أنــه لم يمت ،
تاركا خلفه شريطا لا ينتهـي من الآهـــات
والحســرات الممزوجة بلوعــة تفطــر
الفـؤاد وتحطــم الأعصاب وتدمع العيون .
والآن ، تفاقم انفعال نبال لغياب سـر
التواصل الحميم بينهمـــا عن لسانـه :
(إلى اللقـــــــاء).

لمــــاذا ؟
هل كان يوحي أنهما سوف لن يلتقيا ؟
هزت المسكينة رأسها بهستيرية لا تحسد
عليها وأردفت متسائلة بعصبية مفرطة :
لماذا لم يتفوه بها ؟
وماذا قصد ؟
ثم طفقت تواســي نفسها قائلة :
ربما يكــون مشغول الذهن ، أو ربما أزعجـه
صدى اللطم على الخدود ، في الحي المنكوب،
والنحيب الكئيب ،.......................... ربما !

تعوذت من الشيطـــان وشرعـــــت تقـــــرأ
التعاويـــــذ علها تعيد لها سابق طمأنينتها
وتفـــــــك الأســــــر عن بسمتهــــــــــــا .
**********

صحيح أن جســـــدها كان يمارس وظائفـه
علــى ما يـرام ، بصـــــورة طبيعية ، جيئة
وذهابا ، إلا أن فكــرها مافتئ غارقـــــا في
معادلات حسابية معقدة لم يوفق بعـــد في
حل رموزهــــا ، وفـــك الاشــتباك بينها :
كيف تنسى مصرع ابن الجيـــــران وكيف
تفسر زلة لسـان نصفها الآخـــــــــر ؟ !
استجمعت كـــــل طاقتهــــا ، واستنفرت كل
حواسها ، بحثـا عن مخـرج من ورطتها ،
يعيد لها التوازن المفقود . وما هي ســوى
دقائق تعد بعدد أصابع اليد حتى أقفلت راجعة
إلــــى منزل جدتهــــا ، ذي الحديقــة الغنـــاء
بأشجــــارها الباســــــــقة , وورودها النادرة
ونباتاتهــــــــــا دائمــــــــة الاخضـــــــــــرار .
هناك الهدوء تام ، والسكينة باسطة جناحيها
باسترخاء ، حيث لا منغصـــات كما هو رائج
في منزل والديها ، ولا نوائب !

ذهلت الجدة لعودة حفيدتها بســرعة . وتمنت
أن لا يكون قد حدث ما لا تحمــد عقباه . ظلت
عيناهــــا مثبتتين في احتواء ما مرسوم على
وجه الأخيـــــــرة التي لم تنبس شفتاها بكلمة
حتى قطــــــع المشهد طرق على الباب خاله
حدس نبال السائق ، إذ تعودت على مثـــــــــل
هـــــذا السلوك منه. لعل حدسهــــا خاب هذه
المرة ، إذ كان الطارق يافعا مبعوثا من قبــــل
أمه كي ينذر الحاجـــة ، أم سارة ، بأن هناك
شائعة بغيضة مفادها : أن البناية التي تبعــــد
أمتارا عن منزلهــــا مرشحـة للتفجيـر فــي
أية لحظة !
فيما هناك مركبة مفخخة تحوم حول المكــــان ،
وعليها الاحتراز وفتح الأبواب والنوافـــــــذ ،
وإلا فإن المجهــــول طبعا إن لم نقل الفنــــاء
تحديدا هو بانتظارها .
انتشــــــر الخبـــــر أسرع من البرق ، فيمــا دبت
الحركــــة فـــــي الحي البائس ، على غيــر عادتهــا في
ساعات القيلولة تلك ، كحركـــة النمــــل قبل دنو
موسم السبات .
الكــــل سكــارى ، ولكنهــــم غيــــر سكــــارى ،
يجهلــون ما ستؤول إليـــــه الأمــــور . اختلــــط
الحابــل بالنابـــل ، والجد بالهــــزل ، وأضحــــى
الموت قاب قوسين أو أدنــــى منهــــم . فلغـــــة
الانفجــار بشــــعة لا تطـــاق . ومن لم يقــــض
بالبارود قضى بغيــــــره . "تعــــددت الأسباب
والموت واحد". تلك حكمة إلهية لا يجــــادل
فيها اثنان .

كانت نبال غير مخيرة في السباحـــة عكس
التيار . إذن ، ما هــي النتائــــج المحتمــلة
التــــــــي كانت في انتظارها ؟!
لعل الموت ليس غير أو على الأقل الإصابات
البليغة هو الجواب الأرجح .
هنا استذكرت موقف خطيبها ، وخيل لها بأنه حمل
رسالة نهائية حاسمة من غير عالمنا حينما قال :
"وداعا ولم يقل إلى اللقاء" !!!
وصدق في مقولته . فقد انفجر صهريج للمياه الثقيلة
كان يقوم تمويها بسحبها من دور المواطنين ، مساويا
سطوح المنازل بالأزقة ، مجيبا على أسئلة نبال ،
ومجهزا على حياة جدة نبال وعشرات إن لم نقل
المئات من سكان ذلك الحي السكني الآمن بين قتيل
وجريح !

