.Omer A.M. Ali: The Hymns of Siege -Trans. by Ibrahim Jaffar

موضوع الرسالة: .Omer A.M. Ali: The Hymns of Siege -Trans. by Ibrahim Jaffar

The Hymns of Siege (A collection of short stories) By Omer Abdullah M. Ali Translated, from Arabic, by: Ibrahim Jaffar

The Hymns of Siege

A short time passed since he has been fired from his paid job in the International Organization for the Protection of Gorillas (I.O.P.G). He couldn't help, as he faced- then- a great difficulty in finding another job, offering them his voluntary services. He continued living in such a `gray area` for a period of time after which he began to search for a casual job that would help him to `make ends meet`. Though this casual work has affected the length of his voluntary job and reduced it to an only one day a week, he didn't fail to keep his contact with the on-goings inside the I.O.P.G. He was still hoping for another post which would be offered to him by them. After he reached beyond the forty's year of age the question of marriage started to trouble him and drive sleep away from his bed-quarters. His parents were wishing him to marry his distant relative Islah, the girl who was in the tender age of twenty- and from a family of wealth and prosperity. But he was visited by the idea of settling down with Samira, his uncles` daughter though, in the privy of himself, he was fearing relation's marriages. He has been acquainted with some of the girls, here in Britain, but he didn't think of having a lasting bond with any of them. He was too apprehensive of their largely liberal and naughty conduct. But such a viewpoint has, with the passing of time, been changed and his enmity towards those was melted down. One day his feet led him to see Yasameen, who first came to Britain in a scholarship and, later, decided to stay. She was beautiful, clever and strong-character of a Sudanese girl; a girl whose life was bursting with liveliness and activity. And he, with his sauntering steps towards her, appeared as if he was throwing in a fish-hook without a bait, and hoping against hope that it would bring him some thing. Anwar- and that was our fellow's name- didn't relate to Yasameen anything about marriage. He knew, from the context of his conversations with her, her vision and philosophy of marriage. So he favoured disappearing and keeping apart. In his work, at the I.O.P.G., he confined himself to exchanging, with a lot of ladies, the social niceties and fineries, though he wasn't tending towards hiding his admiration of some of them. He thought- and he was often expressing what he thought in words- that a lasting bond with a foreigner (an European, Westerner) would, in many cases, cause suffering and agony to the soul. He failed, in many attempts, to be acquainted with those of his female working colleagues for whom he has portrayed paintings and images in his dreams so that they would be his dreams` girls. Being introduced to an English girl wasn't that easy. He began his plans, in this direction, by making a survey of all the `types` of the girls that were working in the I.O.P.G. As a result of that survey he found out that only a few number of those women would be interested in knowing him. And that, even within such a small group, there were some who would prefer having only a relationship without being involved in a marriage's project. Furthermore, there were also among them those who would favour short-term relationships and those who were just interested in having babies without getting into a relationship or marriage!! The conclusions to which Anwar has arrived at weren't pleasing. They only multiplied his perplexity. In the next day, and after finishing attending the Jumaa`s prayer [ the Friday prayer of Muslims] in Regent Park's Islamic Centre, he walked towards the Advertisements` Board at which he was always looking. There he, swiftly, browsed at several advertisements of jobs, but he didn't find what he was searching for. He moved towards another neighbouring advertising board where he read an advertisement about a divorced Arab-Muslim lady, with a nine- years- old daughter, who was seeking to be re-married to a Muslim man, single or divorced. She also stated, in her advertisement, that she has an `indefinite leave to remain` and that she shall help with living expenses. He stopped there, for a while, turning his eyes towards the right, and then towards the left. But he didn't see anyone who was watching him. He was about to take his notebook out of his pocket and write down the lady's telephone number. But he changed his mind. He fixed his eyes on the number for moments and, quietly, walked out of the hall and towards the vast courtyard. There he fetched out his notebook, wrote down the number and, calmly, left the place with a smile of satisfaction on his lips, which he was tending to hide. In the past Anwar wasn't in the habit of looking at marriages` advertisements. But when the whiteness, in his hair, crowded over the blackness and he feared that Time would `kick him off` he began to search, feverishly, for a wife. He became serious about being present in his people's different social occasions. To that he adjusted himself and his style of dressing. So a considerable sum of his bank account was spent in buying after-shaves, perfumes and selected types of shampoos and hair-dyes, something which made some of his friends laugh and joke about him in their private meetings. As for himself, he was doing all of that while, deep down in himself, he was reciting: I am the one who has been crushed by miseries, lost to the nights, though he was a chap of high-flights and glories!! In his readings of English newspapers he was keen on The Guardian's issue of Saturday, The Observer's of Sunday and Voice's of Monday. For these newspapers publish advertisements for those who are interested in forming passionate personal relationships. Beside such newspapers there were, also, some charity agencies specialized in the same area and have their own several publications. But Anwar didn't favour dealing in matters of this character through go-betweens. At the work's place he became given to absent-mindedness and reveries. For the matter of marriage possessed him and captured all of his thoughts and reflections. And while he was joining parties and social festive gatherings his looks were bearing meanings of solitude and loss. Therein he would shift his eyes between the seated girls and the standing ones, talk with a girl in front of him as his eyes were looking to a far-away corner in which another was sitting. During his browsing through the advertisements, in newspapers, about personal relationships he developed the habit of jotting down, in his notebook, his relevant observations which he was drawing in forms of tables (schedules) so that the comparison and contrast between them would be easier. So he would- then- write down the age of the girl, or lady, concerned in one column, and her profession in another column, her colour and nationality in a third one... so on until several lists were ready for his use... At the head of each of these lists he would, solemnly, refer to the sources of his data and their dates. In his analysis of that data Anwar reached to astonishing conclusions which made him, without his own awareness, an expert. He realized that more than 90% of women favour long lasting passionate relationships with men. Only they demand, therein, forms of guarantees or re-assurances about that, from their partners. He also found out that 80% of women- and especially the younger among them- don't- when it comes to such kinds of relationships- care a lot about the factors of difference in colour, religion or race. However, Anwar`s investigations revealed to him, as well, that the common aspect of these callings for personal relationships is their condition that the would-be partners should be lovely, light-hearted and humorous. But our fellow Anwar wasn't one of those who were good at humour and fresh, interesting conversations. He attempted to persuade himself into being charming. But he- the poor fellow!- became, instead of that, more unattractive to people than before. And when his close friends directed his attention towards that he had already lost a lot. Anwar, in his readings of the advertisements, was particularly drawn by the professional information they provided. And among the subjects of such information he found the journalist, the artist, the civil servant, the house-wife and, even, the student. As to the `column of merits` some of those ladies (and girls) said, in it, that they have houses, carts and horses! Also others said, therein, that they have country-houses (mansions). Still another individuals among them expressed their wish to wait on the first `knockers` of their doors with private parties. Also there were some of them who would insist that their partner (or would-be partner) should have a car. Anwar wasn't interested in a passing relationship with a woman- that was easy for him to get into, if he so wished. He was, rather, wishing to have a wife; a partner which would give his way a purpose, and his life a meaning... Some friends have advised him to learn from their lessons and try to forget that matter. In a winter morning, when dim fogginess was still overshadowing the city, Anwar woke up on a sound akin to a muffled horse neighing- latter he knew that it was ensuing from the post-man's pushing of some letters into that `copper-covered letters` narrow window` (i.e., the letter-box) which was fixed on the outside door. This sound is always heard when letters are shoved through that `window`. The day was the first day of the weekend and time was about nine in the morning. Anwar rose, lazily, from his bed, moved towards his flat's door and collected all of the letters which were thrown on the room's floor. He put all of these on the flat's only table, without even glancing at them, and returned back to his bed. He wasn't able to continue sleeping. So he, lazily and yawningly, rose up again from his bed and walked towards the bath-room where he took a bath. Then he made himself a cup of tea and started leafing through the letters, one after another. He found, among the `bulk` of the post he has received, a number of commercial advertisements, from some marketing companies, written in broad lines and covering all over the spaces of their sheets. What they were promising their customers with were discounts in their commodities. He put all of those aside and looked at a silver-coloured envelope on which was carefully written his name and his address in a green ink and beautiful handwriting. He put the cup of tea on the table after having a quick sip from it. Then, with both of his hands, he held the silver-coloured envelope and turned it around his palms. There wasn't a name, or an address, for the sender on the back of it. And all of his attempts to know the sender from his handwriting failed. Finally, he opened the envelope, unfolded the letter within it and started to `swallow up` its contents veraciously. It wasn't anything but a few lines beginning with a greeting and brief introduction, then a date and place for a proposed meeting- it was a response to the advertisement he has published in The Observer. Anwar read that letter several times. He gave a lot of attention to what it said about the date and its specifying of it as 4.p.m. of the evening of the same day and to its naming the venue of it as The British Museum- Nubian Cultures` Section. Then he made a quick calculating process within his mind and found out that he needed one hour to arrive at the museum, another hour, before that, to have a bath, and a third hour again to select the suitable dress for such a great day. He realized that he has to be very accurate and refined if he has to choose the dress that would, elegantly, match the occasion... An hour before the defined date Anwar involved himself in studying the landscape of the site in which the meeting in question was to take place. What enraged him about that site was the enclosure of the Nubian Cultures` Section within the confines of the Egyptology's Department. He remembered that, at the first time in which he visited the museum, he expressed his wonderment, to one of its keepers, about the non-existence of a separate section for the Nubian Culture. He then exclaimed to the guy:- `Doesn't it worth that?` The keeper- as he recalled- responded to such a questioning and exclamation with a polite promise of passing on his- Anwar`s- observations to the persons in charge. Because the day was a weekend day the museum burst with visitors and tourists. Anwar found a difficulty in watching, with a close eye, what the Nubian Cultures` Section was displaying. For there were multitudes of Japanese, Italians and German tourists, beside a folk of Black Americans, whose attention was powerfully rapt on the greatness of that ancient black civilization. The Black American tourists were the most stunned of those. They were old in age, and their guide was an old black woman who's splendidly illustrating to them the glory of Marawi`s civilization. `This is the civilization of the black human being. This is our civilization since thousands of years`, she was, emphatically, saying within the interval moments of her explanations. So they lighted the place with the gleaming flashes of their cameras and broad smiles were impressed on their lips and countenances. Among the visitors of the Nubian Civilization Section was a head-shaven woman in her early thirties. She was wearing a Jeans with a fashion-tear at the knee. Over it there hanged a patchwork of a shirt which was usually worn by the Army Special or Parachute Forces. It has been opened from the top to the bottom and tied, down-there, from its both ends. She was also wearing, under the shirt, a white undergarment on which some intercepted multi-lingual words were written. That woman has been busy video-photographing some scenes and sites of the place and she wasn't hiding her feelings of upset towards the visiting crowds. Anwar didn't give her any glance. For he was pre-occupied with the question of meeting `his girl` as the hour of that was nigh and his eye-sight began, searchingly, to wander amidst the present. He looked around, towards one of the corners, and saw the woman-photographer prostrated down on the floor in an attempt to find the rest of angels from which she would take shots of some views. This stand of her didn't please Anwar. He wondered, within himself, about the mystery of that contradiction between the video-camera, the torn off Jeans trouser and the shaven head!! After a while the tourists left the section and the woman-photographer remained busy with her work. Anwar glanced at his watch and realized that the date's time has passed a minute ago. As he was doing that he turned his back to the woman who has, just then, started tiding up her things with care... She looked at her watch and moved, in the opposite direction, towards Anwar who was still standing there. She approached Anwar and asked him whether he was the person who has published the advert in The Observer. Anwar turned a half-circle and, searchingly, eyed her. His sight `stuck` to her torn-off-at-the-knee Jeans trouser and her tied-down-the-bottom shirt. Then he raised it towards her round face, blue eyes and fine nose and saw, on her right eye-brow, a pierced-in silver ring! To her question he, with an exasperation, answered:- `No, I wasn't him!!` And, dragging behind himself the `tales` of his disappointment, muttering words betraying rage and cursing bad luck, he moved towards the exiting gate. Suddenly he heard a voice calling:- `Professor..... Professor.....` He looked around to clarify the matter, for he w wasn’t a professor and graduate studies weren't ever of his priorities. The person meant by those callings was the woman his date with whom he denied. He stopped for a moment, looked at her, and she returned his look. Then he shook his head and continued walking towards the outside gate. London, August 1996.

