قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

**admin_01** · 06-02-2006, 09:43 PM

قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

وفيما يلي قصة الاطفال المفتاح الضائع The Lost key ترجمة الاستاذ وجيه عوض.

The lost Key

Once there was a grandmother who had two granddaughters. One day, she gathered the girls together and said "I have a lovely story for you"
She told them: "Once upon a time there was a little girl named Khaizaran. Her grandfather bought her some presents: a bracelet, a dress and beautiful doll"
Khaizaran hid the presents in the cupboard, but she lost the key. Her grandfather looked for it in the drawer and everywhere else, but he could not find it.

He said: "I will go to the carpenter who made the cupboard, to get a key", so off he went and asked for a key. The carpenter said "The key is with the smith".

So, off went grandfather to talk to the smith and ask him for a key. The smith said: "I have a key, but it will cost you one egg, and the egg is with the hen".

So, of went grandfather to see the hen and ask her for an egg. The hen said: "I have an egg but it will cost you a grain of wheat. The wheat is with the farmer".

So, off went grandfather to visit the farmer, and ask him for a grain of wheat. The farmer said" I have a grain of wheat but I want a cup of milk for it. The milk is with the cow".

So, off went grandfather to see the cow and ask her for a cup of milk. The cow said: "I have the milk but I need some grass, the grass is in the field".

So, off went grandfather to the field. The farmer gave him some grass. He took the grass to the cow, and the cow gave him the milk.
Then grandfather took the milk to the farmer, and the farmer gave him the wheat.

Next, grandfather took the wheat to the hen, and she gave him the egg.
After that, grandfather hurried back to the smith. He gave him the egg and took the key.

Finally, grandfather ran back home and opened the cupboard. Khaizaran was very happy.
The granddaughters thanked their grandmother and said "Please grandmother, tell us a new story tomorrow. We love your stories

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Libyan Short Stories
Translated by:
Dr. Mohamed S. Al-Seghayar
English Department
Garyounis University

Postponed Dreams
Mohamed Abu-alqaasim
In a beautiful spring day, as the sun shined after a rainy day, so it spread the warmth, and the sky looked clear, except for some white thin clouds which set about to move slowly, in that wide landscape as if it were swaggering, I felt the need to get some air outside this diseased city which is full of garbage heaps that obstructed the street, and the traffic in many cases.
I went out driving my car slowly towards the outskirts of Tajuuraa, and when I got there, I parked my car for away from the main road in the middle of a field full of green grass and the smell of flowers, so I felt some relief that made me go back to calm while being face to face with nature, then I was overwhelmed by happiness, whereas my restless looks were not settling on a specific thing.
All of a sudden, my sight rested on the heaps of garbage scattered here and there, and they seemed to me as if they were high mountains, and there were a number of young people sitting on the ground drinking tea.
I felt strange that they were in this picture and I felt afraid from them so I wanted to go back. A large lorry full of garbage suddenly pulled up near them, they rushed towards it, and they started to empty its load, while some of them searched its content very carefully, picked up some items and put them aside.
(2)
I stayed watching them calmly and carefully until the lorry emptied its load and left the place.
When I got near them carefully and slowly, they looked at me inquisitively and doubtfully, I said, trying to beg for some trust after greeting them:
I beg your pardon for my inquisitiveness if I as, what do you do with this garbage?
They all exchanged the looks of wonder and kept quite, and then one of them came towards me and said sarcastically fixing his looks on me:
What do we do?
and laughed nervously while his colleague continued:
What a question! Imagine that we are making a living from these heaps of garbage hoping that we would find something of value!!
I said as surprise overwhelmed me, and pain squeezed my heart:
Strange; I don’t believe it.
He said with emphasis that leaves no chance for doubt:
This is your business, but sir, this is the truth, before your eyes, after every way of living was made impossible before us.
Here I loudly recalled a verse of poetry by Abu al-baqaa Al-randi:
Here are the matters as you see them change
Whoever is made happy by something, he would be made unhappy by
many times
What did you say?
No. Nothing!!
(3)
Then everybody went away except for one young tall man who looked nice and calm with two eyes as sharp as an eagle’s, a fine nose and a face somehow handsome even though it appeared pale. Dirt stuck to his clothes and made them look black and plain. He wore a worn out pair of shoes. He was looking at me with a pair of eyes that are deeply sad and he pulled a chair for me whose edges were worn away and the garbage has clung to it. When he noticed my hesitation, he cleaned it by using the sleeve of his shirt and put a piece of carton paper on it while he said with a light smile on his lips:
I’m sorry, please have a seat, the place is not a suitable one!
I said shortly:
-Thanks
I said to myself that these nice and weak souls have in their beating hearts very simple and modest dreams. They are postponed dreams which I don’t know when God will allow for them to materialize.
Did you say something?
I said “Does it pay? I mean this work.”
Sometimes, especially the pieces of bread. We sell the bag for eight dinars, which is a good price, due to rarity of cattle food.
Couldn’t you find a job other than this?
He sighed very deeply, looked around himself, as if he was looking for something and said after a while as he felt uneasy.
What do I have to do, while what you see even the stray dogs would turn away from.
Where did you use to work before?
So he looked at me from the top of my head to my feet, and when he didn’t care
about answering me. I added not caring about his sharp restless looks:
Perhaps you are telling yourself: what is this curiosity about something that is none of my business on one hand, and I cannot change its course on the other!!!
You are not to be blamed, this is how life is.
Do you know that some people, in Europe, have gathered a lot of money out of this garbage?
It’s possible but things here are different!
So I said in an effective tone while looking at the sky as if I were looking for some solution:
Believe me when I tell you that I am obssessed with thinking about the poor and their suffering, and that what makes my pain increase is that I have nothing that I can do for their sake.
So he said sadly, as I felt that he was about to cry, even though he tried to look restrained:
This is of your kindness, but I beg you to leave me alone. Don’t remind me of my pains. What is happening bothers me day and night, because those who are like me, and they are many, live at the bottom of the society and on the margins of life, since nobody is aware of them. We are in great need for help……
At that time I felt sorrow squeezing my heart. He is telling the truth with all its dimensions with a n infinite innocence. He scrapped the scab off the wounds and they did have a chance to heal up after it especially when we are looking at public money being spent inappropriately, here and there, on things that do not by any way serve the citizen.
Here, and at the speed of a blink, “the tale of two cities” jumped to my mind when the poor started licking the wine spilled on the road.
(4)
I said, changing the direction of the dialogue, when I noticed the sorrow on his face
Are you married?
He hesitated, then said:
Yes. I was married to a young woman, of the same social class as mine, and she was a loving affectionate woman, humorous in nature, and of good personality. So I was very happy to be near her and I forgot my fatigues and pains, even if for a while, but at the end I had to divorce her, because she lately became depressing and very moody. My life became miserable with her complaints about my mother, and I was referring that to the fact that she could not have a baby after five years of our marriage and maybe she was not any more able to stand life in poverty and need.
Then he pointed with his forefinger to the falling house whose walls fell and whose front collapsed and said:
Here I live now on my own, suffering the pains of loneliness.
Why didn’t you get a suitable house?
So he said with some sorrow and regret:
- When I was able to find some kind of housing, I went to the public housing authorities, presented the needed papers, and told them the address, so I got a promise from them to get that house, and when I came back after some time, the employee got the file out from his desk drawer and said to me pretending to be sorry, with a fake smile: “Brother, this house was allocated to another citizen”, and this was the state with me until I was sacked from my Job
And how was that?
(5)
I worked as a guard in one of the warehouses of the government and I lived in a room in it, but I had noticed that the new supervisor frequently showed up after the end of the working day, and he used to take in his private car, few things… When this happened more than once, I told him that these things were under my responsibility and that he had no right to get them out without official documents and outside the working hours.
He kept quite and did not answer me. His face blushed and showed his anger. His eyes glittered, and he said as if he was threatening me:
“We’ll see!”
Then, one day, I was surprised by him when he called for me in his office. As soon as I came before him, he said angrily:
Where are the sanitation materials found in the warehouse number 5?
Didn’t you come the day before yesterday evening and take them in your private car?
He said wondering as he threatened me pointing his forefinger at me:
Me! And you accuse me of stealing?
Yes.
However, we’ll solve the matter at once. I said surprisingly:
And how is that?
There are two choices before you: either you leave the job immediately, or I’ll transfer you to the police, then the prosecutor, for public money embezzlement.
He kept quite for a while then resumed saying:
Don’t forget that they are all your responsibility, and you are the one responsible for them!!
Therefore, I have preferred to leave the job.
And what is it, in your view, the best way to mend this crack in our life?
So he said in discomfort and despair:
Nothing, nothing except credibility: in words and deeds.
(6)
All of a sudden, he stood up in a way that shocked me, then he ran towards a lorry that was coming, filled with garbage, then he said as if apologizing waving both of his hands in the air.
- Pardon me, there is no point in talking. Nothing is left to be said!!

**admin_01** · 06-02-2006, 09:44 PM

قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

The Night Snake
Khalifa Al-faakhri

Translated by:
Dr. Mohamed S. Al-Seghayar
English Department
Garyounis University

“Stir the fire, it’s close to dying”
The haj said as he drew the cover up to his neck.
His wife who is an old lady, took the fire pot in her hands and shook it a number of times till the firebrands were on top of the ashes. While the haj started talking to himself, the old lady turned the tea spoon upside down and used its end to stir the embers in the fire till she removed the gray cover on them, then she blew with her eyes close till the fire came into flames.
The old man looked at her and said:
“ This rain, it takes away all the warmth in me”
The old lady said:
“My God! This is not thunder… It is an earthquake”
The old man said
“blow the fire”
The old lady rose slowly. She brought some pieces of coal, fixed them among the embers, and blew waiting or the flame to sting her.
The old man sighed saying:
“Perhaps our son Faraj will come now, and there would be no need for the fire pot or even for you.
“What are you saying?
“Nothing”
The haj ended the discussion.
The old lady, who pretended that she had not heard anything, said:
“ He must come today. This is the time for his leave from his job in the oil camp in the desert.. I don’t know why he is late.”
“Maybe he has gone to visit some of his friends”
“If so, he will come to us drunk”
“It doesn’t matter”
The old lady said praying:
“If God lets him repent from drinking”
The haj looked at her face and said:
“Anybody who listens to you thinks that God is opening a bar”
“May God forgive, why do you say this?”
“He is the one who should repent “God is not concerned with that” “
The old lady bargained with him:
“I mean maybe God would help him to do that”
The old man dew the cover on him towards his neck, and preferred to be silent.
The old lady spread her hands on the fire pot, and drifted thinking, while the old man projected his feet from under the cover, and he drew them near the fire, so close to nearly touch it.
Suddenly, the old lady opened her narrow eyes and shouted:
“ I can hear steps outside”
The haj shook his head and said:
“You are imagining… It’s the rain”
“Maybe he will come suddenly just like that night when he came to us during the war time.”
The kittens sleeping in the chest of the old lady moved… opened their eyes, cuddled each other and raised their warm heads.
“That was when we vacated”
The haj started the tale.
The old lady changed her stealing on the sheep skin mat getting ready to listen to what her husband will say. She has heard the story tens of times before, and she always thinks that it was the first time she hears it.
The old lady said:
“At that time, Faraj was the only child we had: he was one year old. I remember.”
“I know. But your brother’s family was close to you”
All the families in the neighborhood where they lived had left to the village of “Al-gwaarsha” at that time when the bombarding of the city of Benghazi started. The haj had left his family in “Al-gawarsha” and went to Sloog to work in the plowing season with his tribe.
The old man said as if talking to himself:
“ The rain had come early that year… very heavy and floods covered all the valleys. It was said that the floods had drowned Al-qwaarsha and its outskirts. I couldn’t sleep that night, then I put on my shoes when nobody could notice me, and I left for Al-qwaarsha in the middle of the night under the rain”
“It was very dark, but I followed the railways which is soaked in water. I knew that they reached Al-gwaarsha. They were drowned in the rain water, but I was touching them with my feet and walking when I had put a case on my head to protect myself from the rain. I was feeling my way for the rails in the dark stormy night … and walk and stumble in rocks and ditches … and I walked while the cold was severe to the extent that it would penetrate the bones … and I was praying to God that you would still be alive.”
The old lady said:
“I was so terrified when you raided the shack on us!”
The haj laughed and said:
“You were still alive … a spotted snake!”
The old lady did not pay attention to his joke and she asked:
“How far is it from there to Al-gwaarsha?”
“Ten times as far as from here to your son Ramadan’s house”
The old lady did not comment but she placed her forefinger behind her ear and listened attentively. She thought that somebody was opening the door!
The haj said:
“It’s the rain. Stir the fire!”
The old lady scattered the embers with the tail of the spoon as if she was looking for something, then she raised her head to say:
“When you came that night our neighbor Saaber had already died two days before. Who would believe that that camel would die?”
“May God have mercy on him. He was a strange creature.”
Then a smile showed on his lips and he said:
“ I remember when he and I were harvesting together in the severely hot sun, and then
suddenly he was stung by a scorpion in his hand, and when I had cut the place of the stinging with my knife, and I started to suck out the poison, he began to talk to God in what was like hallucination saying: “ Oh God, why have you created the scorpion? Do you use it for plowing? Do you use it to carry water home from the well? Do you ride on it? Do you use it to transport your belongings? Do you use it to pull a cart? Why – Why – Oh God. Why have you created the scorpion?” Do you use it for plowing? Do you use it to carry water? Do you ride on it? Do you use it to pull a cart? Why – why – Oh God. Why have you created the scorpion?
And he continued to hallucinate and shiver in his cold sweat till he went into a coma. When we told him that after he was cured, he started to shake his head and laugh all day… May God have mercy on him.”
The old lady lifted her head and looked at the old man’s face for a long while, then she asked him: “But, how do you remember all this, haj?”
“Because I don’t have a chicken’s brain like yours”
“No… tell me seriously”
The haj let a sigh out and said: “Memories come out of my heart cracking like a snake… They come out creeping, soft, bright, smooth and colored. I sometimes do not know if they were the ones that make the hissing or my heart itself”
The old lady hid her feelings saying: “I will prepare tea for you again, some tea”
“This is good”
The old lady said while stirring the fire: “I remember that you ran away from the military service for the war in Ethiopia”
“That’s right the Italians wanted us to fight the Ethiopians. And Saaber told me at that time: ‘why don’t they take the scorpions instead of us?’ I told him that in Ethiopia, people eat the scorpions. He shouted: ‘Oh God!!’”
“How we missed those days!”
The old man pretended to cough, lowering his sight, and then said:
“This is what happened to me too when I lost you while we were in hajj… Do you remember?”
“How would I forget?”
“I was running like a crazy man in all directions looking for you. The sun was eating into my head, and was running and shouting calling your name in vain. At the end of the day, I thought you have died by a sun strike, and that they have buried you without even saying my prayers on you and I felt a cloud that sat on my chest and suffocate my breath. But the others advised me to go to the Libyan hajj mission to inquire about you… and when I found you there heaped in the shade like bundle , both laughter and crying beat me.”
The array of lighting got through the cracks of the window. And Thunder roared in a savage way, as the rain fall continued… and the two old people sank in a frightening silence.
“Stir the fire”
The old lady gave him the cup of tea and drew her cover onto her head and said: “I saw a strange dream last night.”
“Faraj had taken me with him to the house of God. We were performing haj together. He hired four African black people to carry me and go round with me on board in a very easy way. They were giants like my brother may God have mercy on his soul. “Faraj” was carrying a very white umbrella, so huge that its shade could include a thousand hajj performers. I was very excited. But my ____ fell from my hand suddenly and its beads scattered on the sand… I woke up very quickly… I woke up very unhappy. What does that mean?”
“Well.”
The old man said pretending that he was thinking. Then he continued:
“I think that the giant blacks are the guards of the door of hell…”
“And the beads of my ____?”
The haj laughed and said:
“Your sins!!”
The old lady hesitated for a while, and then shared him his laugh. She wiped the sides of her eyes with her clothing, and she looked at the old man’s face directly:
“But tell me oh haj, for you are a man who can see through… tell me me what that means.”
“ You make your son tired even in your sleep. He has built this house for us, sent us to the house of God that year, he married is brother Ramadan, and he is paying the costs of all that we need. Why are you bothering him even in your sleeping dreams?”
“I am not bothering him. I only miss him. Nobody bothers anybody else in jus a passing dream.. It is only longing.”
“The haj knew that she was about to start crying as usual in such a time, for that reason he had caught the end of the string and said:
“This is right, you are correct.. it is just longing”
The eyes of the old lady glittered and she said:
“If Faraj gets married.. why don’t you talk to him oh haj?”
“ Since he had known the road to Egypt, and spending his vacation there, he stopped thinking about getting married”
“I miss Ramadan and his children.”
“They are visiting you every Friday”
“ I have a feeling that Faraj will not be long to come”
The haj laughed and said:
“ I hope your waiting will not be like the waiting of your brother’s wife that time, the days of eviction to Gwaarsha”
“ She had given away, may God have mercy on her, to her neighbors the rest of the food supplies she had had… She gave us all the fried dry meat in her pot when the kids came running from the suburbs of the village telling her that her husband brought with him a gallon of oil on his donkey cart”
The old lady said:
“We were raiding the Italian army camps in the city at that time... and if we were not hit by bullets we would get some flour, sugar, oil, tea, and cigarettes.” The haj said.
The old lady shook with laughter, and said:
“ My brother had at that time brought with him a barrel of wine. She was shouting and crying all the time about her bad luck”
She was saying: “even in a raid my share would be alcohol?!”
He was, may God have mercy on him, a heavy drinker.”
The old man yawned deeply and said: “ Nobody knows.”
The old lady stirred the fire with the end of the spoon but it had held a heap of ashes.. she struck the spoon on the rim of the fire container, and she put it aside listening to something, and then said:
“ Do you hear? The rain stopped.”
The old man yawned again till his tears dropped from his eyes and said:
“The night has advanced. I will go to sleep now. I am afraid I might miss the dawn prayers”
The old lady said begging:
“May be he’ll come soon.”
But the haj stood up very slowly and used his two hands to straighten his back, and as he started to drag his feet toward the bed, said to her as if he was talking to himself:
“He will not come but with the face of the sun