[قحطان الخطيب]

Story (5)
L o v e
Translated by : Qahtan F. AL-Khatib

Three nights and the grandfather (Shalan) was bedridden moaning from rheumatoid arthritis due to a sudden cold that crippled him and made him stay at home without going to the temple. His bone was feeble. His head turned hoary. The virtuous man increased the number of invocation and doxology saying: (Oh God. You are my supporter and recovery. Recuperate me and pardon me. By your mercy I appeal for help). When his absence was long, the temple head as well as the prayers missed him and paid him a visit to be assured about his health wishing him good health and rapid recovery.
(Khalid) returned from school and immediately came in to see his grandfather lying on his bed. After saluting him, he asked him:
-Thanks God. Today you look better, grandfather.
-God willing if all goes well, son. Replied the grandfather.
When (Khalid) started up to go out, his grandfather asked him to stop. He gave him a tin of confectionery kept by him. (Khalid) thanked his grandfather and kissed his hand. Then he departed to his room to revise his lessons. While walking, he came across his sister (Selma) and presented her the tin saying:
-This confectionery is a gift to you from me, my dear sister.
(Selma) took the tin very gladly thanking her brother for his love to her. While she was walking, she saw her mother from the window hanging the washing in the house garden. She said to herself:
-My mother toils, labors all day long. She cooks, cleans the house, washes the clothes, prepares our necessaries and stays up to comfort us during the period of my father’s work abroad. How lovely presenting my mother this tin of confectionery is !
(Selma) waited for her mother’s return. She met her mother by the door. Her mouth shone with a sweet smile.
-This gift is from me, mother. You are more worthy of it than I am. Mother thanked her daughter wishing her happiness and success.
When she heard the afternoon call to prayer, (Ali) entered the house coming back from
the kindergarten. He told his mother that his classmates clapped him on reciting the Koran Text (AL-Dhuha), He read it aloud without a mistake. Mother was pleased with the superiority of her young child. She presented him the tin of confectionery. When he started up to open it, he remembered his sick grandfather. He went to him in his room asking about his health. (Ali) saluted his grandfather saying:
-How are you, grandfather ?
-Very well, thanks God, son. Replied the grandfather.
He approached his grandfather’s bed and whispered jestingly:
-I’ve brought you this confectionery, grandfather. You will recover with God willing.
The grandfather smiled and praised God for his boon saying:
-What a pleasant life this happy Moslem family whose members’ hearts are linked by affection and who are delighted by faith so that concurrence and accord can prevail !
Thus the tin of confectionery was circulated among all family members. Each one of them preferred the other to himself. The tin of confectionery returned to the hand that presented it firstly. The grandfather divided the tin among them. The whole family members were happy by his recovery.

[قحطان الخطيب]

Story (8)
A Smile in a Black Dream *
Translated by : Qahtan F. AL-Khatib

Away, at the other end of the river bank, an errant fisherman is kept to his boat. His black look glitters with the sun ray reflection on the water surface. The river waves are flowing silently in front of him, as bewildered as his pupils of the eyes, murmuring every now and then of a splitting headache since yesterday. He spent the night without fishing. He comes to feel ponderousness in his head and aches in his neck. He touched his twisted hair and found it a curly mass, viscous of humidity and sweat.
For a long time and in his boat, he has been addicted to the dreams of silence and isolation. A pale and sickly smile might have fallen on him as he was remembering the landlord’s scream and threat, insisting on dismissing him from that ruin and that he had to look for an other dwelling despite his lame wife’s entreaty and his diseased son’s cry. By then, he wanted to tell him something, merely something, but he, as usual, hesitated, feeling loss and fear. He is but an ordinary man, of a fly or a little more value. He has to toil hard and work all day long in spite of the sun’s flame and the bad luck that is following him.
His boat unknowingly reached the ( bridge head ). He saw some tree leaves shivering in the river air filled with the fish odor, the empty wine cans and the food waste, where the boats stick to the river bank and green smoke ascends from behind does not wait to become violet then fades away in the space. He knows that his life has become empty and dry, and that his thought has become spiral and nothing occupies his mind but this damned house. He threatened the landlord of the trimmed mustache and the polished paper face.
The landlord’s features hurt, arouse in him vomiting as well as anger, generating in him an unruly desire that neighs in his intestines making him wish he could hang him by his hook and drop him to the river bed, tearing his entrails by his teeth without being noticed .... as his boat passes the steel bridge and its crisp threats to fall clashed with the clamor of the current.
He stopped at the river edge, near the wet herb, where the ending of an old boat sinks in water, with broken windows and scabby ribs, on its rusty cabin, the remains of clothes and rough sacks were hanged. A black man was watching a boiling tea pot, against whom sits a woman washing her clothes while the river was flowing in front of her with an orange mud color. The man was sitting in such a way that drew curiosity. His posterior appeared and his occupant was long, near him chain-linked boats were butting while he was stifling his following coughs with an evident effort.
When he stood up, it appeared to him that he was lame and that his left leg was shorter than the right one. Then he saw him stare at the water as if he had lost something.
The fisherman cautiously advanced towards the wet herb monitoring the lame man by the angle of his eyes trying to accumulate his thought in one thing : only a hot desire was biting him every now and then.
Before the lame man moved, he had lifted his face towards the sun. His olive skin shone as oiled wood and went on watching the fisherman with deviating pupils of the eyes, and with an idea that that man wanted to inflict harm on him. He, under silent conquer, cried, “H ........... a ........... Do ........... y o u ........... want to kill me ? Come here,” he said. “Come ........... here ........... What’s wrong with you :? Come on .... Come here.”