Caracas’s Group of Friends

Mubaruk stretched his legs towards the front of his luxurious seat in the Cathy Pacific's plane. He, then, closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep. But he couldn't. He looked through the window where his eyes grasped nothing except the clouds, intermittently visible, sometimes, and others invisible. From the mound of newspapers in his vicinity he took one and started to browse through it from the right to the left. For he was bored with the first page's news and what it, usually, brings about of life's miseries. But even the last pages, of that newspaper, don't quite exclude items about the scandals and tragedies of The Society's ' big shots '. Putting the newspaper aside, he attached the Headphones to his ears and started listening to some musical works. Thereafter he delved into a deep slumber so that he didn't feel the presence of the air-hostess as she was laying, on the part of his body beneath the throat, a cover of a fluffy wool. In the Hurriyya's Courtyard they were racing one another on the bicycles rented from Uncle Hamza, the bicycles' lender. The bet, thereby, didn't ever fail to rest on Jammaa, the most fast and skilful in bike-balancing, for he was always the winner in that race. Moreover, he has emphasized this pioneering status of him by the acrobatic shows he presented as he was swiftly driving along his bicycle. The excuse that Mubaruk and Ismaeil have used, in the face of this failure, was their repetitive claim that they were ' not yet familiar with bike's driving '... Always they- as boys- have had looked forward to the weekend with a feeling of longing and expectation. They were heedless of their parents' fear and care for them against accidents and the possible abuses of the bike-lenders' society. The three friends- Mubaruk, Jammaa and Ismaeil- were used to be fellow pupils in the primary level of education. But their schools were not the same, though they weren't far in distance from one another... Rarely did they revise their lessons together. But, otherwise, they did always agree in saving some coins from the breakfast's pocket-money. A friendship and familiarity have been fairly instituted between them and Uncle Hamza, the bikes' lender. So he spared for them, amongst his originally-dilapidated bikes, the best. Furthermore, he often kept a blind eye when some of the boys didn't return their bikes at the definite times. Mubaruk remembered that day in which Jammaa broke his hand. That took place when they drove their bikes, together, to The Court's buildings where there was a mount crossed by the main asphalt road that divided the town in two parts. That mount was the ideal place for learning driving bikes. For one, therein, would balance himself well on the bike so that he would push it downwards, and so would be got rolling along. By repeating such a kind of attempt, for several times, one could have the hang of driving a bike. So Jammaa told his friends... In that day Jammaa himself ventured some acrobatic movements with his bike, but he fell off it and broke his hand- it was indeed a misfortunate day for the whole of the mates. When they grew up they found themselves in the same town (city then) in which they have been brought up. Jammaa- therein- pursued the career of an officer in a foreign Relief Agency, while Mubaruk and Ismaeil worked as teachers. Their friendship, by the time, was so fortified that they used to meet in, almost, the evening of every day and chat about various subjects. But they rarely turned, in those talks, to political matters. Time passed on and they " found " themselves living abroad: Mubaruk has been to Britain; Jammaa settled in Venezuela; and Ismaeil left for Vietnam. Every two years they were meeting at Jammaa's place in Caracas. So they have pre-arranged this matter... As for Jammaa, he was counting days and nights in waiting for his mates' visit. For the day of it meant to him a great psychological, social and spiritual association. The journey to Caracas was long and boring. And, in the peak of the air-bumps, that led the plane to swing around, Mubaruk streamed out of his oblivious recollections and fastened his belt. Those were intermittent and they were descending and ascending with the plane until- after a certain time specified by the plane's pilot passed away- they discontinued. Mubaruk attempted, once more, to sleep, but he also failed.. So he took out his notebook and started reading some its contents. Ismaeil was due to arrive, at Caracas, in the evening of the next day. While he- himself- was expected to be there at the afternoon of the same day. If we have considered the variation in times, we should have found out that, by then, it was only few hours and Mubaruk shall arrive to Caracas. A broad smile manifested on Mubaruk's face as he was remembering the last meeting of the group. For he, Smaeil and their families- as he reflected within that smiling mood- were ever ready to endure all of the harshness that would dissuade them from meeting their friend Jammaa. Finally, the plane arrived and landed on Caracas Airport's runway. Gladness filled the depths of Mubaruk with the longing for seeing his beloved friend. Soon the Airport's proceedings were completed and Mubaruk went out to the Arrivals' Hall where he found, just before him, his friend Jammaa, sitting on his wheel-chair and charm radiating from his face. Swiftly Mubaruk slid his bag away and kneeled for a worm embrace to his friend. He heard Jammaa weeping passionately and a hot tear leapt out of his eyes. Mubaruk felt a hand tapping on his shoulder. He knew that it was Liana's. So he rose up, embraced her, greeted her and took over the driving o f the wheel-chair until they were out of the Airport's Arrivals' Hall. They went to one of the cafes inside the airport's building where they waited for the arrival of their friend Ismaeil within the course of hours. Liana was familiar with Mubaruk, her husband's friend, since a span of several years. As for her husband Jammaa, she has known him in Cambodia where they worked together and familiarity and friendship, between them, grew into marriage. When the preparations for the marriage were agog that unfortunate accident happened to Jammaa while he was doing the last of his jobs in the Cambodian countryside. For his annual vacation, within which his marriage's celebrations were planned to take place, was due to begin after it. A mine exploded and shoved his legs away. When news reached to his friends they hurried on to him and beseeched Allah to save and keep him for them. They arrived to Cambodia at the right time and stayed with their friend throughout the days of the critical times. Jammaa, in the wake of the mishap, has tried to finish his relationship with Liana and cease considering the project of his marriage to her. His reason for that was his not wishing to restrict and confine her to a life with a man who has been disabled for the whole of the rest of his life. But his friends reproached and forbade him from doing that, particularly after their realization of the extent to which Liana was attracted to him, and him to her. Silence and hesitation, within himself, reigned for a while but he, finally, agreed to continuation of his relationship with Liana. Liana was beside herself with joy for that and felt grateful for Jammaa's two friends' stand, something for which she remained indebted with all of her life. But they didn't see in what they have done anything which deserved to be thanked and applauded. Liana, the daughter of a Venezuelan father and Brazilian mother, was brought and grown up in Britain. In Cambodia she worked with a non-governmental organization of rural development. Whereas Jammaa took a job with a charity trust the objective of which was dismantling mines off the Combodian lands. After Jammaa's injury Liana convinced him of leaving Combodia and living in Venezuela. There they gave their time to writing stories for children. In the comfortable cafe in Caracas Airport all ordered tea coffee, beside some light sandwiches. Jammaa inquired of Mubaruk about his circumstances and the news of his children. Mubaruk answered him by saying that his wife, as usual, has gone to The Sudan and took with her their eldest daughter Zainub. As for her son Kamal, he rebelled and refused to join them. Jammaa said that his older sister visited him last year and stayed, with him, for a month which was all peace and tranquility for him. Then he added: ' I was, personally, hoping for the visit of one of my extended family's members. And if my mother was not so aged, I would have asked for her visit '. A moment of silence passed and Mubaruk asked Jammaa about the latest of his and Liana's works. Jammaa answered him, in a laughing voice: ‘ By the way, do you remember the stories and tales of our grandmothers to us, when we were young children? ' Then he went on saying: ' I mean, especially, the folk and legendary tales about The Ghoul, the basilisk and their likes. Here, in Venezuela, the same stories were widely known. Do you believe that? ' - ' That is amazing '. Mubaruk responded. - ' Yes, we are writing, nowadays, a book about The Ghoul and dogs ', said Jammaa. - ' By the way, what became of your dog Jargas? ' - ' He's all right and waiting, eagerly, for us at home '. Jargas, when Mubaruk gave him this name, was a little dog. - ' I wonder, if he is going to recognize me? ' Mubaruk asked. - ' Of course, he will do. Don't you know dogs? ' Jammaa answered. - ' Yes, I do! '. Liana spoke about the great project on which they, with the co-operation of some publishing houses, were working. That project, she said, was interested in accomplishing The First Show of Children's Book. This show concerns all of the Spanish-speaking countries. I t is hoped to take place next year, if things go all right. The idea of such show has been greatly welcomed by publishing houses and some educational bodies. Furthermore, the UNESCO blessed its proceedings and promised help and support. Jammaa interrupted Liana's talk, at this point, to say that she has been nominated for the post of the project's organizer, but she apologized and turned it down. It wasn't reasonable for Liana to do such a task, with all of her family responsibilities and other occupations. So her apology was accepted. But this didn't make her refrain from asking and inquiring about the latest developments of the project in question and supporting it. Liana excused herself and headed towards The Airport's Information Office to enquire about the arrival’s time of the plane coming from Vietnam in which Ismaeil was a passenger. Here Jammaa talked to his friend Mubaruk about his wife's greatness, and how she was ever caring of him and watching over his comfort. He said that she- Liana- gave him a new life and endowed it with meaning. ' We all know that '. Mubaruk said. And he added: ' don't you know that the good-hearted are for the good-hearted '. Liana came back and informed Jammaa and Mubaruk that the plane carrying Ismaeil has, then, approached the Venezuelan airs and the faces jubilated and brightened up. Ismaeil was standing on good financial grounds. He inherited, from his father, a considerable wealth. But it didn't change the style of his life. So he hasn't abandoned, for it, the teaching profession which loved. Besides that, his fortune didn't turn him away from his old friends and he became their source of relief in all their financial troubles which were fairly many, especially before they have left The Sudan. When they, in such kinds of situations, expressed embarrassment he always said to them: ' Have you forgotten that we are brothers? ' I wish that all of the human problems find their solution in money! ' The possessions that Ismaeil inherited from his father were big. And many feared that he wouldn't be able to manage them, particularly when his uncle surprised them, in the court, with a document saying that he had the right to in the half of it. But the court discovered that it was false and the uncle- shamefully- went out of sight. Later, Ismaeil fetched out his uncle and, voluntarily, gave him away- to the surprise of his relations, acquaintances and friends- a respectable sum of his wealth. Finally, Ismaeil's plane arrived to the airport. Soon as he finished the official procedures he entered the wide space that was leading to The Arrivals' Hall. He was accompanied, for the first time, by his Vietnamese wife Song Sang. They, very warmly, greeted and welcomed each other and Ismaeil introduced his wife to the rest of the group. Song Sang was surprised when she saw all of them wiping away tears from their soaked eyes. All of the friends moved, then, into a microbus driven by Liana. In the way to Jammaa & Liana's home Ismaeil was involved in explaining to Song Sang the distinguished character of his bond with the group. Jammaa & Liana's home was far away from the airport. When they arrived there Liana busied herself with getting Jammaa's wheel-chair down off the microbus. Ismaeil helped her in that. Mubaruk and Song Sang carried the bags out of the bus. Liana went, first, to the door of the house and opened it as she was welcoming in all of them. As they were getting into the place Jargas, the dog, entered in, barking for several times and wagging its tail. Mubaruk came near to it, wiping its back with his hand's palm. Jargas, then, got closer to Mubaruk and started to sniff his hands and legs as he was, yet, wagging his tail and uttering voices indicating gladness and recognition- once and again. The house resembled small museum. For the paintings, the photographs and some handcrafts, the majority of which were African in their character, have filled the planes of the place. In waiting for them they found a prepared meal containing selected dishes and cuisines. Liana beckoned to Song Sang to help her in re-heating the food. That left the three friends- men- alone. So they inquired about each other's news and talked, a little, about what became of their relations in The Sudan. This was followed by a chat about the on-goings in the lives of their friends who were spread out all over the Diaspora. But these forms of remembering have been cut short by Liana's voice calling them to go for their dinner. After dinner Liana, addressing Mubaruk and Ismaeil, said: ' Of course, you know the whereabouts of your rooms. They are the same as before, and they are ready for you, if you wish to go into them and have a rest from the tiredness of your long travelling '. But they thanked her and indicated their wish to stay out (of their rooms), a little, for a chat with Jammaa. Song Sang- then- spoke, in Vietnamese, with Ismaeil who requested Liana to lead her to her own room. The friends continued to speak in the sitting room, sometimes in audible voices, and others in whispers, while Liana was coming in and going out of there with some thing or else in her hands until she, finally, ended her movements into the silence of her room. Jammaa, addressing Ismaeil, said: ' I read your response to X in the Internet. I do agree with you in the points you have mentioned. But you've shown a little cruelty towards the fellow '. - ' Oh, you mean that dull animal! Those shallow ones wouldn't leave us alone '. Ismaeil answered him. - ' I see that we do waste our time and rake our nerves in responding to such kinds of trifles '. - ' The important thing is that we have created The Sudan everywhere '. Said Jammaa. But the sitting didn't last for long. For Jammaa suggested the continuation of the conversation in tomorrow's morning. His reason for that was the tiredness of his friends and their need for rest. In the next day's morning all of them circled around the great dinner-table which was erected on the court of the house. There they had their breakfast with tea and coffee. Ismaeil was helping Liana with making the food ready, while the others exchanging bits of a light-hearted chat which was mixed with jest and humour. Celebration times were waiting ahead for them. The breakfast followed by enjoying the events of Caracas’s Annual Carnival, visiting new exhibitions and halls of music and dance. And so days and nights, in which Caracas’s group of friends was occupied with the happenings of the beautiful days it had been spending in Venezuela and with its friend Jammaa, were passing. Before their parting, the members of the group used to stay wake up, talking and chatting throughout the night and until the revealing of morning. The subjects of their conversations- then- might, mainly, comprise returns to things they had already discussed, interrupted with some new talks. Within all of that those friends did, indeed, emphasize their supporting of one another. And when time of departure was nigh they would- reluctantly- take their travelling bags and move towards the airport. The journey towards the airport was ever used to be depressing and silent. The group, therein, would try to make the matter appearing normal through penetrating the wall of silence with some words and comments. But the most of these would, by the time, come out of them without taste and lifeless. Jargas, the dog, was always in their company to the airport. He- in such a solemn time- would, between now and then, utter voices and sad mutterings which would resemble farewell words, while Mubaruk's hand was patting on his neck all along the journey to the airport. August 1997