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وصلتني هذه القصة القصيرة بالبريد الإليكتروني
The symphony of war and peace

Zeinab Habash

Before the ink of signatures on the peace agreement between Egypt and Israel has dried. Before Israeli soldiers take off war garments and wear white shirts, as the peace song and peace dance claim. Israeli army attacks the south of Lebanon.

During battles between Israelis and Lebanese, a Palestinian fida'i and an Israeli soldier suddenly face each other.

At the first moment, both of them stand still with their Russian and American weapons. Each one looks at the other without any sign of intention to kill. Though their clothes show clearly who they are.

Both of them stand astonished and amazed.

What great and incredible strength prevents each of them to use his gun?!

All of a sudden, the astonishment vanishes, and is changed into a hesitating smile. Gradually, the distance between them disappears.

- Hello.
- Hello.
- What's your name?
- Mosheh. And you?
- Mohammad.
- Why didn’t you kill me, Mohammad?
- I don't know. And you, why didn’t you kill me?
- I don't know exactly. May be I’ve seen my brother in you.
- Do I look like your brother?
- No. I actually don’t have any brothers.
- How, then, you’ve seen me as your brother?
- I just imagined that I have a brother in you at the very moment we met.
- Strange! Me too. Something extraordinary happened to me. It bounded me tightly to you.
- What is it?
- I can't explain. But that feeling has prevented me from killing you. By the way, are you an Arab?
- Yes. I am from Iraq.
- My God!! May be this is the reason.
- May be. And you? Are you a Lebanese?
- No. I'm from Palestine.
- But you have a Lebanese accent!
- Yes, yes. It’s the same accent of my friends and colleagues were born here in Lebanon.
- Tell me Mohammad, Why do you live in Lebanon?
- Because my family was forced to leave Haifa since 1948. Many Palestinian families left to Lebanon. And you Mosheh? Why did you come to Palestine?
- I didn’t come to it, I was born there. My family was obliged to leave Iraq for Israel.
- Ah!! Isn't this the secret behind our strange feeling, not to shoot at each other?
- Do you think so?
- Why not? That’s what both of us share in, you and I, my friend , are two sides of the same coin. I don't know why they have made of us enemies, holding guns, to kill each other .Well, what do you dream of, Mosheh?
- I dream of return.
- To Palestine?
- No. I dream of return to Baghdad. My father described it as a paradise. He wishes he can see it, at least, in his last days.
- I'm like you Mosheh. And so are my parents. We all dream of return to Haifa. Let's sit by this rock.
- My father told me that Baghdad is like the palm of the hand. Have you ever seen Palestine?
- No I have never seen it except in my dreams. I tried my best to go to it with my colleagues, but I was unlucky. Do you believe Mosheh?
I wish its soil breaks up and swallows me.
- Oh God! Do you love Palestine to that degree?!
- More, Mosheh, much more.
- Well, why don’t we draw together a new map of a new situation?
- What do you mean?
- Haven't your PLO suggested a democratic state in Palestine? Lets' be you and I, the small seed of it. You are laughing! Don’t you want that?
- I do want it. But listen. Look there. Don’t you see your planes, my friend? They are blowing death and hatred towards my people.

- I feel ashamed. This is the recent American bargain. It seems that they are testing it on you. By the way, Mohammad, why don’t you have planes like ours?

Because our Arab governments take care of broad casting and of looking after pigeons.
- Why do they look after pigeons?
- That helps them imagine that they are strong and powerful.
- I don’t understand you!
- Well, haven't you heard of the Sadat's enterprise? Didn’t he, himself, carry the dovecots to you? Didn’t he tell you that he will demolish the dividing wall of fear between you and the Arab countries? He thought that he will retain, by that, the Palestinians' and Arab rights.
- Don’t you like his enterprise?
- No. because, any right without strength turns into a poem in the throat of a poet. It may strangle him at any moment.
This is our problem, Mosheh. We are all poets. We are all strangled by the poems that freeze in our throats.
- Cheer up, my friend. There is a solution
- What is it?
- To put your hand in mine.
- What else?
- To become one person.
- How?
- Thus.

Mosheh takes Muhammad's hand into his. They smile warmly to each other. The two fists cling firmly.

At that moment, an Israeli bombardment passes by and spits its bombs.
The two bodies burn completely. Around each neck, there is a neck chain. The two fists intermix, they are impossible to be separated.

A group of Israeli soldiers stand in front of the two corpses. The Russian and American weapons are still scattered by the rock. The eternal talk of their fists changes into a melancholy symphony, intermingling with the water of Dijla, and flying in the sky of Al Karmel.

15/8/2001

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وصلتني هذه الترجمة من الدكتور الشيمي.
The Price of A Wife
By: Naguib Mahfouz
Translated into English by:
Dr. Ahmad Elsheemi

He sat looking to his image in the big mirror, following, with his eyes, the barber’s hand while cutting his hair lightly and expertly. Signs of composure and contentment filled his face as it ought to happen to a young man in the third week of his honeymoon.
Nature has given him the sweetest of funs which males of all species like to drink to the lees. The virtuous man, the engineer, Hamdy Effendi was one of the most sublime of all species, got married to the daughter of one of his professors and colleagues, a beautiful gracious girl he has heard about and saw in her what increased his affection of her. Now he is her husband, enjoying with her the fun of funs which nature bestows upon those who abide to its laws and norms.
On his tranquil seat the engineer noticed that the barber was not garrulous that day as before. Now he was sullen when he was a frequent laugher, speechless when he was talkative with an unsteady tongue. The engineer wondered but he lacked the courage to ask him about his concerns, and preferred to enjoy the silent moments instead of the barber’s babble and nonsense. When the barber finished his work the engineer stood upright finding no unease in asking him about this unusual silence:
- I noticed you silent today as if you have failed to find something to talk about?
The barber felt relieved when the engineer asked him this question because he was truly willing to talk but he did not know how to get into the subject. When he noticed that his customer was about to finish his dressing he was afraid that the chance may go unexploited and said:
- In fact, sir, I have something to say to you but …
He stopped to increase the young man’s curiosity who asked him inquiringly:
- But what?
- Some suspicions are sins, man sometimes misjudges things. Actually I spent long time thinking about the matter and finally I saw that duty dictates on me to uncover my conjecture whatever the results may be.
- The young engineer fastened his necktie, wore his jacket, fixed his fez, pointed a sharp look to the barber’s eyes and said:

- If you see that it is really your duty to uncover what is in your mind, what is the meaning now of your hesitation and stammering?
- “Well Sir... I have actually noticed things…” said the barber with a sigh.
- ….?
- Two weeks ago I saw a young man frequenting the building you live in every morning after eight o’clock.
The young man contracted his eyebrows and said condescendingly:
- Well …?
- He drew my attention with his appearance and punctuality … I exploited the morning leisure in watching him. I noticed that he comes through Assim Street at seven and takes his seat in Nejmah Café until you leave your house to the ministry, then he pays for his coffee and leaves the café directly to the building.
The engineer – in spite of his tender age – was a self-possessed steady man, far from being lightheaded or imprudent. He bit his lower lip as he always does when he faces a situation like that as if he wanted to overcome the perturbation crawling unto him. He asked the barber wrathfully:
- What do you mean?
The barber’s face went yellow and regretted starting off this kind of aching speech but he couldn’t help but to go on saying:
- I hope I am in the wrong sir, I really hope God reveals it all untrue. I actually was hesitant to talk to you, but I saw that outspokenness and honesty with all their evils are better than concealment with all peace and safety. What increased my doubts was that I saw him observing you stealthily many times while you are on your way, following you with dubious looks until the road curve absents you, then he rises quickly and sneaks away inside the building.
- Did you see him getting out of the building?
- I saw him many times, getting out after two hours or more.
- What does he look like?
- A young man in his early twenties … well-dressed with an effeminate shape, had it not been for his hanging around in the morning I would say he is a student.
When the barber saw gloom and silence riding to the engineer’s face, and that his innermost feelings unveiled solicitude and sadness he said painfully:
- I beg your pardon, sir, and don’t rely on my ill suspicions. I beseech you to be patient as wise me should be, and try to investigate the matter yourself. In fact I am not sorry for what I have just told but I blame the circumstances.
The engineer was listening carefully to what he has said and asked the barber:
- Did he come this morning as usual?
- He did, Sir.
- Does it occur that he did not come?
- On Friday.
The young man bit his lower lip again and all that he said on leaving the barber’s shop:
- I thank you for your sense of honor and nobility; I wish you become all eyes until I come to you tomorrow morning.
He did not go to his house although it was close by and the time was noon, instead, he felt a desire to ramble around aimlessly for a while.
Hamdy was a young man in his thirtieth year, distinguished by his meager size and pale complexion, a glance of intelligence glittered in his eyes. His chin curved in such a way that characterized those recognized by their iron will and determination. What distinguished him most were his tranquility and repose, calmness and self-possession. No one of his acquaintances saw him agitated or deeply stirred for sorrow or happiness. But frailty and cowardice were not among his characteristics; he gets angry when something angers him, but in his way of anger: no rage, no cursing, no quarrel but tough punishment or horrible vengeance. Thus he progresses in his life like a bulldozer; slow, grave sober-minded, irresistible and demolishing anything in his way.
He murmured to himself while rambling aimlessly in the streets: “The man hints to an adultery, an adultery in the honeymoon! Undoubtedly it is the first of its kind; it is like abortion that destroys the embryo before it gets complete … Who believes this … how could this happen at all? How did this young man find his way to my bride’s bed? Did he know my wife before I knew her? Yet, it is unbelievable, incredible.” When he reviewed his short marriage life he remembered uncountable and indescribable moments of happiness and enjoyment; he did not doubt that in his tomorrow he will find a laughable mistake, a mistake that will be his lifelong joke.
However …
However, he cannot get rid of this ill-favored feeling rankling in his heart... this feeling of painful suspicion. Memoirs of past days of engagement now pass along his mind against a dark fearful background and he has to think them allover again. He remembers how his wife met him – in the days of engagement – with dullness and sulkiness as if she were meeting a grandfather and not a fiancé, and how she did not open a speech with him or share him his speech with any degree of enthusiasm, and how her answers to his questions were as concise and short as those of the English diplomats.
He thought it was all graceful coyness, it might have been right and it might have been wrong, who knows? Perhaps it was hatred and abhorrence, he ought to inspect and investigate.
He remembers also that her ways did not change after marriage; she still keeps reticent, solemn and cool. ‘Cool’! he has not mentioned this word before. He wished his bride were playful and merry. Now how could he know that she was not a playful coquette, and that she simulates coolness only in his presence? What a regretful thing? What misery and what suffering? Hamdy was not an expert in women’s affairs; he was always out of their favor. In his bachelorhood he preferred to stay virtuous and ascetic, spending his years grief stricken and thinking that marriage will be the remedy and salvation. When he got married he was happy and contented. He thanked God for all his blessings. Now he is face to face with failure, disappointment, losing the only hope of happiness and peaceful life; the wife is about to be revealed deceitful!
But he did not give up completely to pessimism, and did not submit completely to despair; he stuck to the remaining hope that things will not be as he thought, and that doubts will not be as he supposed. He wished he could wipe away this dark cloud perching on his heart and restore some of his former serenity and exultation. He had the ability to analyze his heartaches and his delights, and when he decided to do something nothing on earth can change his mind.
He walked for a long time and began to feel tired. He went back to his house hotheaded and inflamed with ardor. He got into his flat, feigning a smile and self-possession and when he saw his bride sitting with the lunch dishes well arranged on the table and heard her saying in a tone of reproof:
- You are late today?!
He cast a hasty look to his face lest she should read his mind in his eyes. He sat beside her and put a gentle kiss on her cheek as a young bridegroom should do with his bride.
- “I passed by the barber’s and the shop was crowded.” he said apologetically.