The fisherman’s teeth had been uncovered as tough dry salt pieces. Then he spit in the middle of his two grips as he was burying his blown neck between his wide shoulder blades, seizing the oar strongly. The lame man was trying to come down among the wet herb to the river bank, leaping like a rabbit towards the fisherman’s boat. Then he glanced at him leaping on the wet bank. The lame man laughed, trying to show that it was so huge that it provided security features and tranquility to the fisherman.
The latter dragged the two oars with all his power, they burst forth from the waves on their shiny wood rolled fine twisted flows of water. He, then, moved by his boat silently looking around in alert for the unforeseen. He began to sing as if he had got fed up with the concentrated silence around him.
The fisherman looked at the lame man and saw him standing at his place gazing into the water and expressing by his eyes to all distant trees and empty coffeehouses arranged alongside of the other bank of the river. Then he shifts his sight towards his flat boat.
The fisherman felt his eyelids curl and vehement. He rubbed them by his both hands trying to avoid the vehemence fretfulness which attacked him all of the sudden. With the lame man’s ascending the boat, it was shaken as he was carrying a brown colored sack. He leaned, with his right hand on the fisherman’s shoulder. He saw him open his eyes through his shadow that was dropped on the fisherman’s face. He, then, opened the sack and took out a handful of dried dates. He began to mumble by his lips moving his fingers and both hands as if he were calling someone for a meal.
The fisherman digested one date and threw away the stone into the river. Then he began rowing with enthusiasm singing a (roundelay) by a tame voice as he turned his boat towards the other bank. The fisherman was rowing with clear determination as he was opposing the violence of the current, his boat movements became fiercer and the lame man was rising and falling with wrinkled face and soporifics body.
At the other river bank, the lame man embarked holding a sack of dates. Then he saluted the fisherman and began rising the sand bank where the wet herb and clamorous coffeehouses.
The effort washed all features of his feeble body. His phantom was fading away step by step towards the horizon. The fisherman was following him by his white smile. For the first time, he took notice of his being an old man, with a bony face, but inside his wide eyes, there were goodness and love pushing him towards joy despite his infirmity.
Before the lame man reached the summit of the bank completely, he had stopped and started to wave his hand to the fisherman. The bridge ahead was divided into ways and wide entrances while the fisherman was rowing with delightful excitement. Yonder was hidden happiness encompassing him and an unruly desire blazing in his heart tearing all the city open spaces.

[قحطان الخطيب]