Rainbow

He sat in front of Al-Buhaira newspaper's editor of the Assortments' Page who, after a brief introduction, lectured him about the paper's policy where he stressed that it is keen on the assistance and guardianship of the ' promising pens ' through consecrating, for them, the appropriate plane in which their articles will be published. Why? He, loudly, raised a question. But, without waiting to hear any response towards it from his listener he, rhetorically, answered it himself: ' because they are the bearers of the torches of tomorrow!! ' Here the tones of his voice changed and he went on saying: ' But you should tell us before starting to write any type of material, so that no conflict would happen between your writings and those of others '. Then he took a deep breath of his cigarette which was about to be finished. ' It is natural that you have heard about the prominent status of our well-known newspaper ', he said. Mukhtar Al-Rayyah wasn't so pleased with the talk of the editor. He was completely absent from it. For such a kind of talk he had heard thousands of times when he's already dragged his feet to the offices of certain other newspapers which were Al-Hilal, Al-Gazeera and Al-Neel. It appeared to him that all of these newspapers weren't but an only one newspaper. The most annoying thing in all of it was their question about his race (nationality). Still further worse than that was the ready-made answer it received from the questioner, even before the questioned could utter anything about the matter. They used to say to him: ' Our brother is, of course, from The Sudan! Isn't it?.. They are great people and honourable brothers! ' Mukhtar tended, in such occasions, towards not saying anything. He, then, would just silently stare into the eyes of the journalist-in-charge, while wiping his mouth with his right hand. That is as if he would- therein- be searching, in them, for another far-fetched things. Mukhtar has often said ' no, sorry ' when, in his several job-interviews in these newspapers, he has been invited to tea or coffee... Suddenly he rose off his seat, thanked the editor of the Assortments' Page and promised to contact him when he finds ' something ' interesting! He then made himself ready to leave. But the editor beckoned him, with his hand, to wait for some moments. And, after whisperingly talking for a while with some person who was sharing him the office, he rose up and accompanied Mukhtar to the premises' exit. Before reaching to that they have passed through halls and electronic doors. As they were going out the editor was, frequently, greeting some of Arab and English workers in the newspaper. And when they reached the main entrance of the building the editor said to Mukhtar, as he was leaving: ' Gain strength! ' We are waiting for you!! ' In response to that Mukhtar went away silently; he didn't say anything but, in moments, he disappeared and the crowds swallowed him into their bottom. Many disconnected things started to loom about his head. Where should he go? He asked himself... To Hyde Park? ' No, I won't go there. For that place is now boring me after surprise has flown away from it '. A voice within himself told him to go to Covent Gardens where music, magic games and free exhibitions. But he, again, abandoned such an idea when he remembered the crowdedness and his loathing of it. Suddenly a gleaming shone in his eyes. He remembered that old man who was strolling around the Piccadilly's area carrying, for about half a century, his famous signboard that was warning people against eating fat and greasy food. He knew that man, for he spoke to him before. ' This is a precious treasure '. He intimated to himself. Suddenly his steps hurried and his breathing heaved as he turned a full circle in his way from south to north. A smile superimposed itself on his face. But soon it dispersed away when he remembered that the editor of the Assortments' Page in Al-Buhaira's paper advised him not to contact his person before starting doing any job. ' No, I will not tell him, for this my idea and I am the ' owner ' of it '. He said to himself. Then he added that he shall not tell him about that, whatever the case. He finished this personal dialogue with a rather vague emphasis saying that he ' knows these newspapers' bureaucrats only too well '. Then he shook his head as if he has found the way to a dear treasure. To get to the old man's place he had to take the underground train from the nearest station. But that station wasn't very close to him, especially as he has already ventured into an area which was a bit far away from any underground station. He did that because he hasn't decided, beforehand, on a certain destination to which he would like to go. His steps rushed towards the underground station. He tightened up his trousers as he was dashing along. It bothered him that he had to do such a thing between now and then so that the trousers wouldn't be loose. All of that soon got on his nerves and he was enraged. The trousers, which he ' put ' on himself, belonged to his friend Arbab and he was nobody in relation to them except as a borrower. Early in that special day's morning he woke up and put his friend's trousers on. He has gained the permission for that last night when he told Arbab that he was in need for new trousers and the latter advised him to choose, for himself, any of his trousers that would suit him. He knew Arbab since he set feet on the land of this country, and he was- and is- quite grateful for the many ' white hands ' of Arbab who bestowed on him great help and care the least of which was his daily bringing, to him, at late evenings, pizza meals from the restaurant where he was working. Mukhtar and Arbab haven't been in the habit of seeing each other very often. That was because Arbab always left the house to the work-place early in the morning and came back to it late in the evening so that he was ever leaving Mukhtar sleeping and returning to find him also sleeping. They were often communicating one another through messages they put in the empty tea-box which was, carefully, hanged on the kitchen's wall and to which was stuck a white paper on which was written the words: The Messages Box. In the last weekend Arbab confessed, shyly, to his friend Mukhtar that he hasn't been out to see London's significant tourist sites, and that he knew nothing about its museums, palaces and exhibitions. Furthermore, he said to his friend that he hasn't even watched a lot of the T.V., which he liked much, for he hasn't got time for all of that. Mukhtar and his friends used to remind him that he has been, all the time, busy making money and they would often say to him, jokingly, that ' not with money alone man lives '. Arbab was one of the constant attendants of the literary sessions of Mukhtar's group of friends that was used to be held at his place every weekend. Though he wasn't then a contributor to the conversations and discussions of that group, yet he they were very enjoyable to him and he was always keen to be a good host to their audience. Finally, Mukhtar arrived at the underground station. ' What is that hustle and bustle? Damned be the crowdedness! ' So he said to himself. Then he, sarcastically, added: ' The English are rushing and pushing around... ha... I know the reason... This is the time when working hours end '. He continued speaking o himself: ' Glory be to God! Look at the sun! It was still at the centre of the sky though the time now has just passed five o'clock! ' He made a way for a woman rushing about with steps so swift that they were almost running. A moment passed and another person- a man this time- hurried passed him with a blunt roughness. He was hard-hearted and hard-bodied, skin-headed, wearing a ring over one of his ears and clutching, with his hand, a cheap tabloid paper. Luckily Mukhtar found that there was a train which was about to leave. So he, quickly, penetrated through the multitudes and heavily carried himself ' over ' them until he, with a great difficulty, found a track for his feet. The multitudes' hustle and bustle, therein, pushed him about so that he was compelled to stand in the shape of a question mark that was almost falling on its back- though he was still having eyes which were able to shift their glances between the standing and sitting persons! It took ages for the train- or so Mukhtar thought- to arrive at the destination he was heading (or hailing) at. He hurriedly got down of it so that he could have a breath of fresh air, for his soul was about to leave his body! He tightened up his trousers, wiped his face with one of his hands and rubbed his eyes. His steps then straightened up and he continued moving. He sensed the pen which was, carefully, put in his pocket. ' But where are the papers?? Oh, my God, I have got no papers! What shall I do?? ' So he addressed himself. ' No matter. I shall buy a cheap writing pad. He said this to himself, walked into a News Agent shop where he bought what he wanted and continued his walk towards the oldman's place. He found him tiding up his things and preparing himself to leave, so he addressed him with a warm greeting in which was indicated that there was some purpose behind the visit about the nature of which the oldman wasn't clear. Mukhtar explained to the oldman the aims of his visit to him at such a late time. He said o him that he was an editor from Al-Buhaira's newspaper- an Arabic international newspaper that was issued in London and published, at the same time, in the five continents of the world! The oldman didn't comment on this rather long introduction. He just answered the questions presented to him and walked away. Mukhtar felt sorry because he hadn't got a camera. He believed that photographs, when accompanied with this interview, would give it special flavour and taste, for he has a fair knowledge of press language. Mukhtar felt that he has done a splendid job which should, definitely, enable him to publish it in an article which's new to the Arabic reading public! How often he made observations about a variety of articles published in Arabic newspapers. Now it's high time for him to be true to these observations! So he thought... He went back home, tired. Lazily he put off his clothes, had a bath and ate some food. Then he started to put the interview in a good shape through re-editing it. After he finished that task he kept the interview in a safe place until the dawning of tomorrow. He, hesitantly, thought of making himself a cup of tea. But he, soon, refrained from that. It wouldn't, as he reflected, help him in re-arranging the set of his wandering thoughts. And also it would- he continued his reflection- be no good for him at this time of night, for he wished to sleep early. He listened to the headlines of the news, on the T.V., and walked towards his room to sleep. Early in the morning he had a light meal, with a cup of tea, hurriedly put on the same yesterday's clothes and dashed out to telephone the newspaper's editor about the ' precious treasure ' of an article he would bring to him to be published... (Their home-phone was only an in-coming-calls' phone). As he was in his way to a general phone-box he had to take, with him, some coins. He did that and took these from over the empty flowers' pot, which was seated on the top of the T.V. Muhktar arrived at the phone-box which wasn't very far, in distance, from home. He found it- because the time was still early morning- not in use and he was glad for that. Mukhtat telephoned the newspaper's office and a receptionist connected him with the Assortments' Page's editor. He started the conversation in a confident, capable voice: ' Good morning, sir. I am Mukhtar. I have a ' precious treasure ' for you. I have written a valuable subject about Hyde Park's Corner and the speeches that were held there every week '. - ' No, my love!.......... That was a some old story! ' Said the editor. - ' It doesn't matter... There is another article I have written. It's about the annual carnival of Notting Hill Gate '. Said Mukhtar, in a challenging tone. - ' You are very old-fashioned, my love! Don't you follow what is written in Arabic newspapers?? ' The editor responded. Muhktar felt as if the editor was in the mood of ending his telephone-conversation with him. But he didn't lose his spirits. He released a faint laugh and said: ' No problem, sir. There is another subject which I consider unique '. Mukhtar felt, as he was saying this, that he hasn't yet lost his initiative grounds. But he- at the same time- senses an impatience and lack of enthusiasm in the editor's mood, which annoyed him. ' I have, now, to bomb him with my surprise! ' So he said to himself. And, swiftly, inserted more coins into the telephone's apparatus. - ' Are you still there, sir? ' - ' Yes I am still there, sir!! ' Moments passed and the editor, lazily, answered him back. A sense of discontent with the manner in which the editor answered him affected his feelings. But he, quietly, said to him: ' There is a topic no one before has dealt with, as I think '. This ' as I think ' involuntarily came out of his mouth. That was as if he wanted, by it, to give his conversation with the editor an air of artificial modesty. - ' I have made an important interview with a person who, for a half a century, hasn't stop calling people to stop eating a lot of fat and greasy food. Unfortunately, I haven't got a camera to take some photographs of him '. - ‘ My love..... This type of interview is, now, in front of me. One of our active journalists has done it!! ' Mukhtar didn't believe his years. So the editor repeated what he said to him. Mukhtar ceased to hear anything of what he was saying, for he has been dumbfounded. A period of heavy silence passed. Then Mukhtar cut that short, thanked the editor and finished the conversation. He stood there for a short while and started to shake his head, between one moment and another, until his face's features changed and blood boiled inside his veins. Back home then he went as he was dragging, behind himself, the ' tales of disappointment '. When he arrived there he took a pen and piece of paper where he wrote a message to his friend Arbab and put it inside the known messages' box. He remembered that Arbab has told him, before, that the restaurant where he was working was in need of workers. So his message to Arbab inquired about this matter. For a while after that Mukhtar remained sitting in the sitting- room without knowing what he should do!! Again he rose up from his seat there, moved towards the messages' box, took the message, put it in his pocket and said, addressing himself: ' Why should I have to write a message to Arbab? I shall talk to him myself, for today I will wait him until he returns '. June 1995

Short Narrative Texts 1

She spoke to him; he listened. Then she spoke to him; silent he remained. And she spoke to him; he bent down his head. Then he spoke; she left.

2 He asked, inquired and advised. How can he ' make ends meet '? - ' You have a muscular arm and athletic body. Why don't you try your luck in boxing? ' someone suggested. - ' But I am a born poet '. He said. - ' And critic and story writer, I was!

' 3 The eyes popped out; the heart ascended to the throat; the spirit reached to the palate. The liver, in horror, asked the right kidney: ' What is going on here? ' The right kidney answered: ' Our fellow is committing suicide!!! ' - ' But he didn't seek our advice '. The liver said. - ' Since when he was seeking our advice? Didn't he give away, as a donation, my sister, the left kidney, while we were suffering thirst?! The kidney, in a muttering voice, exclaimed: ' On God only we do rely! He is the most gracious and benevolent; no sovereignty or power except that of God! '.

4 In King's Cross Underground Station, and at the junction of the Piccadilly and the Northern trains' lines the flute's player quarrelled with the violin's player about the right of each of them in that strategic position. But after they agreed on being there together and sharing their fortunes the policeman arrived. London, January/ July 1995.