* * *

In the morning he left the house as usual, and took his usual way to the ministry. Passing by Nejma Café he resisted a strong desire to look into the faces of the sitting thinking that two shining eyes were watching him cautiously and derisively. Blood boiled over in his head and his pale face turned red with the feeling of embarrassment and shame. He did not go to the ministry but hanged around in the streets for a while looking in his watch every now and then. At seven-thirty he carefully came back to the barber’s shop and sneaked in cautiously. The shop was empty of customers.

- “Good morning, sir.” Said the barber. “He came as usual and sneaked inside the building a quarter of an hour a go.”

The young engineer stood stiff in his place for a while because he felt that he was facing a turning point in his life after which his whole happiness and honor will be destined. Rage overwhelmed his nerves instead of composure. He felt a fearful wane and heard the barber asking him: “Do you like me to attend you?” The barber’s question ached him and replied strictly: “No.”
He left the place without delay and entered the building. He mounted the stairs with heavy steps looking up at the door with rigid eyes. Thoughts and ideas pulled each other in his mind, floated there and disappeared swiftly leaving no effect except abstractedness and heat in the mind. Now he was standing in front of his apartment’s door .. gasping as if he has just finished running a long course. His heart was beating fast pushing blood into his head to echo in his ears. Fearing his determination to falter he put his hand into his pocket and get the key out, pushed it gently into the door. He moved the door cautiously and stretched his head to have a look at the hall. After he entered he restored the door without shutting it lest it should make noise. The hall was empty and all the rooms were closed. Where is the maidservant? He thought of the bedroom and took off his shoes and approached it on his toes until he faced the door, it was closed. He put his ears on the door’s aperture and eavesdropped imagining that he was hearing a faint murmur and other sounds. Suspicion has gone with the torture it causes and the hopes it implies. Disgraceful, terrible truth appeared wearing no veil. His eyesight went out for seconds because of anger, he was no longer able to bear the state of inactivity, he stepped back and twisted his leg to push the door with all his strength, the door quaked vehemently inwards. He took two steps forward until he crossed the threshold. A mad scream exploded in the room and two naked bodies jumped out of the bed, the woman’s and that of the young man.
The woman was in a mad state of panic and fear; she was shivering, her face went pale instantly and her eyes got wide. She drew the quilt on her body and stayed still looking at her husband as if she were looking at a terrible demon. The young lover failed to reach his clothes on the armchair. He stayed motionless and frozen in his place, he kept staring at the husband with terror-stricken desperate eyes beseeching him in trembling childish voice:
“I beseech you!”
It was strange that the husband was not overcome by madness and did not rush to take revenge as usually happens in these situations. He was quite composed and vaguely tranquil like a drunken intoxicated by slumber. He kept standing moving his eyes between the lovers in firm peacefulness as if he were watching a sight apart from his own feelings and emotions. When he saw his wife’s hand trying to draw the quilt on her body he asked her coldly:
- Are you ashamed of appearing naked in front of me?
Then he turned to the young man who whooped in a shivering feverish voice:
- Have mercy upon me. Let me put on my clothes and do what you want.
- “Do you like to die in your clothes?” He asked him contemptuously.
- “Mercy!” The young man ululated
- “Put on your clothes man and have no fear.” Said the husband in a delicate voice.
The lover did not believe and began to beseech the husband again in a weeping frightened voice:
- Have pity for me.
The husband answered him encouragingly:
- “Put on your clothes man and fear not anything. Come on. I mean what I say.” The husband answered him encouragingly.
But the young lover did not move an inch. He was shivering out of terror. The husband took the lover’s clothes and handed them over to him saying in a mocking voice: “Do you want me to help you putting them on?” Yet, the young lover put on his clothes hurriedly. His shape was funny and ludicrous; his hair was daubed with vaseline appearing from under his fez, the buttons of his trousers were loose, his shirt dangles and the strings of his shoes were unfastened. He was completely distracted, looking at the husband’s face with submission and despair and said:
- I am under your disposal.
- “What I am going to do with you? I have no use of you. Take leave from the lady, if she gives you permission to leave go in peace.” Said the husband with a shrug:
The young man looked him as if he were saying: “Why all this torture? Kill me if you want but quickly.” The husband knew what the young man wanted to say and he asked him with a shrug:
- Don’t you want to go? Didn’t you hear what I said? Do you still have desire for her?
The young man’s embarrassment increased and when he saw that the husband was giving the way he moved in slow steps not believing what he saw and what he heard. When he came in front of him he felt a heavy hand settling on his shoulders and he shivered out of fear and terror and expected evil but the man asked him quickly:
- Don’t be afraid … you will go where you want to go but … where?
He said this while he was stretching his palm to the young man. The lover looked at him, embarrassed and inquiring. The young engineer said:
- Where is the price?
The young man kept looking at silently, the husband said in a serious voice:
- What happened to you? Didn’t you have fun with this woman? Why don’t you pay the price then? Do you think that fun here is for free?
- Sir!!!
- What a stingy lover you are. Don’t you want to pay any thing? What is the price you can pay for this woman? Heh? She deserves a riyal, doesn’t she?
When he lost hope he put his hands in the young man’s pockets reaching to his purse from which he took out a riyal and returned it to him saying: “Now go to where you want to go.”
The man broke away unable to believe that he was finally safe. The husband turned to his wife and said: “Now put on your clothes Madame and be calm.”

* * *

How could he control his feelings and reactions? How could his nerves obey him blindly? This is one of the secrets of nature that the strongest rhetoric could not express. However, this day had gone like a distasteful nightmare. He did not refer to that day explicitly or implicitly. He did not mention that day neither with joy nor with resentment. He did neither raise a question about that day nor investigate about its events. He met his wife with a calm natural face as if he were another person different from the wounded husband. He did not cut off from work, and he did not change his habits. He did not stop telling tales nor cooled off his jestings. He used to go to his job, come back, take rest, eat, drink, sleep and rise as if he were a happy husband sleeping with his beloved wife, or a father taking care of his house and family without anything to disturb his life.
During the first days of the scandal the woman was fear-stricken and tortured. She beseeched him with tearful eyes to divorce her. “Divorce you? Why? Did you lose your mind my lady?” He answered like one who lost his memory. She was completely helpless, confused, distracted, uncertain, fear-stricken, distressed, and unable to unveil his intentions. Was he going to payback? Was he going to divorce her? His attitude towards her lover was stranger that black day.
Days passed, long and heavy. Her worries did not come true. Her doubts proved false. She started to get rid of fear forgetting her concerns while she was doing household duties. She found herself mechanically devoting herself wholeheartedly to his service with the sinner’s enthusiasm who is trying to medicate his chiding conscience. However, she was not at ease with his meekness and peacefulness asking herself all the time: “Did he forget and forgive? Was he pretending to have forgotten? Was he consoling himself? What designs involved in his ambiguous life and uncertain smile?
Their life went on regularly; each one of them was pretending accord and intimacy. Each one of them was reflecting his thoughts, until a day came when the husband invited all his relatives and his wife’s relatives to a lunch banquet. He gladly spent all the money he had. All the members of his family and his wife’s family came to the banquet, men and women, girls and boys, his father-in-law and his mother-in-law. The house was crowded with guests whose jestings and laughter; happiness and familial friendliness and intimacy filled it with cheerfulness and happiness. They talked about everything; about obesity and thinness, about marriage and celibacy, about girls of the past and girls of the present, about politics and bicycles, about premiums and children. The engineer shared in all these conversations with great appetite. He was extremely happy showing great courtesy to his guests, welcoming them passionately.
Suddenly he stopped talking as if he had remembered something important, putting his hand inside his pocket and got it out with a riyal, he went on turning the riyal upside-down and gave it to his father-in-law saying:
- Look at this riyal uncle; do you think it is false?
The man took the riyal and turned it left and right in his hand while the eyes of the guests turned to focus on their conversation.
- No, son… it is genuine, did somebody refuse to take it?
The husband passed a look at his wife and saw that her face had turned paler than a dead woman’s face. He said with a smile:
- Nobody refused it sir, but I just wanted to make sure that it is genuine because it is the subject of a wonderful story and I am sure you all want to hear it.
The audience became more eager to hear his words, their desire to hear his story increased, he asked his father-in-law to give the riyal to his wife saying:
- Shushu knows the story of this riyal better than me; now I give her the right to tell it. Come on Shushu; tell them the wonderful story of the riyal to open their appetite for food.
All the faces of the guests turned to the wife, their interest to hear the story has been doubled. They expected a very interesting story. But Shushu was in a bitter state of panic and confusion. She gathered all her strength to rose and found her way among the sitting to the door, they protested against her leaving and tried to prevent her but she resisted their hands saying in a faint troubled voice:
- Just one minute, I shall come to you.
She went out while her husband’s eyes were following her with unsympathetic looks.

* * *

The reader can easily work out the appalling end of this story; he definitely read a lot, in the newspapers, about those who throw themselves from high windows and fall down dead. Perhaps the reader reads such concise news and asks about their hidden reasons and starts to guess. This was the secret of one of those suicides. Now I feel sorry that the story ends this way, but what can I do since it began a sorry beginning?
In fact, I am not to blame of neither its beginning nor its end. This is how its wounded hero, who now keeps to the pub day and night, narrated it.
However, I hoped its writer was its narrator because, and it is a sorrowful thing to say this, I could not reach his ability of expression and sincere statement.

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الأستاذة نجمة حبيب
اسمحي لي بإعادة وضع قصتك المترجمة في هذا المنتدى:
A Cat Called Rayess

Rassmi Abu_Ali

At last we reached the building, it was around midnight; two or three boys were washing the entrance with soap and water. It was cold and Simone was wrapping herself in an expensive black coat collared with fur; it didn't match with the pants that she wore, pants soaked with water at the edges, smeared with spots of dirt all over. Since the power was cut off, we started ascending the stairs toward the tenth floor, when we reached, we were breathing heavily; Simone stopped in the middle of the aisle that leads to the apartment, she looked as if not sure which of the apartments she was after. All of a sudden she rushed towards one of the doors and started knocking the door harshly and calling “Rayess, Rayess” “1” in a way that transmitted vague tenderness.

She told me more than once that he was not a pretty cat at all and that he was dirty, over his body could be living some bucks and other parasites and that someone had volunteered to cut off his Whiskas. She added, in broken English, that that should be the case when a cat was deserted, but for now he started little by little gaining back his cleanness.

A man with a candle in his hand opened the door. He was a chubby young man dressed with a transparent dishdasha“2” I assumed that the man is either Saudi or Kuwaiti, I asked myself: Is it possible that we still have tourists in spite of this mad war?

Simone rushed like an arrow to one of the rooms calling Rayess! Rayess! I explained to the dishdasha man, who was taken by surprise, that she is looking for a small cat. The man made no comment. He started to explain who he is and why he is there. Even without me asking, he started to say that he is Rida's brother, adding that I should have known him. The signs of frustration that appeared on the man's face made me pretend that I knew Rida. I made a face pretending as if my memory had been revived.

- Which Rida?

- Rida Arrawass,

- Eh! Rida!.. Sure I know him. How is he?

The man was relieved and looked less stressed. While we were walking towards the room where Simone rushed, he said:

Rida is the owner of this apartment, as you know, but because of the war and the bombs and all the losses…(and he added many other things about the family that meant nothing to me.

I asked Simone if she found the cat, she shook her head with sorrow, then said; “Impossible! He was here this morning.” She looked to the man as if accusing him, he got confused. A queer idea crossed my mind “this man had eaten Rayess”. As if the man felt what was going on in my head, he started defending himself by assuring that he didn't see any cat at all in the apartment, then he turned around making the suggestion to look in other rooms. I noticed the number seven (written in English) on his flannel T-shirt, which he wore under the transparent dishdasha. I decided not to embarrass him with any more questions, though I was sure that he simply opened the door and kicked the cat out when he came to check his brother's apartment.

I met her in one of the Athawra”3” offices, and because I was free from any other obligations, I found it interesting to start a relation with her. I came around, where my friend was having a conversation with her and asked him who she was. He showed a free liberated spirit and asked her in a loud voice

- Tu le reconnez ( do you know… mentioning my name)

She raised her eyes towards me; her look was friendly but didn't express any specific emotion. I smiled and nodded my head calmly. I noticed that she had no great interest in me.

I noticed that my friend was pushing us towards one another. He suggested to us to communicate in English (a language I knew better than he did). She looked interested and started to speak English. She found it difficult to find the words to express her ideas. She wanted to go back to Geneva and asked if she can do that through Beirut.

- Sure you can, why not? (are you a…)

No! No! Nothing like that! The problem is that I came from Geneva through Damascus, because Beirut airport was closed due to war, and I am looking for an airline that accepts me as a passenger from here (she meant Beirut). I scratched my head and my friend did the same, then I suggested asking the Middle East Airlines”4”.

- My God! I already done! It was the first thing I did. They said it's impossible.
- In this case why don't you try the Swiss Airlines?
- Here is the problem! Is this Airline working these days? I couldn't reach any answer, I kept asking and got no answer

This is my opportunity, I said to myself, I raised of my seat, and suggested calling the information center at the airport, they should have a solution for sure. I went to the other room where the telephone handset was placed. She followed me with a sign of relief on her face. My friend stood up and said: I have to go, he looked towards me with an encouraging smile on his face
I started making connections while she was sitting there watching me and smoking heavily. After several attempts, I got an answer from the information office telling that the Swiss Airline is still not functioning. It was affected by bombing, and it will be back in business when the damage is fixed. They gave me a phone number to contact, there I could get help.

I told her about the result of my researches. While she was offering me a cigarette I tried the telephone again and got no answer. I looked at my watch and said, “its lunchtime it could be better to try later on.” We smoked two cigarettes out of her packet (a habit she caught from our tradition as an expression of hospitality). Her way of introducing the cigarettes was tough and ridiculous, it made me smile. I think we are on the way to give up this habit, many stopped practicing it. From her side she was trying to show a kind of belonging in this ridiculous way.

I said suddenly while looking to my watch:

- Did you eat?
She shook her head. So I suggested going somewhere to eat. I said:
- let's go to Ar-rawsheh”5”. She wanted, going to the downtown ruined commercial center, to shoot some photos of the great damages caused by war. I said:
-Let us from wreckage and ruins, I like to be at the sea, it's a long time since I was there. I miss the sea very much.
She picked up her bag, her camera and said: agreed!

When we were on the street I suggested that we pick up a taxi, she said: no, we will go by service”6”

In this case (I explained): we have to walk for about ten minutes, do you mind? I don't think you do, since you, in Switzerland, are used to walking and skiing. She smiled and asked me not to treat her as a Swiss because she wanted to relate to humanity in general, then added as if for her own self:

-I don't think I love my country, nothing of importance happens over there.

It was a warm, sunny winter day. Our steps were slow but our breathing was heavy and I was trying to keep my breath inaudible, but, she, from her side, remained natural. She was talking, allowing her breathing to be heard. I wasn't paying any attention to the surroundings; she was telling me about the Jewish family that neighboured hers when she was a child. She talked about the nice humane Jewish lady that pitied Palestinian and Jewish children and suggested that because of them the great men should do something. I kept silent. I didn't want to share in an issue that sickened my heart. I asked her to stop talking and I started looking towards the sky and saying something about the sea, but as if not listening she continued:

I think that I have a Jewish blood, my surname sounds Jewish, this matter means nothing to me. My parents are Christians.