Story (10)
A Relationship in the Fog
Translated by : Qahtan F. AL-Khatib

The windows were drawing small horizontal squares, slowly floating, towards the gray space covering the landmarks of (Linz), a dozing city north of Austria, Everything, here, kept to a place in dignified silence, where quiescence embraces all the landmarks. There hides a ghoul among the tile roofs. All are silent and some of whom urge their paces, whereas others run towards the missing profound mystery.
What a wonder the secret of this city is ! When it floats on Divine Nature that the Lord did an excellent thing. Our hands were feeling the bite of the sudden cold. The brick pavement sounds mixed with our moans, sometimes with the stumbles of an errant drunk or the rhythms of dancing woman shoes, swallowed by the mouths of darkness away from the bleeding light on houses and building.
- “We shall celebrate our wedding tonight.” Inclined towards me and whispered mischievously. “We shall sleep intermixed like a church heated by its candles.”
Her flabby arm contained my shivering flank, then she said,” My dog, Henry, will watch whatsoever we shall do. He shall never prattle.”
The yellow dog’s eyes staring at us like sulfuric satellites cautiously lurking ambiguous unknown horizon parturition. With the humidity of our steps, we left the (Metro) sloping towards the ( Danube ) changes. Afterwards we passed a stone bridge whose fences were filled with names, numbers and incantation like a stiff pineapple crust. Her eyes glittered with delightful glow, then she said, “We have the right to do everything ........... everything ...........except love.”
The color of the sky was dark and menacing as if a crazy fire broke out in the horizon. People were mixed up in an ocean of extending in the reflections of the bleeding evening twilight on the roofs of windows and walls.
With efforts we penetrated the running masses of bodies, through the car sanity, we raced followed by the panting dog, we ascended the marble stairs leading to a narrow street out of breath. My overcoat was open to the horizon which seemed more heavy and blue. Her fainted voice came to me saying:
- “My father is sleeping now. He remains so all day long due to the fear that overruled him. He does not dare to even go out as long as ( Henry ) is lying against him in front of the door, extending its arms and gazing at him in a false nap. My father is well off and owns a big supermarket, but he abandoned my mother so as to guide people to the Lord, the truth and the sacred wine.”
I cut short her remarks asking :
“Do you think he is truthful in his speech and in what he reveals to people is the truth itself ?”
The words trembled and she went to pick them up again whispering :
- “He guides people to happiness, love and desire to the extent that my mother came to him last night so as to return him home, but he refused sharply, insisting on staying in his small apartment. Come on. My father will be glad to meet you. But, now, I am hungry.”
- “What about dining at ( Mac Donald ) ? I told her.
- “Oh ........... that’s fantastic.”
In childish merry we ran. In hot desire we raced towards the cafeteria. The rain drizzle became fiercer warning that the shower might be clamorous and ........... the dog pants behind us. She folded my hand in solid embrace on which she dropped whatsoever she possessed of giving and desire, whereas she wiped with the other hand impulsing freckles as bright as mercury, on which crept her washed face by rain drops, thus increasing their orange brightness under the pavement lights and ( Henry ) was panting with ambiguous longing behind our ambiguity.
I stood in front of the glass window and took out a few shillings. She looked at me ironically:
- “Ha ........... What’s this ........... ? I thought you were well off. Indeed you are wretched and errant like myself. I wasted my day. Damn you. The Lord shall revenge upon you. I shall search. But, it is too late. Once again. Damn you.”
The panting dog’s shadow behind her faded away gradually with the striking (Metro) wheels glamour on the rails. It drowned inside the tunnel darkness.
In the heart of the capital (Vienna), there were lofty people in the mansion (Shemroon) relics yard, around which a middle-age man, invigorated by desires, slaughtered by desperation. He hummed funeral tunes using words from the book: Doctrine of Edges, leads people to the truth, the Lord and the sacred wine, near whom lies down a panting dog whose crimson tongue was suspending dancing on its extended arms, leaned its huge head on a plastic shoe of a girl whose tender face was covered with orange freckles. The dog’s hair was glittering, dark black, wet with water. Its eyes were as yellow as sulfur sparkling like circumference sulfuric satellite circles anticipating, in a false nap, parturition of a coming dazzling the eyes incident from some corner to the bottom of everyday.

Vienna

[قحطان الخطيب]