The Theory of The Face and The Shoe

He had swift sip from the cup of tea, which was in front of him and followed that with a swifter bite on the fresh piece of bread which was, carefully, folded into a coloured Sullivan sheet of paper band, as a storm, dashed out to Fulham Underground Station. He was already too late to arrive, in time, at his working-place which was resident on the other end of the city of London. For he should travel through twenty-something tube stations before he gets to the fizzy drinks' factory, where he works, and takes over his morning shift of work. There was a habit, which always used to accompany him whenever he goes to work, or comes back from it. It was the way in which he was accustomed to stare, searchingly, at the faces of the underground train's passengers and compare them with their shoes. There was something peculiar which has motivated him to express his idea that there's always been a relationship between someone's mode of existence and type(s) of shoes. In his earlier days, when he has just started to apply his theory to the factual world, he refrained from saying anything about such a matter. But, with the passing of years and with a lot of research and investigation on the theory's claims, he reached a ' truth ' about it and discovered that he was right and that what he has thought of was real. ' Look at this fat man whose face is oozing grease. He is wearing thick and swelling shoes. And this moon-faced woman, look at her: she is putting on moon-shaped shoes. But that slender chap with the stitched-up face must wear shoes which are cutting and sharp-edged as a Zaydi (Yemeni) dagger '. So he illustrated his theory. He went on giving more examples of the kind. Hence when he was, surreptitiously, looking at ' that ' fat woman with her floppy round face he intuition preceded him in its arriving at a the relevant conclusion which has been, for him, something given and self-evident: her shoes must be flat and floppy. He glanced, in a jiffy, at his right and, with a cunning quietness, he looked at the soles of her feet and realized the same truth which he was seeking, present in front of him. A smile of triumph and satisfaction rose up on his face. As he was busy his theory and with the matter of experimentally verifying its reality a heavy, broad and stone-coloured shoe crushed his right foot. He felt a harsh pain and bitter choke in his throat. He looked, pitifully, at his crushed foot and frowned his eye-brows to see the man with the stone-shoes who was, by that time, hurriedly shifting his steps towards the train's door and preparing himself, without uttering any words of excuse, to leave it at the next station. When he, then, looked at the feet of that man he found him- and what a great shock it was!- wearing a pair of shoes the left one of which wasn't the same as the right one in colour, shape and direction! ' My God, what a surprise!! ' He exclaimed. How could he get over this plight?...... He made some instant and swift mental calculations and reached to the conclusion that he mustn’t lend any attention to that matter. But he found some of the train's passengers glaring at him momentarily and hesitantly. He was only too well acquainted with the meanings of such kinds of looks, and he was an expert in distinguishing their various forms and techniques- whether those were longitudinal, uncertain or pendulum-oriented. He adjusted his sit, put one of his legs over the other and started talking with the man who was sitting just opposite to him. That man was wearing brightly shining black shoes, putting a luxurious bag on his lap and leafing through a newspaper. In his appearance he resembled an officer in a bank or insurance company. That could be guessed from the way he was, deeply, engrossed in gazing at the paper's financial page(s) in which he has ' buried ' his head. Our fellow said to him: ' Don't you know me? ' - ' Excuse me, are you talking to me?! ' The man exclaimed. - ' Yes, I am talking to you. Obviously you- unfortunately- don't know me!... I am the founder of the Theory of Face and The Shoe! ' London, April 1995.

The Twins' Home

Beside the dinner-table, which was carefully prepared and decorated with colourful candles, the family's head sat with his twin daughters near him and his twin sons opposite to him. The last of the sitting was his wife Sara who sat opposite to her husband Michael Wellesley. The husband talked about his gone working day, which he has spent in the hospital that's located in North London. There he has been working as a psychiatrist. Sara would listen to her husband for some time. Then she'd cut in with questions motivated by her intention to direct the conversation's thread towards certain wished purposes, whereas the twins would, thereby, be occupied with speaking about another subject, which has nothing to do with the discussion going around the dinner-table. Magi walked into the house while they were talking, briefly greeted the members of the Wesley’s family and climbed up the stairs to her rented room. - ' Magi returned early, today '. Said Sara to her husband Michael. - ' She goes out very early. I don't see her then. For I do only hear the sound of her steps '. Said Michael. - ' She works all the day. So she comes back tired and exhausted '. Said Sara. Sara Wellesley was a teacher in a school that wasn't very far from where she and her family live. And when she was off to school she used to be accompanied by the eight-years' old twins who were studying at the same school. Sara has known her husband Michael in a party to which she has gone with her twin sister who was working in the same hospital as Michael's. ..... As they were talking around the dinner-table Sara was, between now and then, stopping her conversation with her husband in order to address, in a decisive tone, the twins with demands of eating their food and leaving ' alone ' singing and playing. She would also, within those addresses, remind them of their sleeping time. Suddenly the mobile-phone rang. Michael was near it, so he answered the speaker who turned out to be Sara’s twin sister. He greeted her, asked her how she was and handed the telephone to his wife Sara. She, as well, greeted her sister and said to her that she wished to visit her last weekend, but she couldn't, for she has contracted flu and didn't feel very well. Sara finished her conversation with her sister by a promise of seeing her soon. The twin children soon left the dinner-table to sleep after they have kissed their father and mother ' good night '. Sara promised that she will be with them, in a minute and, as usual, tell them the bed-time story. Sara complained to her husband that, since some time, he didn't have dinner at home with them. ' Are you all right? ', she inquired. Michael answered her by saying that ' he is busy at work and needs to finish, in time, a certain job '. Sara was not convinced with that answer. She continued her inquiry: ' But I have contacted, several times, the hospital and didn't find you there?! ' To this Michael responded by saying that he would, sometimes, go out of the hospital to do some things pertaining to work. Sara was absent-minded. And on her face signs of disbelief showed. Her husband's tale didn't appeal to her very much, for it was the same tale she used to hear from him every day. She suggested to her husband having, at the present time, a leave from work, which they would, somehow, spend together. Michael didn't respond well to this suggestion. Again he said to his wife that he couldn't, at the moment, take such a leave, for there was a lot, which must had been done before thinking about anything of the sort. Sara wasn't ready for hearing propositions against what she believed. She was trying to save her kingdom which she's seeing moving towards the abyss (or so she imagined)... Suddenly she rose up and walked towards the twin's room without uttering even a single word. There she disappeared. The next day things weren’t going all right. Sara contemplated, in private, taking the twins, at the end of the school-day, and leaving to her twin sister's house. A feeling of ' having too much ' of her husband's displeasing behaviour finally overwhelmed her and she found herself leaving, with the twins, to her sister's place after writing a message to Michael saying that she walked out of the house because she found a great difficulty in living with him under the same roof!! Michael was bewildered when he found the message. ' What shall he do? ' He wondered. Anxiety and annoyance took the best of him and his day in the hospital was turned into a miserable lot. His colleagues there noticed his tension and absent-mindedness and some of them tried to console him. But his condition didn't change. At evening he returned home carrying with him a take-away food. He ventured phoning Sara at her twin sister's home, but she refused to talk to him. Again and again he tried to make Sara talk to him in the phone, but she declined doing that. This negative attitude of her had a sad effect on him. So he remained with his working-clothes and stayed as such until a late time of night. Meanwhile, he slowly walked towards the wine-safe, which was in the front of the sitting-room, and took a bottle of whisky. Without a company he started drinking his whisky listlessly. So he remained a lonely drinker until nearly midnight. Magi, gently and cautiously, entered the house and walked into it on the tips of her feet's fingers so that she wouldn't wake up anybody at such a late time of night. She was occupying a room in the first floor of the home of Michael and his family, whereas the latter people were all living in the ground floor. To get to her room she should come through the main door and climb the stairs up to it. Hence her keenness on not, as far as possible, making any sound in her coming into the place or going out of it. But at that night she found Michael still awake and sitting at the middle of the dinner-table, which was in the kitchen, and facing the main entrance of the house. She was surprised, but covered that up with a brief greeting to Michael. Then she was about to go upstairs to her own room when Michael invited her to sit with him. She, reluctantly, accepted his invitation while trying to hide her tiredness with an artificial half-smile. - ' I wasn't expecting you to stay awake until this late time of night '. Magi wondered. Michael, without looking to her face, responded to her wonder by saying that Sara and the twins have left home! - ' What happened? ' She asked. - ' Yesterday evening we had an argument and, in next day's morning, I found a note from her saying that that she has left the house and gone- with her children- to her twin sister's house '. - ' Haven't you contacted her? ' - ' I tried that several times, but she refused talking to me '. - ' Didn't you think of going there and talking to her? ' - ' I was busy all the day. I am now thinking of going to her there soon as I can, but fearing that she would shun me '. - ' No problem. But please try to visit her and discuss the matter together. I will also try, on my part, to contact her, for there is affinity between us '. - ' I hope so Magi. You are, obviously, tired. So you can go now and have some rest '. - ' O.K., I will leave you now. But tomorrow I will try to contact Sara '. In the small hours of the next morning Michael was still to be found in the same condition of last night, wearing the same working-clothes, a bottle of whisky in front of him and, on his frowned face, impressed melancholy and absent-mindedness. The door opened and the ' ghost ' of someone walked in quietly. Michael instantly greeted that person without taking the bother of looking at him (or her). Who else could that person be except Magi? So he, sadly, thought to himself. He asked the in-comer- whom he supposed to be Magi- if she has contacted Sara as she promised him last night. She didn't understand his question. So he, impatiently, repeated it to her. Swiftly she regained her attention and told him that she wasn't all right on that day, for her stomach was sourly aching her. But she, nevertheless, assured him that she will contact Sara tomorrow. Then, hurriedly and without coming close to him, she climbed the stairs up to her room. Michael shook his head and wondered, within himself, about what is going on in the house. Into the upper room of the house that ' ghost ' of a person entered and instantly moved towards the bed. The ' ghost ' was then weak and feeble in strength. For a whole day of exhausting and consummating work has taken the best of ' her '. But, despite all of that, this ' ghost ' wasn't able to fall asleep. That was because of something pensive occupying ' her ' mind and taking sleep away from ' her ', even though it was deadly needed by ' her '. So ' she '- the ' ghost '- started to turn over ' her ' bed all along the night and didn't have any taste of sleep until ' she ' heard birds chirping and demonstrating the cracking of the dawn of a new day... After not a very short time Magi, very cautiously, walked into the room to be surprised by realizing that her sister Rosy wasn't yet ready to go to her work-place. With a mouth opened with astonishment she moved- then- towards the only bed that the room contained in its centre and tried to wake up Rosy. But she found her eyes wide-open and flaying her with sharp glances! - ' What is going on here? ' Rosy whispered this question into Magi's ear. - ' What do you mean? ' Magi reiterated. - ' Last night Michael asked me whether I have contacted Sara! ' Rosy wondered. Magi bit her lip and said- within the course of a conversation that was yet running in whispers: ' I am very sorry, Rosy. I forgot to tell you that Michael and Sara had a tiff and I promised Michael to contact Sara who has left home for her twin sister's place '. - ' Don't you know that you have put me in a very difficult position of which I have, hardly, been saved and our mystery, for that reason, was about to be revealed and Michael wasn't too far away[/
away from realizing that we were twin sisters renting the same room?! - ' I am, once more, sorry for that, Rosy. But, please be quick now, get up and go to work and leave the bed for me. I am trembling from tiredness and my feet are weary and numb from standing up for the whole of the night '. Sara didn't very much enjoy her stay with her twin sister. She was bewildered about was becoming of her, her thoughts wandering about and the twin children persistently demanding to sea their father. Why did they left home? And when they shall go back to it? So they were, innocently and tearfully, asking all the time. Sara hadn't any answer for such worrying questions, except her ' vague ' assurance to them that she will manage to set things all right and that this won't take a long time... Often she sent those twin children away for playing with her twin sister's daughter who was the same age as them but suffering from loneliness since the separation of her mother from her father a long time ago. But even that plenty of playing and fun time didn't succeed in making them comfortable with their new environment. Sara’s twin sister used, during Sara’s stay with her, to talk a lot with the latter and blame her for her hastiness in leaving home. She was of the opinion that Michael has nothing in him to be complained about except his being busy working all the time. And t o support such opinion she reminded Sara that she was knowing this fact when she married Michael. To this kind of attitude towards her problem with Michael Sara’s response was that she ' doesn't understand how could a person have no time for his family and home '. Once Sara said to her twin sister that she began searching for an accommodation for her and her twin children. Of course her sister didn't agree with this idea and told her that her place could house them all as long as she was living with her daughter alone. then she advised Sara not at all to think about this matter. Sara’s sister turned on the telephone's answering-machine to see if there were any messages for her. She found a single message, registered in a woman's voice speaking in an Australian accent. She- the woman- first greeted, in her message, the people of the house. Then she said, addressing Sara, that she will visit her at the evening of that same day to chat with her! Sara was surprised. She asked here sister if she knew that woman. But the sister denied such a knowledge. Sara then said to her sister that this woman must be Michael's mistress! ' My heart was telling me that for some time ', she pointed out while she was overwhelmed by a back-dated feeling of suspicion about Michael's noticeable absence from home and his mid-nights' returns to it. To such a kind of suspicion Rosy, calmly, responded: ' Don't be haste. Let us wait and see '. Suspicions possessed Sara’s self, especially as Michael hasn't- as she thought- tried to visit them in the first day in which they left home. She was saying to Rosy that if he (Michael) was faithful to her and caring to the children he would have visited them in the same day of their leaving home. ' My heart is telling me that there is another woman in Michael's life. It's very difficult to trust men '. Sara reiterated. - ' But how could this woman have the wish to talk to you, if she was Michael's mistress? Rosy argued. - ' Don't you know? This is a golden chance, which she wants to grasp. She wants to say to me that her relationship with Michael has a long history so that she would hit in an eternal bolt between us. She wants him for herself alone.. And the chance for that has come to her. Otherwise he did she know the telephone's number?? - ' This is a good question. Where did she find the telephone's number? ' Rosy agreed. But she thought twice before, again, saying to Sara: ' Why should you jump to conclusions? She would be a friend who wishes to reconcile you with Michael '. - ' No, I don't think so. When she will visit us? ' - ' She will come at tea-time, about five o'clock in the evening '. - ' Well I will make myself ready for that meeting '. So Sara said and continued: ' She also knows the house's whereabouts! How did she know that?! ' - ' Let us wait and see '. Rosy reiterated. At five in the evening the house's bell rang. ' I will open the door ', said Rosy and, turning towards Sara, she added, ' don't be anxious. Let us see '. then shifted towards the door. There she found Michael accompanying a woman nearly the same age as his, wearing elegant clothes. Rosy welcomed Michael and the woman (the lady) with him and invited them to come in. The twins saw their father and rushed towards him in an overwhelming longing and gayety. His longing appears to be stronger than theirs, so he kissed them, with a distinct love and kindness. The twin children called their mother to come over and see their father who, finally, returned to them. Michael greeted his wife Sara. But she answered him coldly. Also she answered the greeting of ' that woman ' in a dry and artificial manner. - ' Are you the one who telephoned me here?? ' Sara said, addressing the strange woman while looking, suspiciously, at her. - ' Yes. It was me '. The woman said. - ' I think you have done something inappropriate '. Said Sara. - ' What do you mean by that?! ' - ' You have stolen my husband from me!! Aren't you ashamed of telephoning and, even, coming to visit us in this house?? ' Sara answered the woman's exclamation as her lovely touch of childish beauty was fading away from her face. - ' I think there is some misunderstanding between us '. Said the woman. - ' Do you come here to clarify misunderstanding? I doubt that a lot!! You have stolen my husband! And you, Michael, aren't you ashamed of coming here together with this robber, this woman-thief of men? - ' Excuse me, Madam. I haven't stolen your husband '. Then she continued talking after having a deep breath: ' I haven't stolen your husband. But you are the one who has stolen from me my twin brother!! ' Sara opened her mouth wide and frowned her eye-brows. Silence reigned over the place for some span of time. Sara shifted her looks around the present and her eyes, in a certain moment, met with her husband's whose face was, then, impressed by a broad smile. Michael said, addressing his wife Sara: ' I introduce to you my twin sister Lillian who came from Australia. She is here for a short visit. I have only recently known that I had a twin sister, and I was planning to talk to you about her in the night in which you became angry with me. She arrived here, from Australia, just yesterday... Beside this good news I have a lovely surprise for you. We are going to Cyprus in a holiday, for I have, after a hard struggle, succeeded in wresting, for myself, a vacation from work which duration is agreeing with that of the children's school-holiday. I have already bought the journey's tickets '. Sara looked at her twin sister and they smiled. Then she walked towards Michael, embraced and kissed him. She, as well, went towards Lillian, embraced and kissed her after repeating several words and phrases expressing regret and apology to her. Finally, Sara moved towards her twin sister, embraced and kissed her. The children didn't quite realize the nature of what is going on there, in front of their eyes, and they were astonished!! - ' Let's go. Let's return home '. Michael, happily, said to his twin children. - ' Yes, let us go to our home, children; the home of the twins!!! ' - ' I am afraid that Magi, who is renting from us the upstairs' room, is also a twin sister!! ' Said Michael. - ' In that case our story will be amazing!!! ' Said Sara. June 1995.