I answered: It doesn't make any difference if you are a Jewish or a “Yetchkani”.

She asked wondering, what “Ytshkani” means?

- May be it is from “Yetchkinaz”, a group of old oriental Jews.
- Are they those who leave their hair to grow like ropes?
- Exactly! And they wax them as well

She got more excited and added: I saw some of them when I was in Israel

The word pierced my ears, and I found myself stopping involuntarily saying in a slow deep tone as if in investigations:

- Did you say that you were in Israel?
-Yes… In 1974, after the war”7”, I went to see what happened to them over there.
- And how did you find them?
- They were nice to me, but the costs of living were impossible, I wondered how they could survive these imaginary prices!

We reached a military barrier, though these barriers didn't usually target people on foot (they are after passing cars), the armed man in charge, looked towards us and ordered in a sign of his automatic gun to come forward. He asked for my identification, I gave him my Athawra card. He looked deeply through it, moving his sight between me and Simone who started searching for her identification. The man looked for a second time at my card and pushed it to my face saying:
-what is this word?
-It's my name
-No the word relates to profession
-A struggler. (I answered). The word was faded by time.

He put away the gun and the card and nodded his head in a sarcastic deep sense, saying while handing me my card:

- Eh!.. you are all strugglers.

He looked at me once and at Simone gave another look. Without saying any word, I held her hand and started walking forward without looking back.

I couldn't imagine how things could have gone between us if it wasn't for John Pierre Philipe who appeared at the same moment we took our places in that restaurant that over-viewed the sea. It was like destiny to have John Pierre as our third companion all the time. He also left the country at the same time that Simone did, but on a different plane.

I felt from the very first moment that I was not going to like this man by all means. There is a sort of people that you couldn't like however hard they try to please you, and John Pierre was one of them. There was something in him that made me feel uneasy and it had nothing to do with Simone. The painful truth was that he was the nearest to Simone’s heart. He was able to make her burst in a loud scandalous laugh, which bitterly embarrassed me every time we were out in public. I was sure that it wasn't because he was the only Westerner around. (Beirut at that time was full of Western journalists and spies).

I admit that his jokes and comments were very funny, they were nice even with the broken English he expressed himself with. He was a nice person, but there was something in him that made me reluctant in his presence, Our contest over Simone has nothing to do with the issue, I was sure that Simone liked him more. She made it clear when she asked me, after a couple of days of living together, if he could move in with us. She explained that he had no money left and had no place to stay. I asked how could a journalist be left without money! She said:
- He works for the leftists in France, so his earnings are limited.

She started to talk about him in a sincere manner more than you usually talk about a friend or a colleague, in a motherly passionate manner. I felt sympathetic when I heard that tender woman pitying that huge man who was not less than thirty-five years of age. This made me change my attitude towards him. I started welcoming him warmly and I suggested to go looking for him and bring him home. She showed no enthusiasm about the idea, but moved her hand and said:
-Not to that extent! We will see him tomorrow.

She sat over my lap showering me with her kisses

As I said before, I didn't like the man when seeing him for the first time at that restaurant. He greeted her from a distance the same moment we set to a table on that open restaurant, He was wearing a Kufia”8” that covered all his head and his ears and sat on a table few meters away from ours, and started eating, then he moved his head up and moved his Kufia a little aback and asked her something in French, she answered, he went back to his eating. He raised his head another time, asked another question, got the answer and back to his plate. He did that for several times. It made me feel as if he was in possession of invisible scissors that enabled him to cut a conversation at any time. When he directed his last question, I noticed that he was wearing small round eyeglasses and was almost bald. I hated his glasses and his baldness, and the Kufia that he was wrapping himself with. I was about to shout: “To hell with you and your Kufia and the small round eyeglasses”, but I kept silent and sipped a big sip of wine that made my stomach swell. I watched to see if Simone was embarrassed, since she kept moving her field of vision from me and him and back, turning her head in a complete turn toward him as a sign of admiration, every now and then. The situation started to look ridiculous, so John Pierre put an end to it not by leaving us alone and concentrating on his eating, but by carrying his plate and joining our table. I discovered that what I had considered an insinuated commitment from Simone to me was nothing but illusion in my head. So I started to accept John Pierre as a real truth that could not be escaped.

For the first few days she seemed confused, she looked about her as if looking for something that could not be found. This made me think that she was a kind of gypsy woman or a street cat. I confessed to her about all my doubts, and that I thought her to be a dangerous woman. She was concerned and asked wondering: “why?” I said that I thought of her as a kind of a woman who makes a man falls, all of a sudden, on solid concrete. She was shocked by my way of thinking and denied my accusation firmly. She asked me frequently what made me think of her in that way. I said that I had no concrete reason but unexplained tangibility (feeling). (There were reasons, but I wasn't brave enough to declare them, they were due to egoistic beliefs that made me imagine that I had the right over her, but that right wasn't clear enough to be disclosed). She lit another cigarette and nodded her head with anguish and said: “You are wrong”, then added that she doesn't like to talk about the so called the past, though she started telling me about an Iranian man that she lived with for about a year. She tried to remember his name; she cracked her fingers many times and said while laughing:
- Imagine! I had forgotten his name
I smiled as if to say: you see! This is what I meant exactly. You lived with a man for one year and you forgot his name.

- Hamid…Yeh… Hamid…that was his name
She smiled as if presenting in her memory the full story of Hamid. She said:

- Hamid kept saying for the whole year that we spent together, that I meant nothing to him and he would put an end to our relationship. Did you hear me? He used to say so, while he was sleeping with me three times a day. One day he went on a holiday, after a last farewell, as he named it. I felt the urge to cry but I forced myself not to, I never cry. [She cried a couple of days later]. I pressed on his hand and kissed his black pretty eyes. When he left, the first thing I did, was jump at the first available man. Is this normal?
-It's normal. But it means nothing to me
-Wait the story isn’t finished yet.

She lit another cigarette and went on:
-When Hamid returned from his holiday he came rushing to me without even a phone call. I told him that I was with another man, he said: “leave him. I love you!” He knelt on his knees, joined his hands together and implored, as it happens in the movies

She gazed in my face to see the influence of her story upon me, then murmured:

-You see! I am not a kind of woman who deserts a man just like that (making a meaningful sign with her hand).

Rayess looked frightened and unsettled, as if expecting a kick at any time. That was the result of being deserted for days after that night with the dishdash man. (Simone found him a certain morning later on). Bit by bit he started to be more relaxed and confident, it was due to the passion and warm love she flowed over him. She was ready to kiss him and pamper him at any time even when we were to be in our most intimate moments, she might kiss his dirty mouth and his body which was full of fleas and bucks. For the first couple of days he used to excrete around the corners of the rooms, and she was to get up from the warm bed to wash with soap and water the excretion he had left, adding few drops of kerosene (an idea I had suggested). Occasionally she would become tough on him and punish him, crying angrily at his face. Her anger would ease down at seeing him run away, frightened, to the kitchen.
-look at him! How cute he is when running, escaping

She called him kindly, he came huddling, she gave him a motherly tender passionate hug. When he felt the warmth and the love again he sat curled and started sucking one of his nipples (not only female cats have nipples, males do have them as well, as I learned). When I saw that for the first time I felt disgusted especially after seeing some red spots over his belly. I assumed that it was some kind of a disease, but Simone explained that they were his nipples, and what he did was a kind of compensation, because when Rayess was a baby his mother, for certain reason, didn't breast feed him long enough and now he was compensating. It's the same way that children do, suck their thumbs, when their mothers stop breast feeding them. John Pierre who was listening to all of that, commented that that was a cheap sentiment, assuring that there are millions of children deserving of care and love more than cats. He jumped straight to attacking strongly that great concern about domestic animals, saying in a sharp tone and a trembling nose
- This is nothing but bourgeois hypocrisy

Here, Simone lost her temper and started talking aggressively; neglecting to include an expression of apology, as it was the case when she usually wanted to express herself in a diplomatic way. John Pierre lost his temper in return and I kept on watching the hot fight calmly without comprehending any word except “Tal-Ezzatar” “9”. They were mentioning the word five to six times in a minute. Simone proved that she was strong enough to stand firmly for her beliefs and her beloved ones, the cat and myself. ( Since I had loved Rayess). I found myself outside that family argument; so I shrunk to the kitchen, opened a can of sardine, gave half of it to Rayess and ate the other half.

Her eyes were blue in the morning, green at noon and olive on the evening. She has got the longest and darkest eyelashes I had ever seen in my life. I assumed that they were artificial, but she corrected me and to prove me wrong she started tugging at them. It worried me that she might hurt herself, so I held her hand and stopped her from doing it and said:
-Ok! I am mistaken

Her face was full of freckles. After a while, I got used to them and saw her as attractive as a wild flower. She had sexy swollen lips. I saw in her, especially when she blinked with her left eye, the charm of the first feminine cell when acknowledged itself as a woman. Opposite to that, were her thin legs and her way of walking. She walked in a ridiculous way, twisting her legs in no harmony at all, a matter that drove me to think that she must have had polio when a child. Asking her, she denied and said it was only her way in walking. Once, looking deep into her face I made her wonder what I was be thinking and I told her that she reminded me of a certain person. She asked:
- Of whom?
-A man (I said)
After few days an idea crossed my mind. She looked like my friend Sameeh Alqudsy.
she asked with a French accent that destroyed the meaning and the pronunciation of the name
-Who is Samih Alqudsi?

I told her the story of a man that I had known in Amman (capital of Jordan) more than twenty years ago. Sameeh went on to accomplish university education in Turkey. Instead of concentrating on studying he chased Turkish women, sending news to his father, at the end of each schooling year, that he had gone well. He kept lying for five years. To cover up his failure, he followed an intelligent plan. He was to treat every person coming from Amman to Turkey very well, welcoming him warmly and treating him with exceptional generosity. When the visitor was up to return home, he was to press his hand and say:
-Keep up what God doesn't want to be revealed

Once, I noticed that she had a smile similar to that of Hussein Fahmi, the famous Egyptian movie star. When I told her that, she got upset. She turned her back and said in a childish way:
-You always see me like a man

I explained that I did not intend to hurt her feelings, but her smile was really like that of Hussein Fahmi. I suggested that we go watching a movie at Strand”10” theatre to let her know that I was not joking. (For my good luck, there was a movie starring our look-a-like). When we reached the theatre, we saw at the entrance five photos showing the movie star, with that deep smile on his face. When she saw the photos she cracked her loud scandalous laugh and kicked my back, then stuck her body to mine murmuring: “mon amour”. She wanted to kiss me, I stopped her while looking around and said: “not in this place”.

We passed slowly from bewilderment to cognition, to unity, till at last we became not able to sleep but on each other's arm, where she lay naked the whole night.

She used to say: “Bonjour” every morning and evening. During the nights, her eyes glowed with light and honey. God bless that small woman.

She left and kept her cat in my care. He and I have to live up with that situation for a full long winter

Notes

(1) - A word means boss, here used as a proper name

(2) - A white gown known as the traditional dress for men in the Arab Gulf such as Saudi Arabia and Kuwait
(3) - During the seventies many offices were opened in West Beirut for different Palestinian parties, such as, Fatah, Popular Front for Liberation of Palestine, and others, and were known by the name Athawra offices.

(4) - It was the widest Lebanese airline at that period (sixties, seventies)

(5) - A tourist place in Beirut known for its elegant coffee shops and restaurants that look over the sea and the famous rock known by the same name.

(6) - A commuting way known in Lebanon and other Arabic cities, that carry people from place to place in a car of the same size and shape of a taxi. The difference is that you pay the fair as a passenger: that is one fifth of the taxi fair

(7) - In 1973 a war took place between Israel and Egypt. Israel was defeated and this led to a peace treaty between the two countries and to Israeli withdrawal from the occupied parts of Egypt (Sinai and Sharm sheikh which were under occupation since 1967)

(8) - A cover for the head has worn by men in some rural areas in the Middle East such as Lebanon, Palestine and Syria. In the last few decades it became as symbol of Palestine

(9) - A Palestinian refugee camp was located in the eastern suburb of Beirut. All its people were killed or massacred or evacuated on the hands of the Lebanese Christian Militia, in 1977

(10) - One of the famous theatres in what is known as Alhamra Street, a famous suburb in West Beirut.

Translation and Notes
Nejmeh Khalil-Habib
Sydney Australia

**admin_01** · 06-02-2006, 09:45 PM

قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

By Dina Saleem
Translated By Dr. Bashir Shawish

When the door of the small room was opened, light spread out into it illuminating the grandmother's bed .The time was one o'clock in the afternoon.. It was the time of the meal. The meal encounter was more exact than the hands of the clock. As soon as she finished eating her usual lunch meal, the door of the room would be locked not to be opened again until her only daughter-in-law would come in bringing the evening meal. For years, the place was overwhelmed with dreadful silence . Very long hours of waiting , waiting for nothingness . The silence had never been broken except by the steps that were familiar to the grandmother . She would hear the steps and smell the food which was being brought to her. She also got used to the sound of other steps; real steps which could always be heard. Coughing deeply, he closed the door of his room and stood by the single window , looking attentively at the sky in the direction of the tall cypress tree which stood firmly swain only by the erratic wind blowing from opposite directions. He would gaze afar ,and he would see clouds which refuse to disappear before making their heavy droplets cling on the leaves of the tall tree .The droplets would spread between the green branches and then these green branches would take in the droplets .When the clouds cleared up, two pigeons stood at the top and played with each other. Whenever they stood on the branches of the tree, they swayed not bearing the weight and one of the pigeons flew away to take in some fresh air and come back to repeat the attempt to play with its partner again and again. In his loneliness ,his refuge was hope and waiting. His only company was the wavy movements which invaded the tapped tree The days passed by and these two strangers were in solitary confinement in these two separate rooms. They were filled with memories . The grandmother was living the past with all its afflictions. She had lost her beloved husband and she was finding solace in his photographs and she was seeing them as a much repeated film . Events which had been and were no more. They were gaining life from one of the two pigeons; the pigeon which could not move from its place and it might be the one which did not fly afar . It did not have a place anymore on that top. She was waiting for freedom, to get away from that white room. She did not possess anything except weeping regretfully . Meanwhile he was waiting to escape in order to live the future . He was holding his fancies and letting off the dreams . These dreams were wandering without stop . They were like a lost sailor looking for a partner with whom he falls in love to enlighten his gloomy room and help him finish off the day and face his slow passing night. He looked at the two birds with extreme interest. He imagined himself roaming around his partner ,longing for her ,letting off pent-up sighs. His chest was distended and his heart beats stopped for the sake of illusionary love for the girl of his dreams . Her features were in front of his eyes Her warm breath made him stay awake . He talked to her with difficulty ,looked at her reproaching and he smiled at her longingly .He saw her coming through the horizon.
2
She might come from the outer space, and fall off from the clouds onto his closed window and stand behind it tapping on its pane. Misgivings made him sleepless . Light dreams disappointed him. The grandmother, meanwhile clung to life . Nothing moved within her anymore except the beats of her feeble heart. These beats were not sufficient to occupy a space in the world. After autumn there must be a weeping winter with its rain droplets washing off the dust preparing for clear weather to make the new life continue As for him , he was still hoping for many things. He was still in the prime of life. His hopes went beyond that secluded room. He would not let his hopes evaporate. He was ready to go out to continue life .The grandmother would hear him leaving . He would intentionally make echo sounds which would break the silence and dispel fear. When he returned to his abode , he turned the key inside the lock skillfully in the night driving out the deep -rooted misgivings . He entered his room ,pale and depressed. He was afraid of dying and losing the future. He became tired of spending the long nights alone This made him gloomy and made him think of countless things. The sun rose coming through snow on the mountain tops. He looked for his partner , but he could not catch sight of her on the mountain top .He felt the fear of losing her. The grandmother trembled , the tremble of death when she could not see them. They were not there…She was filled with tears . She was full of fear of loneliness. The autumn storm which was linked to the winter season made her sleepless. This was her known future. She gazed at the white day. She realized that she was dying because of the severe cold ,like those who were before her…she would die. The two pigeons returned to their hometown, chatting with each other and filling the world with their cooing. The sounds of the successive steps of the daughter-in–law stopped. The daughter-in-law reached the place, her steps emulating the heels knocking and breaking the silence. A different noise, an echo similar to a song cracking the floor with its noise. She went in the direction of his room, knocked on the door and interrupted the hours of the slow-passing night.