Story (13)
A Deaf Neigh
Translated by : Qahtan F. AL-Khatib

Sticky moisture slapped him at first blush. Then his two hands dipped in wet sand choked by darkness standing between him and all the place landmarks. He felt the moist air decay groping everything around him very cautiously.
His tips of the fingers stumbled against thorns and wet herbage. Some of which bathed in drops of light dew and gummy capillaries of spiders that have disturbed him since the beginning of his breaking into the cave. But he, all of a sudden, paid attention to the box of matches placed in the pocket of the flowing outer garment. He lit a match then he immediately extinguished it and began to listen to two feet walking on the agricultural land that he passed on in the afternoon during his coming to this place. Silence and calmness covered everything around him but he did not prevent himself from thinking and anticipating. He, however, remembered that the return way was very long, particularly he was now exploring a land that he had never trod before except during the day time. The pitch-dark obscurity around him was desolate and sticky. It provided him with a unique sensation of loneliness and fear. It shielded him of all planning intelligence which he had been preparing for months.
The slow cold flowed inside his joints to increase their shivering tens of times. He continuously and deeply breathed the night breeze that made him remember the incidents disorderly he had passed through whereas his two hands beat the wet dust eagerly and fearfully. He was along the curved wall relaxing, the fully dark night without any glitter of light apart from some infrequent humming of crazy mosquitoes or paralytic insect creeps. He, on the other hand, was pacifying himself every now and then and with every step he took, knowing with hidden conjecture how he started approximately an hour ago. At first he stood with his back towards the far south. He then incited his steps somewhat deviating off the village road towards Tal Al-Maqabir (1). Afterwards he turned towards the deserted hole.
Here he is continuing the search but he did not get anything that could guide him up till now. He smiled addressing himself:
- “I must have missed the guiding sign and daybreak is approaching. Then I shall be losing everything.”
It was a desolate night intersected every now and then by faint voices coming from the remote agricultural land edges. He dipped his memory in the night of the river Tigris shores and how his feet dived in the clear water where all his projects gleamed. It was a night. The most beautiful of which was to approach his goal far away from them. But worry spoils his plan at the moment ..... fear is circulating in his feet and hands while searching the missing guiding sign which he put
somewhere known to him. Now he is more stubborn and insisting on finding it regardless of the consequences and calculations that he was hurt by tearing all his weary mind cells. He looked for the box of matches thrown beside him and tried to strike a match but he did not succeed. Humidity and dew leaked out to him. Here are the first hours of his task pass the same as the first hours of any other job in his past. He was unable to wander of the thoughts despite the desire and decision inside him. He, moreover, spoke of his feelings with the increase to search for the missing guiding mark. With his tips of fingers, he set out pondering on the stone wall and the bending ceiling projection marks. He did not think that a moonless night might fall upon him; therefore he recited all those signs which he now finds no necessity to rely on but to use his sense capabilities of estimation in order to find the hidden guiding sign. All of a sudden he stopped and looked at his watch of lit numbers that he always hid under his coat sleeve.
- “I have to hurry before sun rise otherwise I shall be losing everything.” said he. The viscosity of mud under his feet increased. He rushed in his memory outside the place as a young child rushing towards his mother’s lap, shaking and shivering, escaping remembering as he liked. Then he looked at his watch with an effort. He advanced with a fixed resolution and firmness to endeavor to search the melted guiding sign. But humidity was continuously increasing with the approaching of the last night-watch and mud more matching. His feet dipped in soft land.
He leans for a little bit then he suddenly rises. His head collides with a stone projection. He staggers and becomes about to fall. He pays attention as if he won something. He has never seen this projection before. With the tips of his fingers, he feels a somewhat sticky liquid oozing off his forehead. It was impossible to sight anything except the pitch-dark obscurity. He felt the rough wall and the curved ceiling with his two hands once more. He moved sidewise and revolved round his axis. Then he returned to the place which he had set out from. The thread of blood bled on his face and eyes which he closed. He felt a headache and vehemence.
- “Where did this damned projection come from?” whispered with himself.
“Did I mistake the place?”
He felt that pain and restlessness enfeebled his might. So he had thought of a very tenacious of anything appearing sensible to approach his goal. He advanced forward feeling the wall and ceiling seeking whatsoever he could cling with. His hand collided with the stone wall at first. Then it felt something coming out of the stone cracks extending somewhat upwards. He was delighted to be there. He felt it softly. It was a steel bar affixed to the wall. On it a kerosene lantern was hung. He was deeply delighted and thought with himself, “If the match box were safe now, everything could be finished.” But he somewhat took his time and thought of something significant with himself: “The lantern did not exist before!” Contradictory misgivings of hope and frustration attacked him, seeing himself in confrontation with more than one intrigue in which he was trapped and that he was quickly sliding into a predicament exclusively planned for him. Before him an opportunity appeared to go back wherever he had come from. He happened to die several times. He was bold and enthusiastic enough to resist till the end, reaching his intended goal, particularly he was, undoubtedly, a night giant.
- “Is it logical,” said he to himself, “to return disappointed as I have come ?” He felt an acute bite in his head, so he groped in it. The injury blistered. The forepart of his forehead rose like a small hill. Even though in such deaf moments, his ideas came to him mixed up with one another in disorder receiving what comes up in his mind of ill ideas.
He spent years and he might have thought of them as shorter than this ungovernable night searching the guiding mark that might get him to his hidden aim somewhere here inside the stone wall hollows. But that was subject to the range through which he could at least overcome the failure difficulties. He was not surprised at all such matters that he thought of even though they did not suit his present circumstances and atmosphere. He almost thought of them as if he were making up a comprehensive account for his life. He tried very hard to say once more, “I have to reach it whatsoever happens !”
He gathered his breaths and got up kneeling on his knees for fear of striking the projection again. The night calmness and the cave darkness surprised him. He breathed a little air feeling extremely thirsty. He tasted the salt of sweat or so he imagined.
His face features were stiff as they were like a piece of flint placed haphazardly over his two feeble shoulders. On the contrary his lively spirit which created tens of speeches and memories all the time. He smiled at the honest flow of his weary mind interactions with deaf drought. He wished to see his wife and little infant; maybe if it happened that he saw them, his determination and enthusiasm might increase to reach his stray aim among the stone hollows and severity of the projections.
He bowed his head which began to hurt to him and hastened to listen with worried feelings as if someone had heard the sound of feet entering the cave. A weak voice came to him from the bottom of the corridor leaking out through the standing darkness between him and the upper cave opening. But it was another voice totally familiar to him.
- “He is here. We shall definitely win him this time. Come on .................................. oh men !”
There was such an unbelievable accent in the voice he heard but he kept silent focusing in the accuracy of sound distinction. He began to move his hands with the bending of the curved ceiling. Here and there so many minutes passed filled with fear and hesitation till they collided with the oil lantern. His balance was disordered but he remained motionless between his wet palms of the hands. He put out his head slowly looking at the bottom. He saw nothing. The voice came to him once more feeble. “Jumaa Alawwad. Come out otherwise we shall kill you !”
His face drowned in heavy sweat that came out of all his shivering body angles. He tried to be away from the cave walls and ceiling extending his hands both sides. The stone projection did strike him once more. He was about to take in some of the outside cold air but he inhaled loosing consciousness. Then he fell down on the wet dust unconscious.
In the morning he woke up at the sound of his room door slamming and his wife, as usual, was singing a rural song with the cotton milk lines gushing from the udder dug whereas the flames were coming up from the furnace opening.
“You, Jumaa.”, his wife smiled “were neighing during the whole night in such a way that you looked like a horse falling down a deep well.” Then she rose agilely to the dough container.