Resounding

He always believed that he is truthful, good-loving and contented. But his work, in the 711 shop, after a short hesitation, compelled him to re-arrange some of his affairs. For he wishes to send money to his relations at home, but he has no ready cash on him. Besides that there are the restrictions and responsibilities of official work and the long waiting for it. This self-conversation hasn't last for long. He did decide upon the matter and determined to try casual work, especially after meeting his friend Zaidan in a social occasion. The work in restaurants and in cleaning doesn't appeal to him. So why he shouldn't try working at 711 and see for himself what will become of his personal conditions? He said to his friend Zaidan that he doesn't know how to deal with the cash-machine. But the latter reassured him and called that a simple matter. The conversation continued with further remarks from Zaidan reminding him that almost all of their other friends have passed through such a kind of experience. However, Zaidan finished his talk with his friend Azhari on a note that the 711's sort of a job is, generally, a ' civilized ' one and better than many other jobs! Azhari started his work at the 711 shop. The most annoying thing to him there was the personal search he has to be subjected to at the end of the every working day. Also he was annoyed by his work in selling wines, something which he has tried to avoid by standing away from the cash-machine so that no one of the customers would ask him for a bottle of wine from the wine-shelf that is placed just behind it. Azhari agreed with Zaidan, who didn't see anything embarrassing in selling wine, on exchanging places whenever a chance for that comes. One day Zaidan asked him: ' What shall you do if your working time-table has been changed in a way that didn't agree with mine and you found no one around who would sell wine instead of you? ' - ' I haven't thought before about that matter ', said Azhari. Then he added: ' Something else is bothering me too. It's the coming of Ramadan '. - ' What does the coming of Ramadan mean?! ' Said Zaidan. By that time Azhari was busy lining up some amounts of goods on the empty shelves. He- on hearing Zaidan's exclamation- stopped working for a while, looked at him and continued the conversation: ' In Ramadan my situation will be critical '. - ' Have you any alternative? ' - ' No, I have none '. - ' Well then. Take a leave '. - ' But how? I do need any penny '. - ' So continue with your work and do as all of the people here do! ' Said Zaidan in a bluntly sharp tone. Azhari again stopped doing his job and looked at Zaidan as if he was about to ask him about the ' nature ' of the ' thing ' that ' all people do here in Britain '. Zaidan, without being questioned by Azhari, informed Azhari about that in a voice tinted with anger: ' Oh, Azhari. Our people here do jobs as the same as those ones being done by the people of this country! ' That as if he wanted, by this sentence, to cut short the course of this deadly conversation. The next day Zaidan didn't come to the shop. So the manager of it was forced to contact one of the workers and urged her to come to the shop and take the place of the absent Zaidan. By that time Azhari had taken over the work and, with apparent frowning, stood behind the cash-machine. Fortunately, an hour passed since he started working and no one asked him for wine. Then one of the woman-workers came to replace the absent Zaidan. Azhari took the chance and seated her behind the cash-machine, hurried towards the goods that some of which were still strewn on the floor. Then he started re-arranging the positions of the newspapers and magazines on the shelves, something which wasn't needed by the time. Azhari didn't tell his fellow-worker why he was avoiding a certain area of the shop and she didn't bother to ask. At the evening of that day a folk of friends gathered at the place of Zaidan, Azhari's friend. Among them was Hasabo, the merchant whose dealings go between The Sudan and Britain. Many of that merchant's friends have stopped running such a kind of business. For the Custom Tariff's Authorities had given them a hard time. But Hasabo didn't stop his activities. On the contrary, his trade was then flourished and became larger in size and in benefit. He even extended it to the former U.S.S.R's states and the states of South Eastern Asia. He didn't give any attention to people's talk about his links with ' The Authorities '. What was causing a tremendous anger to Hasabo's friends was his manipulating his friends' and acquaintances' money- which was meant to be sent, through him, to their families and relatives in The Sudan- in commercial dealings of his own, without their consent. Thus he used to hand that money to the benefiting parties not just at a very late time of that which was reasonably expected of him but, also, less in its sums. Hasabo's wicked behaviour didn't surprise Azhari; he had sorts of persons who were like him. But what was extremely irritating to him about Hasabo was his being a big-mouth who involve himself into talking about everything, with or without knowledge. " This person is ignorant ". Azhari said that to himself in private. ' This person is not ignorant. He is sick '. Zaidan whispered into azhari's ear. Within a short period of time Hasabo asked Azhari whether he had a wish to send some money to his cousins in The Sudan. He answered him negatively, though, within himself, he was wishing that. That is because the information he had gathered about Hasabo, from Zaidan, and what was shown to him, through observation, of Hasabo's manner of behaving and talking convinced him to refrain from it. Before midnight Zaidan invited Azhari to stay, for the night, at his place, and the latter agreed to the invitation, especially that the day was the last one of his working week. Beside him there were also some of Zaidan's friends who preferred to spend the night at his home. Part of those made their beds on the floor after holding, under their arm-pits, several arm-chairs' cushions. This wasn't Azhari's first night at Zaidan's place. Of course, before sleeping they had their dinner together, chatted and blabbed about a variety of matters. And, even after they had put off the lights and went to bed, those talks continued and considered the subject of " women " where Azhari spoke about Alawiyya, whom her folks has betrothed to him, and who was still waiting for their wedding day. Saad chatted about Igbal, to whom he confessed love as he was about to leave The Sudan. He remembered how his heart has almost being wrenched out of his chest when she accepted his love and requited it. But their surprise was great when Zaidan, as well, told them that he happened to have a passionate relationship with one of his female university colleagues which was ' live and kicking ', even after their graduation. He, however, said to his listeners that, when he decided to travel abroad, he put a stop to his relationship with her arguing that he ' doesn't know when he will come back to The Sudan '. Then he changed the subject and talked to them about his present relationship with Harriett and how it is promising with a future of marriage. ' But ', he continued, ' the most important development in this matter is that my parents and relatives had sent me letters expressing their discontent with my relationship with Harriett '. But this animated chattering started, for a while, to quieten down its pace and rhythm. Then it finally vanished and drowned into a deep sleep. Suddenly, as they were all sleeping, one of them shouted: ' the siphon... Alawiyya...!.. The siphon... Alawiyya...!! '. All of them annoyingly rose up and found Azhari full awake. He apologized to them that he was having a disturbing dream... Azhari's eyes didn't- then- ' see ' any sleep until morning, whereas the others returned to their beds and resumed sleeping. For the whole duration in which morning was on the brink of advent Azhari was thinking of Alawiyya and... the siphon. His folks, back home, sent letters requesting him to remit to them what's possible of money so that they would continue constructing the siphon the work in which has, for some time, been started with his assistance. Also he was preoccupied with the affairs of his two sisters, Batool and Buthaina, who hadn't succeeded in being admitted to the university. He promised, sometime ago, to send them to study abroad under his own sponsorship. As to his mother she was, lately, troubled with diabetics, while his father's shop was emptied from goods, as those became rare, high-priced and in less demand... Azhari's friends, especially Zaidan, didn't know all about these pressures and problematic situations, for every one of them has troubles that, more or less, as worrying as those. Zaidan was knowing aspects of such pressures and problems, but he didn't chose to speak to Azhari about them. Azhari continued working in the 711's shop. Ramadan passed. Sometimes he would- during that holy month- hand wine-bottles with handkerchiefs when some of the customers order them. As he was doing that, beside the cash-machine, no one asked him about the mystery of the bottle of wine folded with a handkerchief. He had a ready answer for such a kind of question. But the buyers relieved him from it by their not asking! One day, in which rain didn't stop falling from morning until about midnight, Hasabo came to Azhari's place. His clothes were- then- all soaked because he wasn't carrying an umbrella with him. He told Azhari that he has got letters for him from his family in The Sudan. That was before even taking off his wet clothes. - ' I hope there are good news. Is my mother well? ' Azhari inquired. - ' All are well and sending you their greetings. I came back this evening from The Sudan. You know that I will stay here, with Zaidan '. Azhari has known that Hasabo, whenever he comes to London, was in the bad habit of imposing himself, as an insensitive guest, on Zaidan. But, despite of that, even Zaidan had never been spared Hasabo's flaying tongue. - ' By God, Azhari, if you have any food at your place, please bring it to ' us '. Do you believe that nothing eatable is in Zaidan's place? '. Hasabo said. To this Azhari answered that he, as well, hasn't got any food deserving the name, except for just some yogurt. - ' No problem. Bring it to ' us '. But- by God- what happened to you? Where are you living?! " London ", it supposed to be!!! ' Hasabo so reacted to what he heard. He then passed to Azhari a bundle of letters he took and was about to put aside when Hasabo advised him to read those as there was, in some of them, an important message from his mother. - ' An important message from my mother?! Is she all right? ' - ' Yes, a message from your mother. Don't worry. She is well '. Hasabo said, after having taken a seat on the opposite side of Azhari's. - ' God wills that things shall be all right '. He took one of the letters and started to unfold it. But Hasabo instantly shouted at him: ' No, not this letter. It is the brown-coloured one! ' Azhari unfolded the letter with caution and expectation, while his heart's beats were mounting. A heavy silence settled over the room. Hasabo was, by the time, watching Azhari whose breathing, while reading the letter, was rising and falling down. Azhari, after finishing reading the letter, didn't say anything for a moment. Hasabo interrupted him: ' Aha.. God shall make things all right! I have left your mother hale and well '. - ' You have lent them $1000 '. Azhari said. - ' You don't know how life is hard there '. Hasabo said this in a superficial tone. - ' When do you like the money back? ' Azhari puffed that out. Hasabo wiped his face with both of his hands and said: ' Of course nowadays so that I can buy goods with it. You know that the eid is neigh '. The last words he said after belching loudly. - ' I will manage that sum for you within days. But I wish you shan't do that once more. Why are you selling the dollars to them at less than the market's rate? And, above all that, you deduct 10 percentage of the sum as a commission! ' - ' Of course, Azhari, you don't know the reality of the circumstances there. The Authorities have harassed us a lot, especially after the rising of the dollar's price '. - ' I don't know about these matters and I have no wish to know. So, by God, don't give my family any amount of money without my knowledge '. (Azhari's facial expressions changed and his anger was visible). - ' Generally ' we ' wish to help. But if you see the matter otherwise, I shall not deal with you in the future. There are a lot of people who wish to deal with me ' (Hasabo said that while looking towards the window). So Hasabo gluttonously ate his food, made himself a cup of tea and left Azhari's place with the knowledge that it is not more than a few days and he will receive, from Azhari, the sum of the $1000. In her letter to him, Azhari's mother said that Hasabo came to visit and told them that he can lend them the equivalent of $1000 on the understanding that Azhari shall pay it back when he sees him in Britain. They- as she said- refused his suggestion. But he, in the next morning, came back to them and insisted on what he proposed claiming that he is just like their son, that Azhari is his brother and friend, and that he isn't in a hurry for being repaid the money. And because of their crucial need- his mother said- they took the money and decided to write to him- Azhari- about the matter. The other letters were from his sisters Batool and Buthaina. In these letters Batool and Buthaina were telling him that they have applied for jobs of teaching in some Lower Secondary schools because they don't wish to burden him with what is over his own capacity. As for the rest of the news, they were about their father's being a partner of the ' fishy ' dealer Taj Alata, who had become a wealthy man. The partnership's contract states that Taj Alata should supply the goods and their father provide the shop, while the profits shall be divided between them as 80% to Taj Aata and 20% to their father. Azhari was saddened and greatly startled by these news. How could his father agree to deal with this man who hasn't been thankful and grateful for the family's taking every care of him when he was in absolute poverty? For that man wouldn't then be able to feed himself if my father wasn't the guardian of him and his family. So Azhari wondered, and he remembered the day when this ' Ata ' was expelled from the family's house when circumstances changed and he became a rich man and, boldly, proposed buying the house from his father. There was also a letter from Alawiyya. In it she advised him not to worry about the meeting which took place between