Hostage

He sat on a chair facing the wall with his hands tied behind his back. He was starting to feel tired and his wrists were causing him discomfort. He was hoping this would end soon, but from the bits of conversation that were reaching him from the room next door, it appeared he would have to do a bit more waiting till he would be set free.

He stared at the wall in front of him, looking at the scribbling and drawings spread over a large part of it.  Thoughts of his little daughter filled his head. She loved to draw and paint and had the artistic spark…just like her father. How he loved his little princess…and to think that he never wanted to have children. For him, children had always been synonymous with disruption, chaos and a complete absence of peace and quiet. His experience with his six nephews and nieces was proof enough to him.  He couldn't bear the mess and noise they caused, being always impossible for him to paint, or read, or listen to his music when they were around. He felt besieged by their endless nagging, and their never-ending desire to play, to question, and to argue. Living with children day in and day out was to him an unbearable feat, something he felt he would never be capable of doing. In fact, he was amazed at how both his sisters' managed to cope with their kids, never failing to show love and affection despite the obvious fatigue and bouts of  frustration they occasionally went through. 

And so it was that he constantly declared his unwavering refusal to father any children of his own. He declared this to his family, to his friends, to his art students, to his colleagues and to his girl friend who later on became his wife.  But fate had other plans; one day he found himself standing in a hospital room by his wife's bedside, looking in bewilderment and complete disbelief at a tiny little baby girl… his newborn daughter.

His neck was beginning to stiffen and he could feel a growing numbness in his right arm. He was wondering how long this situation would last and when he would be set free. He had left so many things still undone: work to be completed, lectures to be prepared, designs to be delivered, an unfinished painting, but most important of all he was preparing the necessary papers for registering his little girl in school…in KG1... when this hostage situation began.

He couldn't believe his little one would already be starting school. After she was born he was surprised at how infatuated he had become with this fragile little creature, how amazed he was at this miracle of creation, and how inspired he became by her coming into his life. Day by day his love for her grew as he saw the magic of life unfold in her first smile, her first words, her first awkward steps…she was like a work of art, created and re-created day after day, evolving and maturing as the brush of time added, altered and transformed…she was the same but always new, familiar but with never-ending novelty. 

It is true that at times she got on his nerves, distracted him for his work, and upset his busy schedule. But he was amazed how he came to see so much beauty and inspiration in her mischief and naughtiness, in her endless desire to play, to argue, and to question.  He sometimes had to scold and yell if she went too far …but at the end he gave in…he always gave in, for he knew all too well that it was she who held his heart and soul in the palm of her little hand.

He heard voices approaching him…it seemed the moment of his liberation was near.

"You're free to go prisoner….we've agreed on the ransom", he heard a voice say.

And sure enough he felt someone unknot the rope binding his hands.

He stood up, shaking his numb arm and his weary wrists. He turned round and stared at his captors….

"And what is the ransom may I ask", he asked in a stern voice.

"Ice-cream, ice-cream, ice-cream!!" shouted the four little captors as his daughter jumped into his arms.

He laughed as he held his little angel in his arms while her three young friends looked on, waiting eagerly for their promised ransom.

"I'll get you the ice-cream sweet heart, but promise me that this is the last game we play today…Daddy has a lot to do."

"Yes Daddy", she replied with a giggle as she smudged a wet kiss on his cheek.

"I promise, I promise…but tomorrow we'll play some more…pleeeease".  

"Daddy has work to do sweetie", he replied as he looked into her imploring brown eyes, "but…well…we'll see".

How he adored his little angel, how he loved to feel her tiny little fingers locked behind his neck as she hugged her Daddy; and he knew all to well that no matter how hard he tried to deny it, no matter how many times she set him free, he would forever…and ever…remain her hostage.  

Henna Night

I

t was a hot humid August night as she stepped out of her car and headed towards the hotel's main entrance. As she walked the short distance, she could feel trickles of sweat snaking down her back. Her long sleeved dark blue suit felt more like a sauna outfit, making her sweat profusely.  She had wanted to wear one of her light silk dresses, but had thought otherwise.  This was her first time to attend a Henna Night. Her travels and busy academic career had left her little time for socializing or attending weddings or what not. But the youngest daughter of her beloved Aunt was finally getting married and she promised to be there, even on her Henna Night, a fun and joyous all female event prior to the wedding itself. She knew that the family of her young cousin's groom was deeply religious, most of its women wearing full-face veils.  She didn't want to cause her aunt or her young cousin any undue embarrassment. So it had to be the formal long sleeved blue suit.

She thanked God for her decision as she entered the small ballroom. Her eyes were met by a sea of black on the groom's family side, with most of the women not only wearing full-face veils, but also donning the ultra-conservative black colours. She went to sit on her family's relatively more colourful side, although the majority wore the veil and dressed conservatively. She could not help feeling somewhat uncomfortable with her conspicuous curly long hair, like a bushy palm tree in the midst of a black desert. She could almost swear that she sensed the piercing eyes of those who stared at her with disapproval from behind their black veils.  Maybe she should have brought a scarf along she thought to herself. However, she brushed her worries aside. She was intent on enjoying the night regardless of anything. And indeed, a sense of warmth filled the ballroom as quiet conversations picked up and the smell of delicious food enticed appetites as the waiters brought in plates of food and pastries into the buffet.