(1) Hill of cemeteries

[قحطان الخطيب]

Short Story (15) By Ibrahim S. Nadir
An Angel in a Cage
Translated by : Qahtan F. AL-Khatib

The prisoner of war isolated himself to his prison cell corner embracing his thin legs and supporting his pointed chin on his right knee. Fear and scream fell upon him from all the spaces of holes and domes but he remained trembling deflecting by his blazing pupils of the eyes into the urine and waste can. The light was passing through faded among the spider’s thread and the stone window pillars to the bottom of the dark prison cell. Every twenty four hours a stained can was hung down to the wet floor by a worn-out knotted rope with food and remains of oily soup that had lost identity since old-aged time till it remained clung to the black surface pores. The unknown was choking him from all sides while he was ear-splitting his two ears to the echo of wailing and others’ pain coming from the nearby prison cells.
Food ........... identity ........... destiny; everything lost its stamp in his mind, except him. He kept his name and home only. In himself he determined not to eat, even one spoon, from the hanging can. Day after day the stained can was hung down without the isolated prisoner’s hand touch. But the need gradually swallowed up greedily his determination. Hunger and fear left him with neither a will nor with determination. His eyes swelled. His black pupils were covered by a sticky glass sackcloth. He commenced to speak loudly an empty speech while measuring his damp prison cell to and fro rubbing his teeth by his fingers then twisting his cold ears.
The prisoner of war was turning his neck to all lost sides as he was sitting at the corner of his prison cell silent chatting with the darkness and the echoing uproar buzzing in his ears. Today he has passed two weeks since he with the rest of his comrade prisoners of war went on strike not to eat. But he lost heart and perceived that his fate was near. He rushed to the hanging can as if he were afraid that it would be lifted any moment. He dipped his mouth, nose, face, hair and was about to drown out of the effort tried by him to swallow and digest at the same time. Then he finished the allotted portion. When the rope was drawn upwards, he watched the empty can go up in the pleasure of an animal that was full up among guards’ roar with laughter and the spitting of some. The prisoner of war could not help sucking his fingers and licking his lips. But his fullness was a short term. He, all of a sudden, became dizzy and began to vomit whatsoever he had eaten under a heavy shower of his curses and groans.
Vomit and rottenness were clung to the surfaces of his stomach refusing dislodgment. The prisoner of war was bowing to the empty wall with every single enteric spasm occurred to him. His mouth remained wide open like a lad bowing from a deep bottomless pit.
The prisoner of war breaths were regulated. He combed his wet hair by his fingers descending them beyond his ears so as to clean his beard from the vomit. His face was drowned in sticky cold sweat while feeling a little dizziness remaining in his head.
The light lessened in the prison cell courtyard. He intended to cling with the rest of his body power as if he were wrestling himself. He succeeded in sitting down and extending his legs supporting his head on the damp wall. Then he surrendered to the weight of his eyelids as an addicted person who had strong anesthetic but he felt no better in his sleep. His worried hand movements, his pulling the leg one with another and then extending them once more in an unconscious movement, predicting that he was having dark vision, unknown edges without a title or subject dreams. But when he became half awake, he merely opened and closed his mouth like a gay fish, caught a couple of moments ago, completely enjoying the damp air by his dry tongue. As soon as his waking up was fully completed, he began to scream in hysterical rave, standing at the ends of his toes, attracting his stature to the utmost limit. His shouts were fading step by step after their echoes fading away in the middle of domes of cells and dark basements.
He knocked at the walls by his two fists, beat the ground by his feet crying out times and times till his shouts changed into miserable yelling ..... (Water ........... Water ........... Wa ........... r)
A fine thread of blood slipped on his \hand. Them he fell down at the prison cell corner unconscious. Afterwards he trembled and was scared at the bucket of water poured on him suddenly through the narrow window spits. He was followed by curses, insults and spits.
The prisoner of war was yawning and trembling suffering from the hunger tortures and the abdomen contractions. He eagerly expected the coming of his small can. He, like hungry lions, ate as if he were feeding his dreams for fear of loss. Then he kept on sleeping in standing position after the last bite to his can. Two hours of light and twenty hours of unknown darkness between the soup can and bread and the urine can: Thirst in summer and flood in winter.
- “Your weight decreases every day, Abdul Rahman.” the prisoner of war said to himself in such a way that he couldn’t identify it. “The wind can soon carry you where (the ancestors) await your return. They got fed up with waiting. So did (Zeinab) of the long waiting. Sadness has turned her as pale as your hands. What does it matter if your hands become paler ? (Zeinab), “he added” will wash them by her tears returning to them warmth by embracing them to her village chest.”
He was feeling (Zeinab) near him jesting, as usual, with his curly hair and breathing with his ascending descending ribs his village fragrance., stirring in his shivering eyelashes his ashore dreaming orchard. The shivering came to him tenderly without any contraction. It passed lightly along his spinal column. Inside it the vocal cords opening contracted in soft and infrequent groans. His arms fell down on the ground indicating banishment of everything. Then he traveled far away in a beam of light that abducted color, dimension and forms from him.
The loathing caused by satisfying his needs in the can double the sin he got due to satisfying his instinct needs of this futile dream of the anniversary of his wife and his son (Ayoob). It left him incapable of moving and communicating.
He seized the opportunity of the light beam visit to his prison cell and untied his leather belt drawing by its nail the name (Zeinab), his name and his son’s name (Ayoob) on the wall. Then he added to the drawing a heart, a crown made of thorns, a star and three sparrows raising the homeland flag towards the sky.
The light diminished as soon as the guards came staring at him with disgust. The darkness immediately swallowed the thick-walled marks. Suddenly the food can was lowered. - “Ah ! That daffodil (Zeinab), the sound of the thick rope friction with the window edge ........... My son (Ayoob), the can was suspended to a rope among the prison cell walls. The prisoner of war shivered from the putrefaction of the unexpected visitor ........... Ah ! (Zeinab), pearly white as milk in a breakfast dish. Then he fell down once more without a pulse except the legendary hope in seeing (Zeinab), (Ayoob) and the dreaming village ashore. The prison officer displaced his seat backwards knotting his feet under it. Then he supported his elbows on the table after making his pen approach the light and wrote down the prisoner of war death certificate (?) as follows:
......................................... Passed away due to infectious dysentery ........... Stop.
Then he imprisoned him alone for provoking the prisoners of war to strike on food and agitating riots among them alleging maltreatment !