ـــــــــــــــــــــــــ

Keys (The Secret Keepers)
By Dina Saleem
Translated from Arabic by Dr. Bashir Shawish

My car roared through the brocade of the valleys of Ain Karim which were full of the aroma of thyme . The roar of my car was breaking the utter silence which was encompassing the small town. In the past I was addicted to passing through that magnificent place as if I had a rendezvous with the time before fifty years ago or more , the time when I was not born yet. However, whenever , I was at that spot , I was overwhelmed with the unknown. It was a desolate past constantly urging me to look for remnants of an old past in that place.
I caught sight of a very old house whose walls were cracked ,and its fence was almost ready to fall. I whispered to myself " Maybe , here in this place lies the unknown which always preoccupies my mind .
Without realizing what I was doing, I knocked on a door and there through it came out a person wearing some clothes which were all too familiar to me. The person was looking at me with fear and asked me in a terrified manner if I was a stranger. I answered:" Yes". He shut the door in my face ,but I forced it open not fearing anything. I entered the yard of the old house. Oh how terrible! I was witnessing the concurrence of time and place. The sun was still shining with its bright light which made the place cheerfully bright . The sun was telling the moon to kindly be a guard to the place at the time of its departure as it is the case every evening . The sun and the moon always take turns in embracing an outcry from history .The echo of this outcry was still kindling inside the water well .
I hurried to the well inspecting it ,but the sun went ahead of me going deep into the well discovering its hidden secrets which had lost their luster ,and the location of rust and the first and the last visitor. I took a hanging rope which was in the place. The man trembled with fear. I calmed him saying " This rope is for me to use to go down the deep well for a moment and I will come up quickly". He yelled disapprovingly as if he was saying: "What a boring and an annoying guest you are!" ….
I went up and out of the well trying to get fresh air, catching my breath and also trying to make my heart return to its normal beating . I trembled yearningly and my forehead was dripping with sweat covering my heated temple and cheeks.
I leaned on the side of the well blaming myself for the lost effort. The key which my father had hidden in the well could no longer be used to open the door of the house in which he had been born.
I hurried in the direction of the timeworn door leaving the dead years behind . Meanwhile, the man was following me with his eyes mumbling something in surprise in a language which I did not understand . But I understood very well what was said and what would be said " Let the keys remain keeping the secrets.

ـــــــــــــــــــــــــ

The Night Bird
By Dina Saleem
Translated from Arabic by Dr. Bashir Shawish

The night bird found itself on the top of a very old high tree with visible thick roots cracking the ground .The roots of the tree were very strong and they were competing in a distant village with the foundations of a far away house whose inhabitants have left it not long ago.
Inside, suddenly it became aware of another bird around the house ,its curiosity urged it to continue searching. It was a different bird staying in the house. The other bird was an ugly night raven sending its cries through the empty rooms, receiving back the echoes of its cries one after another . These cries awakened an old man from his sleep . Would that it had not done so. The man cries out reproaching in his husky voice ,gazing in the emptiness .He closes his eye which are heavy with sleep. The low roof closes in on him and he returns to his sleep and he fills the place with his snoring .The night bird is perplexed with what he hears and sees. It is disturbed by the sounds and is troubled by the place .It decides to return to where it came from and not coming back. It tries to catch up with leaving groups of birds dancing with their wings in the sky .
It spends the whole day coming and going shielding the wind and dancing with the birds which never stop singing, chirping happily ,rejoicing with joy until the night falls when they stop and stay in their safe places ,mating, building their nests and getting ready to start their new life. They feed on a seed of wheat and a droplet of water which is sufficient. It is only a moment and it decides to return . The thought of returning at night to the deserted house torments it and makes it sleepless but in its mind it realizes exactly that there is a close relationship which binds it to the place.
It entered secretly , in the dark night and without being seen by any of the ravens and the old man was asleep . It looked into the corners, the halls and the rooms of the house to see if it could find a sign or trace to show it the truth of the search and solve the puzzle of its bewilderment.
It spent the whole night searching and exploring. It made several turns until at last it stopped to find the secret of the search ,the secret of leaving without return….It surrounds the thick , drooping neck of the old man and around his wrist ,in his mind, his clothes ,his pockets ,
It hovered round and round. It planned to loot. It wished that the night ravens would leave the place and the night would not end so that the old man would continue in his sleep. The task was difficult and it required a very long time and a lot of concentration. The mastery of recollecting the memories was not an easy task. The years which this bird had spent in the company of this man were long. These years could not be counted. The memories would never go away even if the morning came hundreds of times. They would remain in every place , on the walls and engraved on the mirrors . What the night bird is doing now is so difficult. This night bird which is hovering with its circular and regular movements gathering and recalling all that has been gathered by the days of fear ,setbacks, hesitations ,trickery treason ,and a lot more ………. and a little happiness. It is not that it wants to keep these memories . No and a thousand times no. It is only to drop them in the waters of a deep, rough and unknown ocean concealing all landmarks and all memories would vanish with the ever broken waves.

**orkeda** · 07-18-2006, 12:56 AM

_MD_RE: قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

جهد مبارك...

لكن...

دكتور أحمد لو أطلعتنا على النص باللغة العربية حتى يمكننا الإستفاده أكثر...

**BashirShawish** · 09-05-2006, 01:25 PM

قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

The Return of the Dinosaur
By Abdullah Sa'dawi
Translated from Arabic by Dr. Bashir Shawish
Mr. Salah is a teacher of natural history in the secondary school . He is handsome and hard-working. He follows a stereotyped pattern in his life. He gets up early in the morning. He listens to the 6 o'clock news, then he gets ready to go to work. He usually arrives at work a quarter of an hour before his colleagues. When he finishes work, he goes home. On his way back home he passes by the newsagent to buy his daily newspaper. At home, he spends his time reading and correcting the homework of his students. He considers himself to be one of the good citizens of the country.
One morning, he turned on the radio to listen to the news. He was astonished when he heard the only news item of that morning news bulletin . That news item said that a shepherd found four big eggs ,each weighing five pounds. The shepherd told the authorities about this and they went out to investigate and confirmed what the shepherd had said. One of the security men who went out to the place to investigate the matter found footsteps believed to belong to a female dinosaur which had laid the eggs.
Mr. Salah didn't believe what he heard . He turned off the radio murmuring ambiguous words to himself, then he carried on with his daily routine not paying much attention to what he had just heard.
When Mr. Salah arrived at the school, he found the night guard waiting impatiently for some one to talk to about the strange news which he had heard. He had been listening to the morning news, too.
The night guard said that he couldn't understand what he had heard.
The night guard addressed Mr. Salah saying, "Mr. Salah have you heard what I heard?"
-Mr. Salah, " Yes.. Yes.. Nonsense ..This is impossible."
-The night guard, "But they said……."
-Mr. Salah, " Don't pay any attention to what they said. All of it is
nonsense."
Shortly afterwards, the school was crowded with students and teachers and all of them were talking about nothing else except the story of the dinosaur which had been found near their town.
One of the students said, "I saw it jumping near our house and the ground was shaking under its feet and it let out fire from its mouth .I fainted and was unconscious for half an hour."
The students were listening very attentively to the story and were asking for more details, but they were disappointed by the boy who said that he had fainted on seeing the dinosaur.
-"But dinosaurs don't let out fire from their mouths", protested one of the students who were present..
-"How do you know? ..Have you seen a dinosaur before?", asked another.
The fierce debate continued. There were many various opinions and many different stories . This person saw, another one heard and a third was almost eaten by the dinosaur and a fourth………
Mr. Salah found himself struggling to enable his students to enter the classroom. When they were inside the classroom, he couldn’t stop them talking. They were having serious discussions and telling stories about what they had heard and what they had seen. All of this was happening and it was not noon just yet.
On that day, Mr. Salah returned home tired and frustrated. These simple-minded students were wasting their time and the time of others . They were engrossed in sheer ignorance. Mr. Salah felt sorry for all the effort he had made in teaching them. On the way home, as he always does, he went to buy the local daily newspaper . The newsagent, however, told him that that day's newspaper was sold out before ten a.m. because all the people were curious and wanted to read the reports which were written about the dinosaur story.
The newsagent whispered in Mr. Salah's ear:
-"Wait a moment, I may find a copy of the newspaper. I always hide a copy for a customer like you."
-Salah thanked him saying, "God bless you".
Mr. Salah took the smuggled newspaper and continued on his way home. He didn't wait to reach home to read the newspaper. He started skimming through it. He didn't find anything else except interviews with the persons who went out to investigate the dinosaur story and some of the people who saw something or heard something. He also found things written about the length of the dinosaur ,its weight, and a tentative drawing representing this dinosaur , some advice on what to do if one found himself face to face with a dinosaur and how one could control himself and what incantation to read in such situations . Mr. Salah couldn't tolerate any more. He tore the newspaper off and hurried to his house.
In the evening, the radio and TV stations were broadcasting the news reports of reporters who came from all over the world to report this great event from this small town. The small town was fortunate to witness the occurrence of such an event..
The rooms of the hotels were fully booked for a long period .It was impossible to find a room in these hotels. Some customers were forced to pay a considerable amount of money for a room on the roof . Such a room was not even designed for use by customers.
All of this was reported by the radio station which was reporting the details of this event. The TV channel on its part was broadcasting interviews with distinguished professors and scientists all of whom confirmed the news about the dinosaur . All of them said the story was true and said they saw with their own eyes the dinosaur eggs. They said that the eggs belonged to a medium-sized dinosaur and that it was just a matter of time before the citizens knew the full details. The eggs were
being studied in a research centre nearby . The eggs would hatch after three months and they would have a real dinosaur and this town would be the only place in the world to have a real dinosaur. The scholars gathering there said secretively that the dinosaur's choice of our country could not be a matter of chance.
At that point Mr. Salah stood up suddenly as if he had an electric shock . He switched off the TV and went to bed. However, he could not sleep that wretched night. He could not understand that nonsense. He thought that he would certainly get mad if the situation went on like that another more day. All that he had read, learnt, or taught seemed to be blown just like that in one blow .Nothing could be the same again. He even thought that what was going on was just a conspiracy against him only. Mr. Salah before this event had been reconciled with his society(people and government). He was a peace-loving person calling for peace ,believed in dialogue and defended radical views and even the abnormal ones.
He always said : " I may have views which are different from your views, but I am ready to die in order to let you express yours ".
This, then, was the forgiving and reconciling Mr. Salah declaring his inability to comprehend something which seemed to be beyond comprehension.
In the morning ,at first he was hesitating whether to listen to the morning news or not, but later he was overcome by his habit of switching on the radio in the morning and he did just that (i.e. switch on the radio). He discovered that the morning news bulletin was cancelled because of the live reports and live interviews with scholars who had come for the sole purpose of aiding in alluring dinosaurs to a particular place and confining them for the purpose of studying them. The information which these scholars seemed to confirm was that there was more than one dinosaur in the area. And it was a rare opportunity to understand life on this planet.
Mr. Salah felt dizzy and was forced to switch off the radio . He went in the direction of his school where the night guard was waiting for someone to talk to after a long night he had spent talking to himself.
-"Mr. Salah.. Mr. Salah .. Do you follow the news?" The night guard asked eagerly and excitedly while he was following him. " Mr. Salah .. don't say that all of this is a lie.. I mean.. How many lies are you going to face?. Confrontation is impossible… you must admit."
Mr. Salah ,however, didn't answer him. He went quickly inside the school and stood alone waiting for the other teachers and the students to come. Some of the teachers and the students were absent and most of them were late ,as most people had spent the night on the roofs of the houses waiting for the appearance of the dinosaur and relating the stories which they had heard from people who said they had seen the dinosaur first hand . There were exciting and astonishing stories about this creature which took every body by surprise. Mr. Salah stood far away from the other teachers to avoid talking with them about this subject which he could not bear to hear any more of its stupid details .In the classroom, he ignored the subject completely and started the lesson as if there was nothing unusual taking place. This angered the students who thought that no one should ignore such an important thing which could change the structure of life on earth. But Mr. Salah did that with calm nerves as if he wanted to anger the students on purpose. The students were really angry, nonetheless. One of the students asked him: " Mr. Salah , what do you think of what is taking place in our surroundings ? Do you believe what you have seen and heard or don't you believe it?"
Mr. Salah tried to control himself while saying: " All of this is sheer fabrication. Dinosaurs which have been extinct for centuries cannot come back under any circumstances. Lies are like fire .Fire starts in a small area and then it becomes bigger and extends to other areas. We must arm ourselves with science and reason in confronting a big conspiracy which is being concocted against all of us.We must be aware of what is going on around us, on the local and world levels." As Mr. Salah was talking, one of his students asked his permission to leave, and Mr. Salah granted him that permission. After a short while , the headmaster of the school came accompanied by three men .These men opened the door of the classroom and asked Mr. Salah to accompany them to the administration office of the school. From that time nobody has heard anything about him. He has returned neither to the school, nor to his house. Rumors have it that he was eaten by the dinosaur.

