Friendly Fire Alaa Aswany (no david read aloud .TXT) 📖

was experiencing, that I could contain her with my feelings as I contained her with my body. A magical dream extricated me from the familiar ugly reality that was forever crushing me in its unforgiving grip.

She told me, “I’m feeling sleepy.”

Then she moved close and whispered, “I’d like you to hold me in your arms until morning.”

I watched the stillness of sleep flow little by little into her tranquil face.

I had been certain that you would arise like the sun and had waited for you. I had told them about you and no one had believed me, but I had suffered and never lost hope. I believed in you. I believed that some time you would suddenly appear in all your glory, come to cure me with your hands of the wounds of cruelty and to melt the darkness with your smile. When that happened, all that would remain of the loneliness, impotence, and pain would be the terrible rending memories. I would gather you to me and empty these into your breast until I was calm, and then sleep.

In the darkness my face contracted. A shudder ran through me and I surrendered myself to weeping. My tears wet her face and she awoke, stretched out her hand, lit a lamp over the bed, gazed into my face, and asked me with concern, “Are you crying?”

I didn’t answer and she said nothing for a moment, as though she understood. Then she looked at the clock and said, “Six! I have to get up now! I’m supposed to be in my office in an hour.”

She got up naked and went to the window and opened it, and the room was bathed in daylight, a cool breeze stealing in. She glanced at her face in the mirror and asked me as she left the room, “Tea or coffee with breakfast?”

As I was sipping my coffee, I asked her, “Shall I see you tonight?”

“If you really want to.”

I smiled and made no comment.

“You can pick me up at the office after work. I leave at three.”

When we left the house, Shaaban’s shop was closed and the road was completely empty. She said to me, “Won’t you come with me to see where I work? It’s close by, at the end of the street.”

I walked next to her for some minutes until she stopped in front of a small two-story house. On the balcony of the first floor I saw a large sign that said “Mustafa Yusri. Import-Export.” Jutta pointed to the sign and said, “This is where I work. It’s the first floor, apartment 3.”

She looked around, bent quickly over my face, kissed me, and whispered, “I’ll see you at three.”

Then she went into the building.

I walked alone until I reached the main street, where I stopped a taxi. The traces of sleep were still on the driver’s face. I looked out of the window. Life was stirring in the street. People were gathering as they do every morning at the bus stops, starting a new day with faces still exhausted from the one before. It seemed strange to me that nothing was different that morning. I’d expected that everything I saw would appear to me in a new, wonderful shape, but everything was just as it had been and it was as if I’d never met Jutta or lived with her the most beautiful moments of my life, as if a new man had not been born within me.

The moment I opened the door of the house, my mother met me with cries and tears, “My heart and the Lord will be angry with you until the Day of Resurrection.”

I ignored her and turned my steps in silence toward my room but she caught up with me in the corridor, grabbed me by the hand, and said, “Is this any way to treat me, Isam? Shouldn’t you be ashamed of yourself? You don’t mind leaving me worrying about you the whole night? Don’t you know I’m sick and my health can’t take any anxiety?”

All she cared about was the effect of the anxiety on her health. I looked at her. I stared into her eyes until the details vanished and my vision clouded over. This went on for a few moments. When I came to myself, I made my way with exhausted steps to my room while my mother continued to bewail her bad luck in a tearful voice. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep so I didn’t try for long. I opened the window and the sun’s rays spread through the room. Huda brought me the newspapers and coffee. My eyes scanned the headlines and I threw them aside. My powers of concentration were destroyed. I would wait until three and that was all I was capable of thinking about. At three I would meet her. I would kiss her and hold her and she would sleep in my arms as she had done yesterday. The time passed like an eon and when it was almost two o’clock I got up, washed, and put on my clothes. My mother caught sight of me and rushed after me fearfully, asking, “Are you going out?”

I muttered yes without turning so she grabbed my arm and said, “Don’t, Isam, I beg you. You haven’t slept and your nerves are tired.”

I released my arm from her grip by force and left, the door slamming behind me.

It was hot and the sweat was pouring off my forehead. As I waited for the streetcar in the middle of the crowd, I was thinking that I’d be saving the cost of a taxi. There was still an hour to go and I would undoubtedly need money that night. After half an hour the streetcar came and it was crowded. I pushed my way so far in among the other passengers that their bodies hid me from the light and darkness reigned about me. I reached Madinet Nasr station and pulled out of my pocket the piece