their parents and discussed the matter of their marriage. For there her father urged his father to hurry him (Azhari) up in the way of marriage because time is not known and trusted! Alawiyya explained, in that letter, how her uncles were pestering her father with their many questions about her marriage to Azhari. She described to him how she, agreeably and easily, talked to her father until she convinced him of her trust in him whose responsibilities were much burdening him. She, indeed, requested Azhari not to bother much about her (and his) folks' talk. Azhari's situation wasn't a natural one. For he had, beside Alawiyya, family responsibilities. And what about himself? And how he could find for himself a foot-hold in this country whereas his income wasn't appropriate to his present and future expenses? He asked, some time ago, his friend Zaidan to see, for him, the possibility of an extra-time work, but nothing positive has, yet, come out of that. One weekend day Zaidan telephoned Azhari and asked him if he was still interested in an extra-time work. Azhari answered that positively. So Zaidan told him about a chance of work in a mini-cab office and in a night shift the duration of which extended to the morning. Azhari accepted the job without hesitation. Then he inquired about the whereabouts of the work. Zaidan answered him that it's in Gloucester Road's area, that the owners of it were Pakistanis, that they should pay him two pounds per hour, and that they wanted him to start working at once. Azhari immediately started working in the mini-cab office. And, in few days, he perfected the job and was no longer feeling the pressures of working in the 711's shop. ' Oh, there is no work without troubles and obstacles in a country in which we have no full rights, for it's not our country! ' So Azhari thought. The problem with the work in the mini-cab office was that its bosses didn't care for paying Azhari his dues in the defined time. That wasn't a successful beginning, and it made him feel disgusted. He thought of leaving the work. But Zaidan advised him to be patient. Azhari's boss has once told him that he was wishing to help him. So he advised Azhari to issue a temporary driving-license and leave the rest of the ' matter ' to him. Azhari ignored that and didn't think much of it. For shadows of doubt and suspicion have dwelled over the character of his relationship with the mini-cab office. In a former letter to his family folks Azhari suggested, to them, stopping constructing the siphon which was being too much expensive in cost. Thereby he advised them to try and complete it in some manner of local construction, as it was the way in the past. He used to have a wish to send his sister for studying medicine in Ukraine and that- as he said- could help him much in achieving that. The letter was headed with an addressing to his father. Thus it requested him to discuss these matters with the rest of the family. So the father, therein, held a meeting with the family's members and related to them the contents of that letter. Batool and Buthaina objected to what it suggested about them on the grounds that medicine's study is long and expensive. Furthermore, there was the unstable financial situation of their brother. And, finally, they argued for their viewpoint by saying that their house was the only one in the area which hasn't yet been provided with a siphon! The meeting was, however, finished by the conclusion that all of what it has tackled was, practically, pointing towards the fact that Azhari's marriage would, in the light of it, be postponed to an indefinite time, something no one wished to happen. Azhari's mother said, in this respect, that she preferred Azhari's soon marriage over the constructing of the siphon, and that the matter of the sisters' study abroad wasn't so necessary then, for they had already started working in teaching and, within the near future, they would- if God willed- be fortunate enough to have decent husbands. Azhari knew about the contents of that meeting through a loving letter from his father. Alawiyya, on her part, sent another letter in which she talked about the importance of sending his two sisters for study in Ukraine and asked him not to bother himself much about the matter of hurrying up with their marriage. She had known about the message from the family's letter to Azhari from his sister Buthaina. Azhari became puzzled. What shall he do? For there are many things converging, intercepting with each other, horizontally and diametrically. He decided to go to Zaidan's place so that he might find, in his company, some consolation in which his worries would be drowned. The time was about midnight, and the day was a weekend day. So the street, the train station and the distance to Zaidan's home appeared empty from by-passers. Some of those were hurrying along; others tottering about as if they couldn't walk. Azhari arrived to Zaidan's place, and the latter opened the door for him, with a welcoming reception. He invited him to sit and asked him if he has a wish to eat. ' The food is there in the kitchen, and it is still warm '. He said to him encouragingly. Azhari thanked him and preferred to have a cup of tea which he made for himself, came up with it and sat close to Zaidan who was watching the television. Zaidan stood up, lowered the volume of the T.V. and returned to his seat. Azhari asked him: ' Where is the rest of the group? ' - ' They went out before a while, and I don't think someone of them, or else, will come back '. Zaidan was tipsy, and Azhari noticed that. He didn't invite him to drink alcohol because he didn't drink. Zaidan inquired about Azhari's conditions, in work and at home. Then he shifted to the subject of Azhari's family affairs. Azhari hadn't the wish to talk to Zaidan about that at such a time and in such a circumstance. But Zaidan didn't leave him alone and asked him about Alawiyya's news. - ' I have, recently, received a letter from her. She is all right '. - ' Do you love her? ' - ' Very much. Why are you asking? ' - ' Just a question '. Answered Zaidan, sighed, adjusted his sit and continued the talk: ' I was working with an American relief organization in Al-Obayyid city in 1991. By that time The Authorities changed the currency. People suffered a lot because of that. I was the one who was in charge of the organization's stores and I had, then, received a huge cargo of American grains sent there from Port Sudan. When that cargo got through to Al-Obayyid and had been delivered I had to give the load-carriers their wages. But there wasn't enough currency on me. The Authorities had put certain limits to that and specified for bus sums of money which wouldn't cover those wages. I went to those who were in charge in the State Offices. They weren't very positive. So I had been extremely angered and told them, to their faces, that The Sudanese proverb which went as ' I came to help him with digging his father's grave, but he went on hiding the diggers ' was apt in describing them. ' Did you know what happened then? ' Zaidan posed a question. Then he, in an answer to it, continued talking and said, ' they came to my home at the dead of the night, took me to the open, gave me a thrashing beat and left me there unconscious '. - ' What happened after that? ' - ' I went back to the city, in the next morning and in unenviable condition. But they didn't yet leave me alone. They contacted me again, apologized for the beating and asked me for my ' co-operation ' with them!! ' - ' Co-operation with them! ' Azhari reiterated indignantly. - ' Anyway, I have prepared myself, after that, for leaving the country and put an end to my relationship with Iman '. - ' Why did you cut that relationship short? Have you disagreed with Iman? ' - ' No '. He said it while wiping a tear dropped from one of his eyes, followed by a sigh, an exhalation, many exhalations, then he burst into weeping. That very emotional act made Azhari's eyes popping out at Zaidan. He rose from his seat, went close to Azhari, sat near him and started tapping on his shoulder. Zaidan, struggling with himself, talked, in a tone tattered and punctuated with sighs and exhalations, about his story with Iman and Azhari, meanwhile, remained at his side, calming him down. ' She is the greatest woman in the world ', Zaidan said of Iman, ' and I am still loving her. But how could I do so as I was going abroad without knowing when should I return home? ' Azhari went into the kitchen, brought a cup of water and gave it to Zaidan who took and drank it hurriedly. Then he fetched out of his pocket a handkerchief, handed it to Zaidan who thanked him after a period of silence. Before that Azhari had put the T.V. off. Zaidan felt dizzy and in need of vomiting so he, swiftly, moved towards the bathroom, vomited loudly as if his entrails were about to pop out through his throat. Azhari quickly went up to him, stood on his beside and asked him whether he needed any help. Zaidan answered him with a shake of the head. He went back to his seat. Then, suddenly, he rose up, moved into Zaidan's room and rearranged things inside of it. But when he returned to where he was he found Zaidan was still in the bathroom. ' I think it's better for you, Zaidan, to go and have some sleep '. Said Azhari. ' I think that is better '. Answered Zaidan. Azhari led him to his room and sat beside him. ' I shall go and sleep after a while. Don't worry yourself '. He said to him. He stood for a while, took the cover from under Zaidan's feet, unfolded and stretched it over him to the neck. Then he put off the light, wished him a happy night and left, closing the door behind himself. In the next morning Zaidan woke up early, but he didn't find Azhari in the place. He thought, at first, that he might still be sleeping. He went into the kitchen, made himself a cup of coffee, returned to his room, put on the radio, tuned it to the B.B.C. World Service, which he preferred most. He turned the volume a lot down, thinking that of not disturbing Azhari. A short time passed and Zaidan heard the ringing of the clock's alarm-bell in the other room and understood that Azhari should soon be awake. It was obvious that he had something to do that morning; otherwise he wouldn't fix the alarm-bell to that early time of the day. But the alarm-bell's ringing didn't stop. So Zaidan slowly moved towards Azhari's room to see what was going on. He didn't find Azhari in bed. So he thought that he could be in the bathroom and stopped worrying much about the matter. He set off the alarm-bell, went towards the bathroom to check if Azhari was there. ' Azhari, Azhari ', he shouted, ' are you in-there? ' He heard no answer for his question. He stepped closer to the bathroom's door, opened it and entered in. No one was inside!!... Zaidan returned to the room where Azhari was sleeping. He carefully looked around it, knelt down on the floor and started to search for Azhari under the bed! No one was there! He wondered anxiously: ' Has he gone out without telling me?? But, to where?! ' Zaidan went back to his own room where he found an envelope, which he failed to see before, carefully placed on the table. He took it, opened it and found enclosed a cheque of $1000 written in the name of Hasabo. Zaidan left that envelope where it was and moved towards the outside door which he found open. He was surprised, walked out into the street, turning his eyes to the right and to the left. Still no trace of Azhari! He stood still for a moment and his head troubled with thousands of questions. Again he went back into the house, quite anguished and tense. He thought of telephoning Azhari at home, but remembered, when beside the telephone, that it was just receiving calls. ' Damn on Hasabo ', he said loudly. Then he went into his room, brought his notebook where he used to secure the telephone's secret code numbers so that Hasabo wouldn't be able, when he was at his place, to use it. Zaidan then made a phone call to Azhari's place, but hadn't been answered. He tried to recall Azhari's number, for quite several times, but no positive results he gained. He contacted, through the telephone, Azhari's friends Muneim, Magdi and Saeid, but they all told him that they hadn't seen him, or heard anything about or from him, that morning, so they were going to come up to his- Zaidan's- place and see what could be done about the matter. That was prompted, especially, by their knowledge, from Zaidan, about Azhari's absence from his work-place because he was off that day. Zaidan contacted, in his efforts to trace Zaidan's whereabouts, hospitals and police stations, but they all informed him that they hadn't, within their premises, any person with such a name and descriptions.

Narrative Texts 1

In the ancient bus that's crawling, slowly, through the famous Oxford Street and moving, north-wise, towards the British Museum the passengers who were boarding off were more than those who were boarding on. There on the second deck of the bus someone stretched his hand towards a newspaper its owner has left after shuffling quickly through it. The black bus-conductor moved, with slow steps, towards our fellow and said: ' And what about our press, we the blacks? ' - ' But it's weekly! ' The passenger unhesitantly answered. - ' Let us buy it so that it becomes daily!! ' The bus-conductor reiterated.

2 The comic programme's presenter asked one of the competitors to comment on the words of the last French prime minister in which he said: ' There is an organized campaign to distort Franc's reputation launched by the countries which were reluctant to interfere, positively, in Rwanda '. The first competitor said in his comment: ' The French prime minister doesn't wish to leave anything great for the coming government do!! ' And before the present burst out in laughter the Hall's electric current ' burst ' out and the reserved generators, which were self-energizing, went out of order.

3 When his first friend joined a reconciliatory movement shock and frustration got the best of himself. He hurried to his second friend to save his first one... After many failed attempts his second friend explained out the act: ' Those guys have ' eaten ' up his head '. A decade passed and he, himself, joined that movement. As to his second friend he became its guru!

4 In his answer to one of the press conference's questions the tramp, who has been chosen as a model for one of the most famous houses of fashion, said that he shall never forget his past friends, and that the stars' and tramps' societies don't differ in any thing!

5 Into the chasm of the political asylum's country you telephone your family and friends- as long as you could afford that- for a span of time...... then you telephone yourself for the whole time.