**RamiIbrahim** · 04-15-2007, 09:09 PM

_MD_RE: قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

**RamiIbrahim** · 04-15-2007, 09:32 PM

_MD_RE: قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

**RamiIbrahim** · 04-15-2007, 09:42 PM

_MD_RE: قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

**ahmed_allaithy** · 04-16-2007, 04:27 AM

_MD_RE: قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

**RamiIbrahim** · 04-18-2007, 01:13 AM

_MD_RE: قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

A Dream-making Process

Written originally in English by Rami Ibrahim

Four days ago:
Lack of interest in politics was the accusation with which we were "indicted" by our father while we were sitting in the reception room with my brothers and a guest who is the same age as my father. He drew some examples from our preference to watch other irrelevant programs on TV, our indifferent attitude towards what is going on in Iraq, and lack of sympathy towards Iraqi people who are being slaughtered by the American soldiers. " On the contrary, we _as older generation_ have what is called patriot or national sense. In our school where I teach, for instance, teachers always engage in debates which always turn into controversies over the war taking place in Falloujah* while my sons and so their generation are more interested in their private, beneficial or scientific affairs," he said.
" First of all, why do people in our country think that development comes only through political decisions or acts. Moreover, why the educated man is that who keeps talking about politics thought he might not provide more than a stereotype idea that is held by local people and emphasized by the government and the media and which could be far from being objective . I abhor war and I am against the Americans when they wage war whatever their reasons whether real or ostensible, but this should not drive us into accepting prejudice or stereotype ideas. America is a society and not a single person who is presented by our orators and poets as a ghoul**. Furthermore, teachers in a school are more supposed to discuss pedagogical issues or educational methods, while if we go to the (warrior-teachers) whom you are talking about we would find that they are bad as teachers and so as fathers. I think that people are orientated towards politics first because they are deprived of the political act or real induction in real parties and second because they( the older generation) are more exposed to the TV screen due to their leisure time hardly found by the working young generation," I replied.
Yesterday daytime:
I got up at nine o'clock, washed my face, took my breakfast, and put on my clothes. By ten o'clock, I am in the institute where I teach English. I had three classes and each one is an hour and a half long _ but I usually stay in the classroom for two hours to give my students more time to

practice English since no other place in our country offers such a crucially needed thing. At half past three I am out of the institute because another teacher had to take my place in the classroom. I went home holding my bag to which another book had been added by one of my students who asked me to translate some of its marked pages into Arabic because her brother ( who is studying computer science ) is having an exam the next month( I am always expected to render help because I am always nice to my students ). At four o'clock I am back home and by four thirty my lunch is over. I lied on my bed and started translating the marked papers but an inevitable nap drew me asleep.
I dreamt of many things: sounds, talks, and scenes; but when I was awoken by my brother announcing his friend's arrival ( I used to teach them English at six o'clock )I had no time to write my dreams as I am accustomed to do when it is possible.
Our lesson was about crime and types of it: murder, theft, arson, vandalism, etc. I stopped at the word vandalism and explained it fully by differing it from other words like burglary or mugging " a vandal is a criminal who destroys properties and especially works of art for no reasonable cause_ just because he is primitive and neither understands these works nor respect them," I went on explaining.
At eight o'clock the lesson is over, but we sat speaking in English for the aim of practice. They asked me about my work and other students. I replied that I am overworked but underpaid. Anyway, money is not the only available means for leading a happy life. There is, for instance, the satisfaction and pleasure I get being a target for my students' respect and love. There is a gleam in their eyes which implores you to render them all possible aid to be more equipped to confront life and its perils and hardships. Of course, not all of them are aware of these adversities, but even those who are careless are even thankful. They tire me, yes; but I am glad being useful to them.
Yesterday nighttime:
I went walking with my brother's friend till she arrived home, and then continued my way to an Internet café. After logging in, I was shocked at the sight of a huge amount of junk mail, sent a message to one of my friends in Germany then opened Yahoo messenger / chat / romance / adult / getting to room.
The page was opened and divided into two sections: the first is a list of the virtual room's occupants bounded by a shared sub-divided page containing sexy words, invitations, and creative seductions. An invitation to visit one of these sites was sent to me and I was about to open it unless another one was opened with the word "hello". The cause why I chose the second was not because I am a strict pious, but because the last two years I spent a lot of time and money on sexual sites with little pleasure due to lack of enough money could be assigned to such "luxuries" and lack of means to proceed ( credit cards are not yet issued. )
_ hello (I replied )
asl/ plz?
_25/m/Syrian and you?
28/f/texas
_ you are American ?
yes
_ what do you work ?
account / bt now havng a leave an do no bt go excurs an tak care ov my kids . u?
_ teacher and translator but always working.
Are u married?
_ what do you think of the developing countries?
Terr shift _ u hv startd borng me _ wy don’t use abbrevs ,thy r mor approp an faster.
_no, I am single
_ I think standard E is politer when talking " with " sb I don’t _know.
Ok
_ why I m boring u?
becus u do if u keep takng such u force me write u off.
_ what 'd u like me to talk about.
Real life
_What issue for example
sorry u r boring me I 'll leave . bye.
_ please don’t , stay plz.

_ please don’t leave _ plz stay

_ you r making me upset

_you r breaking my heart

totally nothing then with a little distress moved to another person whose name is marked with a TV icon, checked the ID and found she is a girl _ " a girl with a camera _ great," I mused. Then checked the shared page to know whether she had joined the room just minuets ago as I hoped (or otherwise she could be absorbed in talking with others) but the fact was against my wishes. Anyway I clicked her name and saluted her with the usual hello. To my surprise_ she replied immediately and we had his dialogue.
_ Hello.
Hello.
_ asl plz?
25/f/Nigerian .
_ can I see you?( je peux tu voir?)
ok
_ tu es belle
I cannot understand you
_ you are beautiful.
Thanks a lot
_ what do u do?
Asl plz?
_ you are slow in typing. I cannot see you clearly. could you adjust the camera please. 26/m/Syrian.I can see your shoulder.
I am sorry.
_ what do you do?
Asl pl?
_ m/26/Syrian it is a strange question
why
_ because I told you before and you have not answered my question yet _(what u work)
sorry .. schooling.
_ what do you study.
Commerce
_at college??
Yes
_ could you take the cap off?
Why
_ I cannot see you clearly.
I WONDER WHAT SHAPE YOU ARE
_ I am sorry the desk I am sitting at have not got a camera but later I _would be visible and then censured.
Ok ( with a smile on her face)
_censure is to criticize somebody severely.
ok ( the smile widens )
_ what do you think of me, do you want to know some-any thing about me?
Yes.. sure
_ok
_26/m/syrian
( her face bubbles over with merriment)
_ I am joking
are you married?( after seeing my last words ) ok.
_ I am a teacher and translator as well/ single/ writer.
Lovely
_ it is you who is lovely.
I wish you the best
_ it is a child's wish.
As you like
_ I like you
( she stares at what I write then lies her back to the chair in joy which is shown by all her gestures till a passer-by looked amazingly at her as it was a queer response to a "computer.")
_ you are in an internet café?
Yes.
_ it is not long time since you started using computers?
Yes
_ had not I talked with you I would not have known there were computers _in Nigeria. Is it right that people are very poor in Nigeria ?
yes and I am one .
_ a nice answer
thank you.
_DO YOU USE ENCARTA?
No, what is it??
_It is an American encyclopedia. I consult it for whatever questions occur to my mind especially information about other countries _ I have it on my computer and it provides me with many facilities.
May be.
_ IS IT COMPULSORY FOR WOMEN TO WEAR A VEIL IN YOUR SOCIETY.
No.
_ why did not you take your cap off when I "begged"
when did you ask me
_ yes I did (I reviewed the talk)
you are a liar.
_ yes I did and you answered with "why?" anyway I am a liar I do not _protest and as seeing this I feel
feel WHAT?
_delighted.
You are wonderful
_ the lady I spoke with just before you does not think that ..neither do I .
to me you are ..( most of the smile vanishes and other cool but rather grim gestures prevail her face )
sir .
_what is this "sir"
you are my sir.
_ but you are my friend.
Ok
_ we studied about your country at school .
really ( the smile widens again)
_ yes and I think it was chosen because Nigeria is an Islamic country.
Maybe .
_ To which degree you are poor.
I do not know but I thank God in all situations.
_ good.
_ I mean there could be degrees in estimating poverty that I say the same _in Syria ( I am not rich ) but I think people are poorer in Africa in general.
Ok
_ I am white and so all my people.
I am black and so all my peoples.
_ why did not you take the cap off you are really beautiful.
I do not allow you to see my hair.
_ but you allow me to see your face; so, why not your hair?
( the image on the camera is stopped )
_ the image is stopped at a certain posture, could you adjust the camera or invite me to see you again _ I do not like seeing you so "stiff "
( the camera is working again )
bye
_ no no plz no why ? what hapnd ??
bye
_ please stay.
Bye ( by seeing her smiling rascally I know she is playing )
_ you are breaking my heart.
Why
_ good things must not be wasted.
Thanks a lot. You are wonder( connection is lost due to a short circuit or another failure in electrical circuit.)
I felt irritated that connection was lost before I could have her e-mail, but relief was felt again for an idea occurred to me that I could know the name of her university by consulting my Encarta and then another contact might be ( assuming that there could be no more than one university in an African country like Nigeria).
After paying money I went home and, ate a sandwich in a street restaurant, and exhausted arrived. I hurried to my computer and with no less haste to Encarta/ Nigeria/ universities. I was amazed to know that the number of universities in this African country far outweighs the number in Syria. By furthering research I knew that 46 percent of people are Christians, 44 percent Muslims, and 10 percent of people adhere to traditional religions. Furthermore, literacy rate is 70 percent _not a drastic difference from that in Syria. Some other Syrian people would say
" lo and behold .. wonders will never cease," but I did not say that. I was ashamed of being to much ignorant and cocky. I left the computer to where my brother was watching TV to (improve his English) _ a western channel. It was a documentary program (interviews with some of the American soldiers fighting in Iraq ). Speeches were many but one of them was stuck and impressively embedded in my memory." I think the people we are killing are as worthy as ourselves, but we are required to kill them and they are asked to kill us. Unless we follow orders we will be sent to jail, and defending ourselves means killing them_ a horrible situation. There should be an end to all of that. It is a shame on us all.
It was twelve thirty ( utterly drowsy ) but a short nice talk should be "rendered" to a hardly seen family. At one a.m I am in bed.
The next day: my alarm lock announced quarter to eight _ lucky not to have lessons until nine o'clock. I washed my face and horridly started writing my dream which was as follows:
" A fight with many primitive people presided and directed by a king or a commander who is obeyed and highly worshiped leading those tribes of vandals. All of them are nearly nude except their commander who is well dressed: a long studded gown nearly touching the ground, a belt around the waist, and a necklace wreathing the neck and touching his stomach. Their skin is colored and their gestures are threatening. I am terrifyingly defending myself by beating them with a club which seems to be useless or they are invulnerable and all that I do is to keep them a little away from me ; but not to a long time_ I am about to be killed, caught, or detained ( I do not know ) when one of my lazy and careless students comes to rescue me using a sharp pointed spear which turns into other shapes ( but still spear) when any of the dead warriors vanishes and another one appears and nothing more …."
The dream was over before the battle was. Another relief I felt by writing this dream which I kept thinking about its significance while taking my breakfast, then ….
Another day's work.

Rami Ibrahim

I
*Falloujah: a town in Iraq where the American army forced a severe rearguard action.
**Ghoul: a legendary creature in the Arab oral literature ( an ugly giant.)

**RamiIbrahim** · 05-09-2007, 08:47 AM

_MD_RE: قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

الأستاذ الدكتور أحمد الليثي:

لقد قمت بتعديل مساهمتي الأولى على هذا الرابط والتي أرسلت فيها خمس قصص قصيرة مترجمة, ولكن نتيجة لخطأ ما لم تظهر القصة الخامسة وهي معنونة ب" the coat" كما ظهرت القصة الرابعة ناقصة لجزء كبير منه. على أي حال فقد قمت بالتعديل ولكنني أجد المساهمة الآن بدون التعديل.

أرجو مراجعة ملفاتكم الرقمية بهذا الشأن وإذا كانت النسخة المعدلة مفقودة أرجو إعلامي لأقوم بالتعديل مجدداً فلا أستطيع أن أقوم بهذذالتعديل حالياً لأن النسخة الرقمية للقصص التي لدي غير متوفرة في مكان إقامتي الحالية.

مع كل الود

رامي الإبراهيم

**ahmed_allaithy** · 05-09-2007, 09:40 AM

_MD_RE: قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

الأخ الفاضل الأستاذ رامي مع الأسف هناك حد أقصى لحجم أي مشاركة، والزيادة لا تظهر إطلاقاً حتى وإن أضفتها بعد ذلك عن طريق التعديل. ولهذا فإن الأفضل في حالة المداخلات كبيرة الحجم أن يتم تقسيمها إلى أكثر من مداخلة. ومن هنا أنصحك بإعادة وضع القصة على عدد من المداخلات، وستقوم إدارة المنتديات بحذف ما هو مكرر. وشكراً