[قحطان الخطيب]

Short Story (17) By Ibrahim S. Nadir
A Blood Banquet
Translated by : Qahtan F. AL-Khatib

He was sitting in front of a rusty lantern. He kept silent monitoring the quivering of the yellow flame fire brand, raising his eyes towards the ceiling. He witnessed the distorted reflections of crescent figures which reminded him of their antique house courtyard and the magical well. How his mother frightened him with a long-fingered demon whose nails were pointed. She kidnapped every child glancing at her while leaping. She glittered with aggression from the bottom of the damned well. At that time, he did not approach the damned well at all but he avoided it as soon as he passed by it.
Today he wishes he returned to their astonishing house, their crazy quarter where the children’s plots and people’s endless weddings.
The lantern fire brand quivered. Its light was about to be faint. He stood up and closed the window leaves tightly. The wind screams become fiercer outside the house, a clamorous symphony: rusty tunes yell in his ears, agitating in his mouth vomit and depression. His room may be filled with imaginary sounds which he felt afterwards footsteps jumping on the stair marble. He imagined that complete creatures move ascending and descending. They returned to him last days headache and ill-luck following him wherever his feet were placed.
Now, a huge ball of needles rolls inside his head making him unable to stand light and things. His pupils of the eyes melt in horrible fancy crowded with demons and ghosts. In his memory he was directed to the antique steel bridge, the (shed) memories, rivers and the fishermen’s sad songs. The wind once more blew opening the two small window leaves. He leaves his place to close them tightly.
Suddenly nearby the bridge, two heavily-built tall ghosts with beard appeared. A lad, exactly like him, was running after them. May be it was he. Their icy hair was let hang down very heavily on their shoulders. At the beginning he fancied that they were phantoms created by the devil which is called (Saddaa). He immediately repeated loudly Casio’s dialogue in Othello: (O hidden spirit. If you have no name to be known with, let’s call you Satan).
With strange magical power, he found himself in his grandmother’s bosom, (Haseena Um Suleiman) combing his hair so as to be calm and sleep. Spring was rending in her black flowing outer garment, relaxing between the dream of the hares and the nests of sky-larks. But black shades glitter on his ways from the east part. A green lake of fields looms to him in the horizon, and thousands of men, women and children all in a fascinating chorus voice repeat:
O descent prince, (Ibrahim)
Never be frightened ........... (Aziz Makir)(1) passed away
Your house courtyard is clean ...........
Crows do not croak in your quarter ...........
The fair demon shall not kidnap anyone ...........
(Ayoobo)(2) is the white sheep friend ...........
The well water is clean ...........
There, where the (demolished) mosque(3) is ...........
Ecstasy was pouring on him whenever the delighted voices approached him: the women are attractive,
soft-complexioned, stimulating in the scene of jewels that were set on their colored clothes and the precious necklace glittering. Their waists were wrapped with lazulite stones. On the floor was a lake of diadems of roses and lavender thrown by thousands of hands. Its perfume gushes up to heaven whenever the name (Ibrahim) was mentioned.
The wind outdoors became fiercer. The room furniture shook. It rained heavily. The curdled color mixed among water, light and pitch dark spaces. Dawn ran away fast.
A girl carrying a rose basket on her head approached him. Her dress unveiled her breast nipple. He was surprised. She may be the fair demon herself that came from the damned well to kidnap him ! His surprise increased. He sat down the desire platform following the stirring of the young breast and ordered wine. The wedding processions passed in front of him but he did not notice them. The ceremony ended. He whispered to the fair demon who reflected bashfulness. He attracted her by speech and promises. She approached him then
sat down near him on the stage. He felt the warmth of the body and the blood neigh. He remembered the River Tigris, the memories cut moans, wisdom boards and church liturgies (Al-Maydan and Al-Nabi Jarjees).
This mixture circulated in his body like hot lead thread. He stood up scared and saw his grandmother,
(Haseena Um Suleiman) bending her looks upon him in the eye of gods and carrying in her hand a plate of walnut and black dried grapes.

ــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ ــــــ
(1) (Aziz Makir) A very crazy black-faced man with black clothes.
(2) (Ayoobo) A poor mentally-sick young man.
(3) (A demolished mosque) is a haunted ruin. People thought that demons lived in it.

The wind blew for the second time strongly on the window leaves and the door. The room furniture was stirred. Some of it fell on the ground. He wanted to rub his left foot but the movement of the two ghosts and the fair demon made him continue seeing wishing enlargement of dawn, glittering of spaces with the confused sounds of people who gathered round the platform. Then they were directed with the River Tigris joyfully and with love.
From their deepest, they laugh, the cliffs and bank edges repeat their rattling clamorous echo. He wore his slippers on the stage love and fear. He started up to get up but he glanced the fair demon wave her pointed nails and long arms. Then one of the two ghosts appeared dragging by his fire body the wife of his neighbor from her long rotten tongue. He was disturbed.
- “We are friends.” said the ghost. “You are our friend. Don’t be afraid. You have to be brave. There is no need to remain so full of fear and depression.”
He spoke so softly that it was near to whispering and imploring while the other ghost kept silent.
- “For God sake ........... Please ........... I did not do anything.” The ghost said,
- “Strange thing. Spring bursts in life ........... The city is sleeping. The demon is my own. After one o’clock people get to sleep. Anthems become silent. The trumpets become mute. Your grandmother comes. So do not be afraid.”
- “Repentance.” said he to himself. “I shall never approach this rotten well again !”
- “Do you want to wander with us ?” said the ghost. “Let’s go to the street of (Halab and Bab Al-Toob). There people stay up and drink wine. Then all piss on the cheap bar threshold apart from (Dawood
Al-Dahman and Shalah Abu Zeki). They are noblemen who drink the matured wine from (Basheeqa and Bahzani).
The wind blew violently. Its blowing was about to open the leaves of the window. The fair demon was dancing and singing with hysterical enthusiasm. She knotted her long plait decorated by roses round her naked waist leaving its ends spreading out on the room flagstones. He heard a single sound of neighing from behind the window.
- “Get up and bow, young man.” whispered the fair demon. “I am the goddess of love and desire. Come on. I shall grant you immortality, pastures and water resources. I shall fill your bed with love, ecstasy and ambergris.” He was startled and scared shouting: “If you please, ghost, a symbol of fertility and generosity. Save me. I shall never go back to the well again. I swear. Believe me. I shall never ........... never ........... never look at her again.”
The ghost released ironic laughter shaking his head with arrogance saying:
- “Really the earth son is not greedy of anything. Listen, young man. I shall submit you the help but don’t be afraid. Ha ........... Did you hear ? Don’t be afraid.”
The ghost extended his hand and pulled the panting lad from behind him then he twisted his thin neck violently. It was separated from his exhausted body as a cucumber bite. He commenced to dance round the stage a body without a head or features, merely a tranquil and colored limbs wriggling like a snake plagued by death hallucination: The fair demon, the two ghosts were waving with their carded cotton hair. Women cheer round the banquet of nothingness. Snaky rituals warmed by the stone neigh and loss inside the haunted house and round its damned well.
Suddenly (Oulees) lands near the stage. He shouts to him pleading:
- “(Oulees), O sailor ! Saver of children in darkness, kindle chandeliers of hope and life in our house Everything kept silent. Quietness and space dominated. Then abundance of interesting ecstasy poured like a white cloud flowing in the high sky. Everything was frozen at its place.
The wind blows on the two window leaves again. He stands up to close it tightly but he was surprised at coming ghosts from far away. They were very strong driving mythological carts drawn by one horse on the green land. They were as if they had come to murder him. They were releasing sensational shouts higher than their shaking horses which were running as shining swords.
- “(Oulees),” shouts very loudly. “Rescue me. I want to live. Mercy.” (Oulees) replied in a wonderful way.
- “This is my sacred assembly, young man. So don’t be afraid. Those came to rescue you. I am here in my kingdom to destroy evil, killers and corruption and break into pieces all plots and the basement rats. Even the nests of prostitutes and the amulets of fortune-tellers.”
He put his hand in his pocket and took out a magnified map of the district houses indicating in it the most wicked people as well as the middlemen then he handed it over to (Oulees) but the latter refused it saying:
- “Put it in your pocket, young man of (Bab Lagish). I know them all.
The leaves of the window were slammed by the wind. Alcohol bottle falls down. Its glass was splintered causing unbearable sound that made him wake up startled like a mouse attacked by a hungry cat.
The voice of a caller to prayer comes to him from far away ......
The prayer is better than sleeping .............................................
The prayer is better than sleeping .............................................
He rises from his bed and goes to the window closing it tightly. May be its leaves are slammed once more. He tucks the sleeves of his garment and performs the rite of ablution by his tears ........................
The morning falcon preyed upon ........... the night crow.

[ظميان غدير]

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