Rachael Howard's Husband

' Assalamu Alaikum '. She said in a weak Arabic language mixed with an English accent. then she continued her speech: " Please let your honourable society allow me to speak in English. Those Arabic greetings were the first things I have learned from Siddeeg. and I now find myself in a very difficult situation as I am standing in front of your present gathering for paying tributes to the missed late. I have known Siddeeg since a long time. For he was my husband, my beloved and my brother, my father and my mother, everything to me and my whole life. I am still remembering the first day in which I have known Siddeeg. He was a transparent, kind and good-mannered human being. I- then- asked him about his country and why he left it and came here ". " After a short while of silence ", she continued, " he answered that question of mine, with a sad and grim facial expression. Of his homeland he talked; that beautiful country which was, until the day of his departure, never absent from his heart and mind. A lot he spoke to me of his home country and of the people of his home country. And I do confess that I did love that land- The Sudan- and its people. I have visited it only once, and it was enough for me to reveal the nature and good character of that beloved country the people of which have overwhelmed me with their love and genuine generosity, something that I shall, for all of my life, not forget ". " I am now remembering that whenever we- myself and Siddeeg- have gone together to the English country side he used to talk much to me about the Sudanese country side and how it is beautiful and enchanting, especially on the shores of the White Nile, and about his own village that's resting on a happy and tranquil bank. He was telling me a lot about the support and co-operation which is, generally, the attitude of the Sudanese village. And what most preoccupying to his mind was the question of how he could help the people of his village ". " We also used to think together about some projects to be established there. And my thoughts and suggestions in this wise was found, in many cases, to be rather imaginative and out of place. He, in such cases, would adjust them to suit the character and circumstances of his people there in a way that never failed to leave me feeling as if I- and not him- was the one who adjusted and reformulated them ". " Siddeeg was talking a lot about his people. He was faithful to them and they were loving him too much. I do have the honour to share many persons my love for Siddeeg.... I do remember that he was daily dreaming of the homeland. And, in many situations, his sleep would be punctuated with fits of nightmares and obsessions which would make him wake up with a startle- he was deeply missing his country and homefolks.... Siddeeg didn't visit Sudan since he came here. But his homeland remained glowing in his mind. And the day in which he received a letter from home was always a day of celebration for him. I remember that he was starting his day with fetching he letter-box for the homeland’s letters with their distinctive stamps. And when he did find some letters his face would be gladdened and brightened up and he would those with care and kindness, as if they were a little babies. Then he would, searchingly, look at the letters' envelopes, their stamps, seals and dates. He used to say to me before opening the envelopes of those letters: ' This letter is from Khartoum. That one is from the White Nile region. And that one is from Juba '. Then I would say to him: ' Wouldn't you wait until you unfold those letters and see their contents for yourself? ' He would then laugh and say to me in his baritone voice: ' You don't know what those letters mean to me. They are a significant psychological and social occasion '. When I realized the influence of those letters in ' our ' life I tended to wake up early, go to the flat's door and patiently wait for the tall postman with whom our relationship has been strengthened and who was always saying to me, with a charming smile: ' Yes, there are letters from The Sudan '. I would then gladly take those to Siddeeg who, on seeing me, would inquire, with a smile: ' Have you brought us a good hunt? '... " " I remember that once we had talked about girls' circumcision [what is termed locally as ' the Paranoiac circumcision '- The translator] and I had liked his conception of that problem. I remember that he, thereby, said to me that such a problem would not be solved except with the application of science and the congregation of efforts, which are to be pioneered by women themselves. Then I told him that I will go to The Sudan, talk to the village's girls about this big problem, supporting myself in that by the mean of some appropriate educational methods. To this he replied that I would have a surprise in waiting for me! And, actually, I found that surprise when I went, in person, to that Sudanese village: I didn't see any one who was living there who wasn't old!! " " The honourable audience: My knowledge of Siddeeg and my relationship with him have enlightened to me many aspects about life in his homeland, The Sudan. I did realize the big difference between us and our fellow human beings in The Sudan. We here talk, form societies and various organizations concerning with many subjects such as animal rights, green peace and even the ozone layer. And we, in doing that, aim to convey our culture to the world, with the understanding that we are champions of civilization and citizenship! But we have discovered that we are ' living in a different vale ' (" barking on the wrong tree ") ". " The honourable present: Myself and Siddeeg were agreeing and disagreeing as the rest of people. But to our agreement and disagreement there were taste and flavour of their own! We were disagreeing nobly. I would then stop talking to him for days and nights. But he would then not ceasing addressing me with letters flowing with tenderness and gentle manners ". " The honourable present: I would like to finish my speech with a sentence Siddeeg has written to a friend, in one of his letters to home. There he said: ' If the home folks have their worries and problems, so are the people of this country! " " Assalamu Alaikum "... She said it in a weak Arabic language and, with it, finished her speech. Then she took a seat on the front row of the hall. Thundering clapping rose up in the hall as Rebecca Nash finished reading her short story which won the first prize in the competition run by the B.B.C. World Service. London, April 1995.

The Barrier .

The press-conference, which held at the end of the sessions of the conference of The Sudanese States' Economic Union (S.T.E.U.) in Kassala, the Taka State's capital, between the 6th and the 8th of April 2050, was something frank and positive in dealing with all of the issues it tackled, something which compels us to say that it has achieved a great success. To the discussions of that conference contributed the presidents of the states of Darfur, Sinnar, The Federal Amatunj State, beside the hosting State of Taka. The conference admitted the state of Kurdofan, in the S.T.E.U., as a supervising member. That is untill a referendum, on the right of self-determination, is shortly held under international guardianship and supervision. There were some reservations, in this regard, raised by Darfur State. But the meeting presidents dispelled its fears and agreed to the appointment of supervisors from it so that they would, neutrally, watch over the expected referendum process. The conference has agreed that unity couldn't be fruitful if it has been imposed by force. It was enough- the member states emphasized- that the last century has witnessed that civil war which wasted the natural and human resources and impeded development for a half century in the state which was so-called " The United Sudan ". In relation to the expected referendum on self-determination for Kurdofan State Kordofan's envoy to the conference expressed its vision on the matter in two possible options: 1. Total independence. 2. Federation or confederation with Darfur State. That was recommended in the light of the experience of Nuba Mountains, Fashoda and Angasana regions, which have been united into The Federal State of Amatunj that has achieved a noticeable success in the various fields of socio-economic development. As to the subject of cultures and languages, the conference retained respect and dignity to the cultural entities which was neglected and subdued in the past that self esteem has been regained by those entities in the aftermath of their being the constitutions of new states. As the historian knows, this matter was, in the bygone days, an essential requirement and a central cause. Such a change has, eventually, been reflected in the growth and empowerment of those cultures and languages to the degree that caused a reconsideration (re-appraisal) of the status of them, even in some of the S.T.E.U states, which were of rather different cultural and linguistic formations. Thus languages such as those of The Danagla, Sukkot and Halfawis [ancient Nubian languages- The translator] had come to be taught in The State of Sinnar, side by side with Arabic and English languages. The cornerstone of this construction was the freedom which was deeply-rooted in all of the S.T.E.U states, something which prompted the breaking of the vicious circle within which, in the past, power was recurrently exchanged between the military men and the traditional political parties. Things then settled down and the citizens of the S.T.E.U tasted the sweetness of freedom after many decades of human struggle and patience. That was so impressed into the conception of certain peoples and folks who that some of them, especially those who were older, imagined that they were living in a dream-world. And one of the wonderful things about it was that even the serious political crisis which befell The State of Sinnar and led, several times, to the change of the government didn't tempt the military men with the action of seizing power, for the state has, therein, become a state of well-based and effective institutions. The conference has also discussed the draft resolution, which was formulated by The Joint Ministerial Committee for Commerce, Freedom of Travel, Residency and Owning Property. Within the other significant recommendations of the conference was its rectifying the constitution of The Greater Parliament of the S.T.E.U. Indeed, the birth of the parliament, which was based in the Kurdofanian city of Kadogli, started a new era of co-ordination, between the members of the S.T.E.U., in different regional and international planes. And, as it is stated in its legal codes, it was vested with the responsibilities for seeing to the issues, which concern the future and welfare of the citizens of the S.T.E.U., besides its being asked for investigating other S.T.E.U controversial issues. The final statement of the press-conference of the S.T.E.U thanked, in the name of the assembled presidents, the hosting state, and also sent messages of compliments, admiration and acknowledgement to the pioneering generation that made possible the happenings of the day by their historical agreement to take a decisive action in regard to the destiny of the state of the Old Sudan. That action was mainly consisted of giving The Sudan's peoples the right of self-determination so that they could, by themselves, choose the types and forms of rules they would favour. The breaking through the psychological barrier which, among other things, precluded, in the past, the division of the old one Sudanese State wasn't something easy or convenient for many people. It was a hard labour survived by wisdom and experience. To the last question of that prominent press-conference the speaker of it gave the following answer: " If the parliament of the S.T.E.U., which is supposed to be shortly inaugurated, leads to some or other form of unity between the S.T.E.U member states that wouldn't be based except on essential foundations, serious and comprehensive studies, besides the agreement of the different parliaments to it and, finally, the presenting of it to an open and free referendum among the citizens of the S.T.E.U so that they could, by themselves, have a decisive word on it ". June 1996.

The Thread's End A Dedication: To teachers generally, and to one of them [Lugam], particularly. ************

My dear: Zakariyya Regards and greetings! I have received your last letter. I thank you very much for it. For you have transformed me, through its world, to scenes and worlds I thought I wouldn't remember again. I have considered much your sentence in which you said that you aren't tasting any flavour for life in ' your ' country that is, materially and culturally, rich. Is that true? I have read, before, about human nature and the impact of the involuntary transformations which the human being is living. But, in spite of that, you are- I think- living in ' heaven '. As to our conditions- and I would rather say ' our fates '- here you wouldn't believe me if I say that we became programmed for day and night, and that we, as our Egyptian would say, are attempting to ' hit our heads on the walls ' so that we might release ourselves from this ' strict entanglement ' and be liberated from its captivity. Some of us failed in that, while others still struggling for it. The city, my dear, has been beaten by melancholy, for destruction has dwelled in it and we have been turned into sad hunters for not just a laughing face but even a mere smiling one. For all laughter and smiling had disappeared from our land and left. My dear, Abdu Rabbo the Yemeni, Gulbaji the Indian, Yanni the Greek and, finally, Jirjis the Coptic have all abandoned the area as Life had played havoc with their fates. The day of their departure was very sad gloomy. Then we made them a farewell party in which all of them burst in weeping, and promised to return! My dear, I have been gladdened with your reception of my letter to you. I feared that it wouldn't get through to you, since I have sent it via an " underground passageway " which- I hoped- wouldn't let it get into " them peoples' " hands! I heard, from our friend Abuk, that she once talked with her family by the telephone and, suddenly, a harsh voice ' bombed ' her shouting: " Why don't you talk in Arabic! " My dear, I am still teaching history at the same school and to the same class. That gives me a great happiness which makes me forget and sweeps me away into " other " worlds in which there are, however, no difficulties and agonies as our own. I those classes I would see myself explaining and profusely talking about how in some X land corruption became the rule of the day as well as conspiracies. For the rulers there had busied themselves with their private worldly matters and ceased caring an inch about the conditions and affairs of their people and citizens. That- as I used to explain with a visible relish- led to rage and unrest that were negatively reflected on the state's performance, hence that slackened and worn off until the masses vigorously revolted against it and destroyed the corrupted and the corrupting. My dear, when I repeat such forms of syllables and sentences I would do that a word by word, find myself feeling extremely happy and the students would then positively respond to me, though I do sense that there is " some " among them who are counting my breathings! Dear Zakariya, do you remember the teacher Miawya Abu Riala [i.e., ' The Salivating Miawya! ']? That guy became a ' big shot ' after he had joined the ranks of the hedonist opportunists. For he had been swiftly promoted along the line until he reached the post of the school's headmaster. Yesterday he visited me in the History Department's offices and asked me for a donation to the so-called People's Defense Forces. And when I told him that I have sworn not to give donations to whosoever of the organizations before I could pay off all of my debts he shouted on me vulgarly: ' You first pay, and then you fast! ' But he doesn't know that the sun of our fasting has refused to set! My dear, yesterday I went to Jubara's Bookshop and we remembered you. By the way, books became a luxury. And we, as Adam Albieao says, " have at all stopped reading, for no spirits for it remained in us ". He abandoned teaching and opened a foul medames's shop! Also you might have heard about the story of our colleague teacher Hassan who left for Chad and lived well there. Now he has asked for his family's reunion with him. Another story is that of Abdulwahab, that good man who died in the " People's Defense Forces' " camps. He was in a difficult situation that left him no option: either to go for the " People's Defense Forces " or leave his job. Hence he had been compelled, by the oppression of his own circumstances, to join such forces' camps where he died; you know he was diabetic; God has mercy on him. One of the yet sad news was the death of the student of medicine Imad in the war of the south. He went there with the P.D.F and met his end. That was a thunderbolt of news to his family who was counting days and nights to the day of his graduation... You need to write letters of condolences to these families. My dear, those ' creatures ' tried in us theories unheard of under the sun of God. The last of these..... What did they call it? What?!..... Hear then: The Great State of Sparta! That was the name; so be wondered! And do you believe that they have conjured up what they miss-named as the " Ministry of Social Change "?! With that they have wished to wipe off the country's plane a whole and well-found life, but that will end in tears. For they are, as our uncle Wad Abu Ganaya says, " some people for whom the thread's end has been lost- God give them guidance! " My dear, your home folks are all right, especially your father whom I am often avoiding to meet so that I wouldn't ignite within himself latent sorrow. Dear, I wish that you shall continue writing to us, for we here do relish your letters, exchange them between our mates and companions and find, within their lines, much of our dreams that relinquished materialization, though our selves and souls are yet embracing some or other optimist expectations. N.B: You will converse with other cultures and other civilizations, so be a huge-horned African bull!

Yours Sincerely, Sabir Abdulhameed, Sudan.

Narrative texts 1 -

' Where are the commodities? ' Said the usurper. - ' Yes sir- I am here, ready for you!! ' A commodity said. - ' No, not yet.. ', said the usurper, ' I will put you in my stores! ' - ' But my taste, colour and smell will be changed. Thus my price will fall! ' - ' Don't you know that the person in need has no senses?!