**RamiIbrahim** · 05-17-2007, 09:30 PM

_MD_RE: قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

this story is written and then translated by Rami Ibrahim

Earliest Tales and..Later

It was a fierce cloudy autumn pleased at seeing people and trees scared in his presence, bending their figures and attempting to rush from his grip. His favourable scene is that of a trembling man then he delights in a sadistic satisfaction ..hurling blows..aiming to destroy..wind is his arms and his feet is muddy ground.
There was also a forty five -year- old man sitting alone with one of his folded legs is parallel with the ground while the other is vertical. With his arm embracing the knee, he drinks a glass of white wine ( Arak). His back is propped to the wall; he feels its chilliness. He draws in thoughtfully a breath of his hot burning cigarette. He draws also his upright leg back to touch the ground and make lotus position with the other leg.
The window glass quivers..wind is barking outside..dark is proceeding with its unobstructed coldness owing to absence of fire. Therefor it goes along till reaching the man who is not in bed and willingness to be up belates him. Although coldness has launched an attack against the man through chilly prickles, but it is confronted with his body warmth that is sustained by both wine and the cigarette. So, it launches into a tirade against this warmth which is fortified by thick walls whose thickness is difficult to be estimated. It is possible that the man has heard some of that reciprocally launched diatribe and rose up to find himself a jacket. On his way doing that he checked the children. Although their mother had covered them well, he put some additional covers on them except the eldest one. He looked at him while laying on his back with his arms and a part of his chest are uncovered and vulnerable to cold weather. He remembered something about youths and their outburst. He had first a disagreement with this young man about something and that triggered off a controversy ended with subordinately rejecting him; so, he went to bed angry. He ( the father ) came closer to him and reput the cover so his arms and chest were encompassed.
All children and their mother ask him for a stove, heat, and bread to be heated on. Bread is there but the stove is not. The stove is there but fuel is not; and without oil the stove is just a complete wrack.
People ( as his family report ) have erected stoves more than two months ago and it can not be put off anymore.Children can not bear cold and feel no difference when they get back from school into the house and feel like when they are out.
The time of stoves is acclaimed by people and they ask and tell each other:" Have you erected the stove?" and " We did today." Is there anything which is as worthy as warmth, or could it be even sacrificed?!
Children told their fellow pupils that they did erect a stove, but were very embarrassed when a colleague came suddenly and found none of what they claimed.
A stove needs oil and that is quite expensive _ two thirds of an emploee's salary. He got the sum needed on loan, but another urgent need came to the fore. That is paying back a one -year-old debt. Would he pay that debt back? How could he get money for oil then? Is life possible without fuel and without a stove?
He went reminiscing about the time when he was at the eigth grade. He was studying that time in a region alittle far from his village because it did not have a preparatory school. He rented a room with his cousins and shared the pay with them. His parents used to send him ten syrian pounds at the beginning of every month. That was in the 1960s and with ten pounds you could afford paying the rent and buy bread and onions till the end of the month..nothing more than that.
When winter approached and expences like buying a stove or fuel became extra, he told his cousins that he never felt cold and he did not need a stove …
In the beginning they opposed firmly " We made a deal from the beginning .. everything is to be shared and paid by the three of us, now you contravene.." As a result they referred the matter to arbitration and chose their mother ( his aunt ) to be the arbitrator.
They asked protestingly: " Is that fair?!"
" Yes my sons..it is fair, " she replied.
They were never convinced by this sentence " You get warm by means of our money while paying nought..( how fair?..no..it is not fair) " there was just one solution which was suggested and reluctantly accepted by them: " you sit at the far bottom of the room..you don’t want a stove and never pay..you keep away from the stove and pass very quickly whenever getting in or out of the room..speed up and never be slow..we warn you."
He sat really at the bottom of the room on a cushion underlain by a mesh with his back propped on the cold wall; and his legs at right angle to the ground propping his book while he peaked at his cousins savouring proximity to the stove.
Any way heat was to be felt half an hour after setting the stove alight, but warmth meant to him one thing_ to go and expose his hands to that cherished warm stove.
How much different is this cold leftover bread when compared with that being heated though they buy it at the same time from the same grocer.
Nothing in the world is as horrid as the scene of a boy looking at a stove or a close fire while he feels frozen. He wished that stove had not been there. " Had not it been there I would not have felt cold," he thought. Had not it been there he would not have felt in need of it the way he did whenever looking at his cousins savouring warmth. They were to him a symbol of richness never denied _ they afford to set a stove alight.
Their eyes instantly noticed him whenever he stirred in an attempt to rise up and starred at him when approaching..intending ..really intending to decelerate his steps when passing by the stove " Just a few seconds be bestowed longer, " he always wished musingly. The moment he was in front of the door and right to the stove the oldest boy used to shout and snap at him " pass..pass..quickly." many times they were about to fight because of the stove and slow passing.
" it is so scoundrelly and repulsive to claim that you do not want a stove to avoid paying then you steal crookedly something not yours."
One day he sent his mother a letter of just three words " Warmth, warmth, mother." He folded the letter and was about to send it but then remembered that it is his father who was going to read it and laugh mockingly at this little writer. He changed his mind and chose to read it to her tête-à-tête when going there.
" Warmth,warmth, mother. " that was also called up when sitting alone with a glass of wine in his company and cigarettes following each others making his lungs hot as a tandoor.
the tandoor was in the village and his mother used to bend over each morning putting a loaf of bread and taking another out of it. That was made of both wheat and barley..delicious not because it is wheat or barley but because it is hot..it is a stove..it was great because it could defend people against coldness of the world till moon or later.
He went on reminiscing: he remembered days in his life when there was not a tandoor.. neither a stove nor a loaf. There was only dark and his mother was sleeping or half asleep beside his newly-born sister who had come to life only six hours ago. He was laying beside his sister. It was raining cats and dogs outside and was dark. Nothing stood against that darkness but a little oil lamp without a glass.
They were three and the forth was their father..he went with all mens in the village to sleep in the host_ the only house in the village whose ceiling did not drip. Unlike the host ceiling the dark room's ceiling was dripping: on the cover, making it wet; on the mother' forehead, quite inevitable. Unconscious and exhousted, she turns herself sidewards so drips fell behind her ear making their ways among her hairs. You feel pleased at her motion towards you and ask her to narrate a tale. She was so generous and kind.. she accepted and went narrating but not at ease: she spoke slowly, made breakes, took deep breathes then continued. Suddenly, the gathered water on her head slid down slantly to the baby's face and eyes. The mother's hand rushed quikly to soak that up using the cover's edging.
The tale came to its end but you were not yet satisfied. Really you did not ask her to tell another story because you felt very hungry at the end of the tale. Your mother's reply was to go to her sister's house and get some bread because it was available there. You rushed there and told them that your sister came to life hungry and you wanted bread for her. They laughed at your little lie and asked about your mother whether she felt better. " Yes, she is well and she is telling me stories."
You came by yourself. The piece of bread you were given was over before you arrived home. You ate it all but arrived with a lot of cold and water because of your wet clothes. the moment you arrived your mother asked you to take them off not to catch cold. You did and laid your almost bare and frozen body beside her. You felt jealous because of this sister who occupied the place between you and your mother.
You tucked your cold hand away between the mother's arm and her breast..you felt her body's warmth..you got your hand warm. You put the other hand on the mother's forehead..you felt the warmth of that also with sweat you had thought it was water. Your mother asked you to replace your hand on her forehead again. You put it there again pointing your palm sequentially inwards and outwards_ she had the fever and you wondered where she got that heat from.
You asked her to tell another story but she advised you to sleep. You insisted on your demand then she yielded. She was talking about " Saad Slaughtered, " and depicted winter with what she saw and heard inside and outside. She stoped sometimes for periods seemed to you very long. While she was silent during one of these quite breaks a drip fell on the oil lamp and turned it off. Dreadful darkness then dominated and more dreadful it became due to the mother's silence. It seemed that she was not going to speak and that she went asleep. You came closer to her:
" Mom.. mom, the lamp..it is off, the tale is not yet over. " your exhousted mother woke up. She knew you would never have slept before the tale had been over. She went on talking in the dark but you felt unhappy though, because it sounded as if the voice came from a farther distance than that was between you and your mother. Her rhythmic breaths denoted her being asleep. You realised that and felt less lonely because of her fevered breaths in and out, but felt also angry because of your little sister who blocked the way between you both. From that date on, you don’t like newly-born babies.
All his life was spent this way: something blocked the way between him and his needs or hopes. Now, the stove is blocking the way between him and his dignity; or between him and paying back his debt_ if he erects the stove, he will not be able to pay it back. It is his eldest son who is responsible for that debt that he ( the father ) borrowed money from a former friend to enroll him at a private school. The need for that enrollment although the son got his high school diploma was that his marks did not qualify him to enter collegue; so, he had to repeat that. He hesitated too much before going to that friend and sacrificed a great deal of his dignity when he went. This friend whose honesty was weaker than adversities and hardships in life turned a deaf ear to his conscience and presented poverty as an excuse for all misdeeds whether they were done by himself or any of those criminals he defends at the court. He went to that man and borrowed fom him an amount of five thousands. With the passing of time, he found it difficult to bite his tongue and refrain himself from criticizing this man as a result of borrowing money from him. The other man was too much irritated at this attitude which was viewed by him as the epitom of ungratefulness. So, he refered to the money indirectly several times and demanded them openly a few days ago causing him too much embarrassment in front of his colleagues.
How great it would be if he went and threw that sum of money away to him. But, the problem is that how would he face winter and how would he endure the scene of trembling children if he did so?!
" Children.. they are to blame..and this son is to blame_ had he entered college last year, we would have evaded this humiliation; but, he is irresponsible and he doesnot view things this way," he mused.
………. ………. ………. ……….
"Ahmed Khalaf; when humiliated by his master in front of the villagers, he left work and announced his freedom. He did not think about his children that time. On the contrary, his thoughts about dignity were dominant." That took him back to his childhood when he witnessed the incident of Ahmed Khalaf. The incident before which there was no Ahmed Kalaf, but he was quite obscure: People used to see him every day with a pair of dirty blue trousers, a short-sleeved dark blue sweater and a headdress without a circlet.
He used to be seen behind a cultivator dragged by an animal, carrying dung on his shoulder to an alloted spot somewhere, digging, directing water, or rushed to do errands for his master " Abo Haider ".
He was a father of eight children. Someone you always see but rarely remember till the time of that incident which made him the hero of a tale to be told and always remembered.
There was a wedding day and villagers formed two rows opposing each other in front of a semi-house made of goat hair. Everyone on that occasion tried to take the opportunity: either to taste something rarely offered; or for youngmen, to feel the smoothness of girls' hands when dancing together; or to see something spectacular and hear a splended tune played on the flute, for little children whose riotousness becomes quite new, lively and in accord with the new event.
The most affected man by this new and happy occasion was Ahmed Khalaf whose reaction to its newness and mirth was the most apt. They awaitingly looked at him while approaching, his tall body, his raised chest, his new trouser, sandals, a clean white shirt, and well combed wavy hair. To everyone's surprise, he was quite young!
His arrival to the folk-dance row was associated with a big clap given by everyone as well as true greetings welcoming the valiant whose look left no doubt about his chivalry.
It was a wedding day and that meant mirth, quite rare thing. So, it plucks villagers out of their fields, transplants them in the square and infuses them with life again. That is why villagers welcom any thing relating to mirth, exaltation and emancipation.
Ahmed went directly to the row head where a young man keeps the remarkable position for himself and never leaves it despite tireness obviously shown by his sweat on his shirt as well as his forehead. This man who is reluctant to leave the remarkable position for any one, left it willingly to Ahmed Khalaf. He himself did not know why and how he felt that the position is Ahmed's. maybe because of the collective acclaim he received and left no doubt about his right to be the first and lead the row. This young man stood next to him and seized his hand with a clear smile to feel a kind of renewed vigour the moment he touched the hard and rough hand. Then, the folk dance was renewed and it became more than dance. It turned into a kind of running, rush, madness or hovering around. The flute came back to be heard again but it became more than just a flute. It was at that time the history of peasants, their own exaltations, their merriment and hopes. On looking at the flutist, you find him following Ahmed. His face was always directed towards Ahmed making the row on the right and back of him. He folded his legs, bent his back, and blew the flute. On looking at him, you find his cheeks swollen with incredible liveliness. His breast really swelled with happiness so he could take that deep breath. His breast swelled and could encompass air, Ahmed Khalaf and all villagers.
Ahmed Khalaf and him infused the villagers with zest and energy. Ahmed was always seen in motion making turns and circles. The tune played on the flute came to moments at which it was sharp, intermittent and successional. Swift short blows ffollowed by a magnificent deep and long one. At these moments you were ( like every one ) caught by a kind of distraction that saw nobody but Ahmed and heard nothing but the flute tune punctuated by the rhythmic thump which was made by dancers when striking the ground with their left feet. Many greetings were also directed to the first man on the row_ Ahmed Khalaf.
Suddenly, some notable steps of a highly- irritated notable approached. He asked everybody to hush directing his order especially to the flueist
" Quite down, quite down..let me speak."
That was the village number -one- man ( Abo- Haider ). He couldnot bear the situation and could never solve this fucked equation _ how could it be that the man with power and money who owned one half of the village land and owned Ahmed himself happened to be neglected while acclaim was lavished on that humble peasant.
He hushed people again and then directing his speech to Ahmed. " have you supplied the cattle with water, Ahmed? "
A thunderbolt was hurled on him.. fire was set in his depth. More difficult the situation was because of utter silence which replaced that noise. His response was so subdued and in accord with that silence " Yes, I did.. yes I did master." He stood with a droopy head for awhile but after that he gestured to the flutist who went blowing again. He took deep breaths then blew them, and all that had been repressed was released with blows. Ahmed Khalaf was rather running and a series of beads was whirling in his hand. In the beginning he decelerated his rushed steps at weak rhythm to enable his follower to keep the row shipshape and enable detached dancers to catch the row; but that time, neither he decelerated nor the rhythm weakened. There was motion and there was sound. They were a kind of rebelion. A kind of agitation that can not be directed towards masters; so, it hurls thumps on the ground.. strong ones ..with the left foot.
The time spent by the villagers to kick the ground once Ahmed kicked it three times. Again Abo Haider's voice paralyzed motion and hushed all sounds: " silence, silence..let me speak, "
" Ahmed..have you brought the donkey in and fed it."
Quiteness dominated the square_ nothing but Ahmed's moderate reply was uttered " Yes master, I did." He was obliged to receive his master's knives with an unsheltered chest. Quiteness did not last for long and
" it is a wedding day.. guys, " someone said and added " play your flute..flutist."
The flutist that time did not stay the flutist, he became Ahmed Khalaf. Irritation in Ahmed's breast was blown by the flutist. All eyes starred at Ahmed and some dancers left the row because it turned into a real rush and they coulnot follow him..they did not settle down but stood to watch Ahmed. Ahmed was hardly seen and you could hardly know if he was over or down_ he folded his knees then sprang to his feet..turned his body then kicked the ground three times..the third was vigorous.
Could his rush be interpreted into an attempt to flee? Could his turns be understood as embarrassment? But then he faces people, stands up, rises his chest and vigorously kicks the ground.
You could see his whole body just for moments. His heart sounded as if being shaked in his chest. He could hear his heart beating while feet thumps resonated in his mind. Both kinds of beats chimed together. Is that credible? Maybe it is so because most of the audience felt their hearts palpitating. maybe that was caused by surprise, fear, or irritation.
" what is this wedding going to trigger ? Is that something pleasant or a real massacre? " Alertness was clear in each leg and each knee before being noticed in each eye.
Again that horrid voice: " Quite down, quite down..let me spe…"
But before Abo Haider's sentence is over Ahmed's voice went up :
" listen to me people.. inhabitants of my village Tal-Adday .. I am Ahmed Khalaf.. and I work as a wage earner for Yousef Habib ( Abo Haider ) and I have been working for him twenty years .. and now it is over.. I no longer want him an employer .. neither do I see a master in him, nor buy him with a nut.. and play your flute.. flutist."
That was how Ahmed ended his day and came back to his house staying there one day..two days..three days.. " let Yousef's land find who takes care for it and so his cattle.. I no longer take care." His children who became starving " let them go to hell.. and that who opens his mouth with a word, my leg will kick his buttocks till he or she is out of the house.. life is not as important as dignity." This which he got for some hours was firmly cherished and he was determined to retain and never deliver again.
Thus, Ahmed stayed for four days at home without work. Although notables in the village accompanied with religious people had done their best to make attitudes less obstinate on the both sides for the sake of Ahmed's wife and his children, but he refused and made that possible under one condition: Abo Haider apologizes in the company of the village notables and makes an evening dedicated to him ..Ahmed Khalaf..at which a lamb slaughtered.
All what had been said by Ahmed Khalaf as a condition actually happened. This is the story of Ahmed Khalaf, but the question now is
" What should be done? " Should he follow Ahmed and revenge for his dignity while turning a deaf ear to his children grumble_ to go to that man and pay him back his five thousands. How much willing he is to go and throw them to his face as bones are thrown to dogs, then he gets back turning his head. But shall he have a clear conscience then.
The wine bottle was empty that time and cold defeated his body warmth and moved assault to his bones. He was suddenly taken aback by a shudder which is the body reaction to coldness and an absolute proof that it is inhumane not to erect a stove or even to carry that over.
Before taking any decision about the matter, he felt the need to share that with his family. So, he stood up and went to the kitchen to prepare a big tea pot. After that he went to the children room, touched them, made sure that they were warm and awoke them one by one apologizing first then disclosing the need to talk with them about something important.
Children got up and so did their mother and guessed that would be an attempt to apologize for the quarrel that took place in the evening. That pleased them and helped bring them to consciousness again and even filled thgem with curiosity to know " what is up? "
The family gathered and there was a tea evening and there was also talk. It was an evening when the father narrated three tales: the first one was the tale of a stove, the second was the dripping ceiling and the third was about Ahmed Khalaf.