' 2 * The people of Khartoum demanded the return of electric power. * And the people of Bahri called for the return of water supplies. * And the citizens of Omdurman emphasized the necessity of abundance in bread. * But the rest of the ' inhabitants ' didn't demand anything: they died for lack of air.

3 He was telling tales about races of people different in features, colours, norms and traditions, in a mocking way. The next day he told his listeners that he had been through a cruel treatment dealt to him by a policeman out of purely racist motives!

4 When he didn't find any alternative to casual work he wore the masks of masquerade and went to take it over.... There he found his teacher.... So he set aside the ' tools ' of masquerading and headed towards the Resistance’s Office.

Karango Abdalla

10 January 1990- London:

A week ago I have arrived to London and rearranged my affairs on the grounds that my stay here would be long. I am feeling an overwhelming yearning for my family folks, my beloved companions back home and my homeland. I have met a lot of Sudanese people here, some of whom I knew since I was in The Sudan, and others I have known in Britain.

30 April 1990- London: I have found a job with a Kuwaiti newspaper based in London, with the help of some friends who came here before myself. The work in that newspaper involved me a bit, reorganized my time, but it didn't divert me from thinking about my homeland and my home folks. The newspaper specified a page for The Sudan's affairs- under the Muslim Brothers' occupation. And as far as Kuwait reigned under the Iraqi occupation the theory of " the enemy of your enemy is your friend " retained, in this context, its own magic. My work was mainly concentrated in the Economics' Page. But my eyes were always set there on The Sudan's affairs' page.

30 June 1990- London: I have been contributing to all of the political events that were calling for the return of human liberties to the homeland. And today passed the first memorial day of the ill-fated coup de tat that banned all of those liberties. It seems that the time for the re-triumph of liberty and freedom will be further longer than what the supervisors expected. 6 July 1990- London: London didn't dazzle me, for all of its hustle and bustle. It was just that what I have read and heard about it is now present before me. London appeared to me as if it's two Londons. The first one is that which the Sudanese have fairly known after they established themselves within it and Sudanized most of its living aspects. And the second one is that which the original Londoners have known. I do find myself much here and a bit there.

5 April 1991- London: The British Authorities has agreed to grant me the right of political asylum. My happiness with it was limited to that I have been allowed the freedom of movement and travelling, something which enabled me to see the European countries as if they were regions in one state. Oh, Sudan, where are you?!! The distance between Numuli and Wadi Halfa could almost swallow the whole of Europe! The friend of mine who is working in Rwanda has told me that the size of Darfur is twenty times the size of the State of Rwanda! Is it a grace or a wrath that The Sudan is as great in size as it is?... It seems that the answer of this question is, by the time, quite difficult.

1 May 1991- London: I have known Brendite, the English lady, and my relationship with her has been strengthened. I joined her in demonstrations and protesting processions concerning environmental issues, animal rights and the lifting of the embargo on Cuba. And she, as well, joined me in a Sudanese procession to The Sudanese Embassy demanding the country's authorities' respect for human rights and international human norms and charters. And when she saw the officers of the embassy taking photographs of the demonstration she thought that they were press people, so she smiled to them until I corrected her grievous mistake!! Then she turned her back away from them.

6 July 1991- London: Brendite invited me to visit the English countryside in the weekend. That day was wonderful and beautiful. In it I have met her parents and family and the core of our conversation was, then, The Sudan and the projects I am wishing to realize. I told them that I am, as much as my being a political refugee is concerned, not in possession of a ready plan to apply to my circumstances, but though I will wait and see.... I tried my best to seem important. That's as if I was having the keys to all of the worldly treasures! For her folks' snobbery didn't appeal to me. I started my talk to them with a treatise on Britain's unwell and un-hale economic conditions. Then I shifted to what I have conceived of as menacing threats to family-life in Britain. And from there I delved into the subject of the deterioration in the conditions of health and education, something which- as I have said- has been reflected in the spread of crime and the common use of drugs. Their surprise wasn't about the truths I have presented, but about that I have, at all, known those matters!! September 1991- London: In one of the television's programmes I have watched a hot discussion about mixed marriage's bonds and the relationships between the blacks and the whites. To this, some of the debating persons agree and others don't, whereas each party of them has its own viewpoint. But I, myself, have admired the point of view which's saying that human relationships transcend race colour. The astonishing thing about the discussion was that every contributor to it was emphatic in insisting on the truth of his (her) viewpoint and almost cautioning to the other parties of the consequences of falling into " The Trap "! " The Trap "!! I repeated it several times, as if I was the one whom it has concerned.

January 1992- London: In The Sudanese Opposition Alliance's processions to Iran's Embassy, the British Parliament, number 1 Downing Street, the American Embassy, the Sudanese Embassy and other international and church organizations which care for the human rights' cause all of those received the petitions of protest raised to them by The Sudanese Opposition's Alliance, except the embassies of The Sudan and Iran. When Brendite asked The Sudanese Embassy's officer-in-charge about the reason for his rejecting the relevant petition of protest he answered her saying ' that's because this demonstration is political!!

' April 1992- London: I visited today, with Brendite, an exhibition narrating- with pen and painting- the story of the situation in The Nuba Mountains. It has been inaugurated by one of the parliamentary members of the British Labour Party. There I have met Khameesa Jubraldar to whom I was a university colleague. My heart was almost pulled out when I saw her, for we were bound together in a love relationship that didn't fate to succeed, as it's usual with most of university's relationships. Khameesa welcomed me cheerfully as she always used to do. Then I introduced to her my friend Brendite and spoke to the latter about my precedent fellowship and bond with Khameesa. Khameesa has become thin and faded. She told me that she has joined the resistance which which's defending her people and home folks, in Nuba Mountains, where she has been appointed the Education's Co-ordinator. ' Now ', she related to me and Bre

Khameesa has become thin and faded. She told me that she has joined the resistance which which's defending her people and home folks, in Nuba Mountains, where she has been appointed the Education's Co-ordinator. ' Now ', she related to me and Brendite, ' I am in a visit to Europe to raise funds for the region's programmes of education '. I invited Khameesa to have dinner with us in the day after the tomorrow of that day- it couldn't have been sooner because her visit's time-table was quite full.

April 1992- London: Khameesa told me about the deterioration of conditions in Nuba Mountains in the different aspects of living and the area's need for everything, for it has been deprived- as they say- from even ' a fire-blower '. She also told me about her story of joining the resistance’s movement. She had- she said- witnessed dangerous practices and human rights' violations in her village when she returned home, for holiday, from The Women-Teachers' Training College in Al-Obayyed, where she was working. " I didn't hesitate for a moment ", she insisted, " in joining the resistance, after all that I have witnessed with my very eyes. That was a flagrantly bestial deed to which I have been a witness: my beloved village has been burnt down and the children, women and elderly of it have been mercilessly killed ". Khameesa was talking calmly and in a low tone, while her looks were mesmerized on the roof. The circumstance wasn't suitable for a chat on the university's memorable days and about the rest of our group of friends who have been scattered all over the world. I promised to see her, once more, before leaving Britain.

May 1992- London: I succeeded in seeing Khameesa Jubraldar again before her leaving Britain. We talked about everything. She told me that she has been married to one of the area's sons, and that he is now in Kenya in an official task. She also said that her life has now acquired a special taste. It's true that it's difficult- she confessed- but she's enjoying it. When myself and Khameesa were university students we were used to be members in the same political organization. Then we were dreaming of building a country in which peace, love and prosperity were the rule of the land. Khameesa told me that she is in an urgent need for books, writing pads and different school equipments, beside teachers from both of the sexes. She and her teaching staff, she said, have convinced the Resistance’s Movement to give full time licenses to some of the educated fighters so that they might be benefited from in teaching children and literary classes.

June 1992- London: The celebration which's held by The Sudanese societies and associations in London for the benefit of education in Nuba Mountains was a success. The response to it was positive and great. It consisted of informational seminars and symposiums about the mountains, exhibitions of photographs and video films and Nubian folk dance, something which effectively contributed to the enlightenment of many about the challenges confronting the Nuba Mountains' land and peoples. At the end of the celebration the outcome of it, in office equipments, books, exercise books (writing pads) and monies, was considerable. There in Hackney, in North London, where Brendite- or Brenda, as I tended to call her for shortening- is living I contacted the local schools and spoke to their staffs and pupils about the need of Nuba Mountains' children for books and school equipments. That I did after showing them the deteriorating educational conditions and the dilapidation of the schools of the Nuba Mountains in the video cassette which was produced by the B.B.C. 1 television channel. The outcome of the donations for that cause was fairly good. Those have been gathered together and sent to the Nuba Mountains' Rehabilitation Office in Kenya.

October 1992- London: I have received a letter from Khameesa Jubraldar in which she expressed the happiness of the children, there in the mountains, with the gifts of books and school equipments that have been successfully delivered to them. She also mentioned, in that letter, that the rubbers have performed a big role in using the pages of the writing pads (exercise books) more than once!! One of the other significant things she referred to in her letter was the Resistance Movement's adoption of a new policy recruiting the teachers who are living abroad for the cause of contributing to education in Nuba Mountains for two months only after which they could return to where they have come from and, as usual, continue with their work there. I thought keenly about the last point of Khameesa's letter and began to ponder over what it says. Can I go to Nuba Mountains? What about my relationship with Brenda? Is the Nuba Mountains' region secure??..... So I turned over and over these questions, and their likes, in my head. December 1992- London: I packed my luggage, resigned from my job in the office of the Saudi Cultural Attaché, since they refused to give me an unpaid vacation, and on God I did rely in my next step of travelling to the Nuba Mountains. I have lately joined the team of the employees at that office, for I then left working with the Kuwaiti newspaper. I made an arrangement with Brenda in which she was planned to join me in the Nuba Mountains by the last days of next January so that we could return, together, to Britain. Then I received the plane's return ticket from the Nuba Mountains' Rehabilitation Office in Kenya. At the evening of my departure some of my friends honoured me with a little farewell party that supplied me with psychological and moral charges for which I was in need.

January 1993- Karango Abdalla, Nuba Mountains: I have arrived at Karango Abdalla by the end of the last month after a delay, for some time, in the Kenyan capital Nairobi. Khameesa Jabraldar was in my reception. She gave me an informational background and took me in a short round inside her village where I have found a great welcoming and a genuine gladness. Then I moved- with Khameesa- towards the only school in the village which I have seen to be in a pitiful condition. There the pupils and students, boys and girls, men and women, welcomed me with local songs and limericks to which my heart yielded, though I pretended to be ' normal ' and well-composed. I knew from Kuku, the school's headmaster, that the school is enrolling in it people from all ages, and that they use it, in evenings, for literacy classes; beside that they teach nursing, in the school in question, as a compulsory subject, in the mornings and in the evenings as well, for the area is in a pressing need for nurses from both of the sexes. My task was specified in teaching in the school, and then in my choice of some of the distinguished students, males or females, from among them for being trained and qualified to become, in their turn, teachers. From the small radio transistor, to which we listen in the evenings- and which was one of our entertainment's means and our only window to the outside world- we would hear Omdurman's Radio's news and programmes and we would, then, be almost maddened by that, for ' such' a radio seems as if it broadcasts its materials from another planet! I expect, with great longing, the coming of Brenda to the Nuba Mountains at any moment (that is in accordance with our aforementioned agreement). And I do ask myself: Can she be able to live in this land?

February 1993- Karango Abdalla: Finally Brenda arrived at the Nuba Mountains' village. That day was a real day of fete o me. She brought for me, with her, the entire obituary pages published in The Guardian newspaper. For those were my favourites!! And in them I am finding interesting historical backgrounds about the late persons, whether they were prominent personalities, artists, politicians, musicians or else, from a variety of countries and both of the sexes. I used to know, through what's published on the late person, much about his lifetimes and the activities he's pursuing. A great pleasure I have gained from that. Sometimes The Guardian newspaper even published informational accounts about murderers and criminals! Would they escape the judgement of history? In the first three days of Brenda's stay I didn't tell her about the decision I have taken. And I noticed that there's something unnatural surrounding her. What's that " thing "? I should fathom, by myself, the latent meaning of it. Brenda surprised me with this direct question: ' Do you wish to stay in Karango Abdalla? ' Hesitantly I answered her: ' Y.. Yes... ' Then I asked her about what she's intending to do. ' I haven't thought of staying here ', she replied, ' for there is my work.. But when I go back to Britain I will think about the matter '. That day was a gloomy one for both of us; in it we didn't talk a lot.

March 1993, Karango Abdalla: Brenda left Karango Abdalla. I am now feeling a great emptiness. She promised writing to me. In spite of my being immersed in my work and my indescribable pleasure with it the void that Brenda left behind her continues to be a deep wound. Some of my students, on seeing me often absent-minded and head-bowed during classes, ventured a spontaneous comment on my situation which went as: " Oh, sir teacher, you are longing for the khawwajiyya [the foreign lady; the white woman]...aren't you? Separation is tearfully hard... and only God knows that!! " As to what happened after that, that is a different story... July 1998- London.

هامش مهم:- * ضمت الترجمة كل قصص المجموعة المنشورة، ما عدا القصة المسماة "الوافر ضراعو" والمهداة إلى "الزول الهادي الدكتور عمر القرّاي". صدر الكتاب تحت عنوان "ترانيم الحصار"، تأليف:- عمر عبد الله محمد علي (عضو هذا المنبر)،عن دار عزة للطباعة والنشر- الخرطوم- السودان، 2007 :- azza ph @yahoo.com