Ten to six in the morning of
22/9/2000
Rami Ibrahim

**RamiIbrahim** · 05-17-2007, 09:36 PM

_MD_RE: قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

written and then translated by Rami Ibrahim

The coat

Dad went out. He set the fire alight then got out. A firewood stove is roaring on the brink of hot burning. The weather outside is extremely cold. Nothing but frost and snow can be seen. In addition to that, evergreen trees, snow-colour striped one, can be seen from the window _pine and cedar. With their white clothes, each of them looked like a scarecrow; and that was left in the middle of the field since summer. I can see it with snow covering its sleeves.. droopy ones. It has a slant figure with one its arms upwards directed and the other is downwards orientated. So were the trees_ with snow on their green sleeves but neither slant nor droopy. White snowflakes were relaxedly and flirtatiously falling, and eyes like flirtation.
The room is getting warm and I am muffled up in a lot of clothes and two coats. The first is quite suitable and my size_ that is mine. The second is my sister's. Father had me wear it in order to prevent her doing. A seventeen -year- old girl..ten years older than me..tall.. invulnerable to cold..maybe. I did not like that coat.. long ..droopy sleeves.. though folded many folds.. loosened again. Then with motion.. one sleeve loosened.. and the other yet folded; I lift my hand till the sleeve receded and seized with my fingers the edging of a ..fucked sleeve.
It is quite hot now. land outside is covered with a white rag and sky with a coton blanket; it must be hot outside and I wear too much clothes. The rug is also laid ( as father said ) to be walked over; and the king ( he said ) walks over that rag.. I wanna be a king.. then ..that is my little friend Lina coming. She came because I missed her. I saw her from the window " Coming Lina..coming, " and heard her voice through the walls
" Get out coward ." I am not a coward..heh.. I was putting on my socks so quickly.. and gloves.." they are worn thus " hah.. finished..
I was about to rush out…but..
_ Sameer..where are you off to; It is cold outside?!
That was my sister.. father prevented and threatened her going out
" forbidden ".. and said nothing about me.. and " I wear too much and will never feel cold," I replied.
_ If that is the case give me the coat.. you wear a lot and it is too long and will certainly impede you.. it will be impossible to play with it on you ..it hinders..
That is right.. long and wide.. and even when worn by my sister_ too slim. But my father said " think twice boy.. I warn you.. I will strike and confine you in." I gased at her with my eyebrows tightened and compressed together while my lower lip covered the upper one.
_ I will never tell my father.. I promise..he will never know. I will give you a hair buckle_ a butterfly_ you can give it to Lina as a present.
That is reasonable.Yes, I give..long and wide..droopy and hinders me. But my father.. alas.. angrily shouts and stretches my ear and..a bump.. slaps.. then " Getting out is forbidden. " no..no
I raise up my eyebrows quickly for three times denoting a refusal.
A snowball lightly hits the window and causes its glass to shiver.
" Come on coward." I reply with a shout announcing my being " coming "
_ Dear Sameer.. you are sweet, kind, and friendly. You are not obstinate at all and you deserve every thing: I will give you colouring paste, my drawing book, scribbles_you know that I don’t give them to anybody_ then you say that they are yours and it is you who drawed them .. I agree and say ..yes ..Sameer drawed them, I did not help him at all.
Like snowflakes, presents are falling down from the sky today.. you father.. why are you angry? The coat fits her more than me. He doesnot want her to love Amjad_ her cousin_ and that is because this uncle doesnot want that… and my father said one day " superior to superiors we are. He has not forgoten yet that I divorced his sister( Sammar's mother) and that is why he is against the love affair..and so am I. Never see or meet his son.. beware to do.. we are not inferior to them."
I became aware of the matter since that time and this time he had me put on her coat to prevent her seeing Amjad. It is cold outside and impossible to go without it. I have never liked coats and I don’t find them a necessity. I like presents and that time I could have obtained all that would be demanded. She would have accepted all my demands.. I knew that.. but I knew also that I could not give her the coat.
I compressed my eyebrows together as if brooding over something important, then raised them repeatedly and playfully upwards.
Agitatedly rushed and seized me: " Come here .. it is my mother's coat and not your mother's..come here ( trying to take it ) put it off."
A tone of despair was discernible in her voice and a tear probably slided
( as her voice revealed ), but I did not look. My eyes were downwards orientated and both my head and chin sank between my firmly crossed arms. Father said " beware "..I know what happens when he is angry. He was serious that time..his eyes were serious.. I know…
when failed to take the coat, she seized me by the collar and roughly stretched my ear and rubbed it_ a cruel girl.
_ a thief..rude..silly and..and a rat...yes .. I will tell.. I will tell father that you went out and played with Lina…my cousin Lina.
I felt too much pain at the rub and my eye shed a tear. I got escaped from her grip. I lift the dragging part of the coat using my hands in order to avoid tripping over then ran to the door. I opened it, turned back, expanded my tongue and went out. Father did not say what means
" Don’t play with her " he just said " Don’t go to their house ".. I did not go ..She came by herself_ Most welcome. "
I called for a pre-truce before the battle and took off both coats at the door then entered again and impishly offered her my coat " That is my coat instead of yours..wear it ..that is fair " I gently put it near it but then rushed away laughing " Hah..hah..hah." She hurled it on me with the word " Rude " but I shut the door before it touched me and went forth.
………. ………. ……….
A snowball hit me.. that was " Duck ".. all right ..you take me aback_ deceiver.. I will show you. I gathered a handful of that white snow and pressed it together.. then hurled that on her. She was in a posture bending her back over the snow. One of her coat buttons was undone and that was the last one at the botom of her grey and silver coat. She fixed one of her hands into snow while drawing it towards the fixed hand by the other. It was too cold ..she quivered her hand rapidly. She moved slowly with her plumped body and coat just like a duck. I have never liked ducks or any of the home-bred birds.They are coward and swim just in still water, but I like Lina though. Although she doesnot like the sea_ she scares its width and waves_ but I like her very much. No problem Lina.. we ride a boat then.. Father said " Sameer, my boy, a duck swims in still water while at sea. The boat has overcome the sea and suppressed its waves.
" Duck..oh my duck..take this " the moment she stood up with a snowball in her hand ( before hurling that on me ) mine hit her " Idiot..you take me aback..hah! "
………. ………. ……….
We were being watched by my sister over whom I cast an eye from time to time. She also cast gases over us sometimes and over the horizon some others. Her small white chin was encircled by her palms while her pretty black hair went loose on her shoulders. As opening the window some of her hair was taken to the air. Her breasts and elbows were laid on the window while her face confronted snowy wind. A small snowflake settled on her nose while completely engrossed in something unknown.
My frequent glances to her caused me to be the target for a snowball. Heh heh.. heh.." The swindler laughs..it is impossible for a duck to triumph over a hawk..and I am a hawk ..I will show you..take this ..take this also "
I was engrossed in throwing snowballs for a while.
……….. ………… …………
It was the loud bump made by the door when shut behind her what took me out of that engrossment. I myself saw her going out hurriedly
Wearing nothing more than a white shirt over a sweater. It was an ironed shirt and as white as snow. I hurriedly followed her.. no more than two steps, but tread on the coat edge. I fell ..the bone below my eye was injuried, and so was the nose_ the right side of it heavily stroke a stone when falling down. I lift the coat from its both sides. With the two triangles my arms formed with the waist, I looked like a scarecrow.. not a fixed one.. it was running then falling behind her_ my sister. She was very quick ..oh my God.. I felt tired..the ground was quite sloping and I threw my legs.. a little pain was felt in my feet being heavily bumped into the slanted ground. I was unable to stop. Stones ..with snow.. just like bars of soap.. I don’t know how.. yes.. I slipped and fell on the ground.. sloping.. I rolled down. Just the first thump ( on my hip ) was painful. A tree blocked my way, embraced me, and I ..in my turn.. embraced it.
" This coat .. a dog..son of dogs, " I undid its buttons at haste..fucking.. I lost my sister.. the whole buttons were almost undone.. but one button.. a difficult one.. son of a dog.. a narrow slit.. or it is a big button.. I forcibly picked it and took that coat off. With both my hands I made a ball out of it and and with all my force I hurled it against that whiteness, the vast forest and the sloping land. I was free .. running with my body pushed backwards and my weight centralized in the heel. I got propped by adjacent trees when about to fall and so got balanced and never fell.
Where did my sister go? I couldnot know. I felt pain below my eyes. On touching that I felt too much pain. Snow that time was not relaxedly and flirtatiously falling; it rather blew angrily making it even difficult to see well. The son of dog.. it was blowing against my face with no care for my aches at the nose and below the eye. My swollen nose was seen obviously by my eyes. I was running among trees and spent a great deal of time before I found her. She was not alone.. oh.. yes .. Amjad .. un rendez-vous.. I approached them slowly and put out of sight behind a tree. We were back to face, not in a line with them but seen from an angle.
She was laid in his lap with his arm around her neck and his free hand rubbing hers in an attempt to get them warm. He also held them both, blew air through them, and kissed.
……….. ………. ……….
I was shocked and surprised at that.. I followed her to apologize and to say " sorry.. I had to give you the coat " or I don’t really know why I came and followed her. I had never seen two persons in that posture. It was clear that she whould never have noticed me_ her eyes were delightedly closed. Her lips were quivering, her teeth were shuddering .. just one kiss on her half-opened mouth was taken. He took off his coat: first, he took the right sleeve off while propping her head with his left arm, then he twisted his body a little and held her head with his right hand while taking off his left sleeve. He used his coat to protect her with it against severe coldness. It was a military coat with dark olive green colour. Concerning me, I felt as if something was burning behind my face.. and the bone or any stuff that under my eye was swollen.. I felt pain whenever touching that.
………. ………. ……….

I tried as much as possible to quieten down my pants. He got his lips gradually close to hers and then kissed. First, he smoothly kissed her upper lip. I saw him.. yes.. I also kissed many times.. yes, that was duck.. but not on her mouth. I kissed her on the cheek. I did that quickly _ one minute and that was over, but his was too long and she was burbling on delightedly. It seemed that she got warm again being passionately hugged to his lap_ she got gay again, encircled his neck with her arms, and went kissing him in the mouth.. terribly strange.
_ Do you happenn to know…?
_What honey ?
_ I am sorry. It is my fault.. I had to take the weather into consideration that ( playfully teasing ) it is as considerable as your father. Although I feel too much sorrow because of your being almost frozen, at the same time I feel too much happy due to your coming in spite of snow and without a coat and all of that for my sake.. you are great.
_It is a promise and I should not have left you come here alone and wait. Any way, I came from a cold frosty house looking for warmth in your lap honey. ( He inundated her with a lot of rushed kisses and they both embraced each others.)
_Do you like snow Amjad?
_ Snow.. somehow, but frost.. at all.
_( playfully ) Strange.. considering the fact that your mind is as frosty as your father's_ a part of your heredity.. you know. Ha ha ..why don’t you like frost?
_ Frost is cold and does nothing but harming my beloved and delaying meetings. Furthermore, ice-skaters along which they skate make no more than circles and come back to the same point; but, snow, on the contrary, enables us to take two skis and go skiing to happy regions.
_ Even if that was true and snow really fell and thickened then we went skiing round trees making half-circles, what would we do on reaching that big sea. Would it carry us also?
_ Do you think that we can not unless it is frozen or flagged by your father.
He laughed and then they both did. The moment I heard that my face turned pale…" the surging blue.. the powerful waves..smack the shore, castigate it, and penalize it. Father also said " They penalize it," and said also " All these smooth rocks and stones were once a one big rock and so were sand particles, but the sea disintegrates that for you my child come play with sand and make a castle out of that."
Father never liked the sea, but rather he always liked a relentless solid rock_ steadily placed yonder. But, he himself admitted : " One day it will be also crumbled. " He is a worker and he worked in expanding the land in the sea and paving that for the dock. Now, he is a builder and builds houses with rock and stones.
The sea is my friend. It is wide and so its chest.. I like width. The sea is strong and father fears it. He said: " The sea is a man, and nobody is to test his manhood. " The sea is my life and in it I swam. I used to come to it and cry whenever I was sad. I also came and moaned whenever my father hit me, and all that I did remembering my mother_ so devoted..but died. He ( the sea ) approached and licked my tears like a dog. When swimming, taste the sea it is salty owing to my tears. Owing to my tears and the tears of other children in the world spread round the sea mourning over their mothers and other dear people. No doubt, there is something holy in it so the sky wears its blue dress. " Oh my God, the sea is frozen "
I sprang to my feet.. ran away… my sister and Amjad startled as if something suddely prickled both of them.
She turned in his lap and astonishingly looked at me. I just noticed that in a glance; I was preoccupied about something else_ " Oh my friend.. my lap.. my eye colour.. never freeze .. dear blue. You ..waves.. break fetters.. I know how strong you are." I first imagined waves moaning under a thick ice fetter. " Wicked you snow and nothing good from you be gained." I ran and ran mounting upwards to the peak " from there it will be possible to see."
I got tired and my breathes intermitted quickly and my legs hardly hold my body and were unwilling to plod. I plodded with my back bent and my palms propping my waist to the knees.. panting. " Dear sea.. let me just have a look.. appear." And then at the peak " yes.. how cheerful.. wide.. blue.. beautiful.. ridiculing all snow on earth. Is it worthy of anything this melting snow_ they are nothing but white lice these snowflakes."
Then I set free my looks scanning that endless blue and set because my legs were no more able to hold my body. " You are to blame Amjad.. the sea doesnot freeze.. you stupid.. the kiss is not on the mouth.. stupid man.. your mouth be cursed."
I calmed down then and came back to reason .. I was too far from both the house and the sea.. sitting at the peak of the mountain and watching vast areas around me. I set there for about one hour and cold even penetrated my bones_ I repented for taking off both coats.
" At least my coat should not have been taken off." I remembered the warm room and also my mother " her lap is no doubt so warm." I shed tears and began to feel fear.. then.. " Thanks God " uncle Abo Amjad was running towards me. He hold me to his chest and went back to where he left his cultivator after checking my hands and cheeks and slightly blaming me. It was a long distance before we arrived and I savoured comfort in his lap. I realized that his son went back home and told him about me then he rushed to his cultivator to rescue me. I asked him for descent before arrival there, I ran somewhere and came back with the coat _ my sister's. she was sleeping at home under a thick coton cover. Both my father and Amjad's mother were around her. He, father, did not hit me and did not blame; just rushed to me, hold me close to the fire, and went rubbing my hands and bringing them closer to the fire. Just a slight blame I discerned in his silence and embarrassment and then a little in his statement:" Is it an act Sameer.. that you did. " I got warm and so was the coat which I exposed to the fire till it was hot. I laid my self beside my sister and the coat above her then the cover above us both. I laid also my arm round her neck .. deeply sleeping. The coat was big enough.. it covered us both. Thus.. clung to each other.. and till long time.. we were covered by it.

Rami Ibrahim

قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

قصص عربية مترجمة إلى الإنكليزية بهدف النشر

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