Not long after she arrived however, she noted how the ballroom doors had been closed shut and all the male waiters had gone leaving only female waiters. Many of the guests had disappeared, while a female DJ appeared on the scene. Feeling a bit curious, she asked a relative where everybody had gone.  "Well…to change of course" came the matter-of-fact answer.  Just as she was going to ask a perplexed "Why?" she realized what was happening.  Young women and girls began to reappear, starkly transformed. They were wearing silk, satin and chiffon dresses, some short and strapless with embroidered bodices, others in sexy one shoulder long ones, and still others in tight black lace dresses.  The ballroom suddenly blossomed into a sea of colours, with a bewildering variety of hairstyles, heavy makeup and a strong scent of perfume.

She sat at her table, open mouthed and aghast at this sudden metamorphosis. Music blared loudly as the female DJ went into action. Bodies, who just a while ago had sat discreetly at their tables, now swayed seductively to its deafening beat.  Beautiful girls moved from one table to another some in low cut dresses revealing their cleavages. Bare ivory-white shoulders, necks, and arms, untanned or unblemished by the sun, dotted the ballroom like a string of pearls that had broken loose from the confines of their necklace and rolled out onto the ball room floor.

The veils of older women seated at the tables had all disappeared and instead were rows of mostly bare pale shoulders and dyed blond hair of all styles and lengths, like a field of golden mushrooms that had suddenly sprouted up from the ground.

Loud voices and pitched laughter filled the air as inhibitions were shed away and bodies liberated. She could sense the excitement, the wild merriment that swept throughout the ballroom and reverberated in its walls.  Young and older women began to assemble on the dance floor, the bride in their middle, singing, shaking and dancing along with the DJ's music.

She sat there for a moment contemplating the scene, her overly academic and scientific mind observing, registering and analyzing. But before she could arrive at any profound observations or grand theories, a young cousin grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the dance floor. "Come on…join the fun!” she screamed at her.

 And so there she was, feeling somewhat awkward in her long sleeved formal suit among the lightly clad writhing bodies, standing out like a stiff blue mast in a wild sea of pink, olive and white flesh. She joined in the clapping, keeping rhythm with the beat of the music. However, it wasn't long before she too began moving her body, getting caught up in the fervor and ecstasy of the crowd, shedding any sign of her usually reserved demeanor. Hands swayed in the air, hips moved up and down, and legs stomped to the music. It was intoxicating, exhilarating, liberating. For some reason, fleeting images of ancient women's rituals and fertility dances that she had often researched and studied crossed her mind.

However, she began feeling somewhat dizzy and unfocused. Her heavy blue suit was suffocating her, trapping her, heating up her body.  Sweat trickled down her forehead into her eyes, clouding her vision, while her head throbbed with the pounding of the music, feeling like a pressure cooker waiting to burst. She thought for a moment of taking off her jacket but she had nothing underneath but her bras…what a scandal that would be …or would it?

Screaming laughter pierced her ears as she felt herself pressed against bodies moving and turning in ecstatic motion. She tried to stumble her way back to her table, but her limp body could hardly move through the crowds as she bumped into voluptuous breasts and bobbing buttocks. She began panicking, gasping for breath and feeling her legs giving way underneath her. She tried to call out, but could hardly hear her own voice.

Suddenly the music seemed to fade away, the laughter and voices drowning out, the strong lights and writhing bodies disappearing, giving way to a calm and silent darkness as she slowly slipped, stumbled and fell to the ground…all in the heat of the Henna Night.

  

MY PILLOW

The pillow felt so soft. I was feeling so tired and longing for the moment when I could rest my head on it, close my eyes and shut out the entire world.  I could smell the soft sweet fragrance of the pillow cover.  The sheets had been changed that day and it felt clean, crisp and fresh.  I always take the same pillow wherever I travel, otherwise I simply cannot sleep.  It is strange how small little things, how simple details of life can make such a big difference.  They can be a cause of great joy…or the source of immense misery!  I remember going to a conference once and not being able to sleep all night because the pillow was too big and hard for my liking. On another occasion, the pillow had an unpleasant aroma and I just couldn’t stand it.  After that, wherever I went, my pillow went as well. 

I used to do a lot of travelling and having to take a pillow along could be a source of considerable inconvenience, especially when taking trains. However, luckily, I’m the kind of person that prefers low pillows and so mine is easily folded into a suitcase. 

Somehow, it has become a friend, a close companion, a silent bedfellow. Can objects be that? Well pillows can definitely be that.  It has shared with me innumerable nights, being there when I’m restless and unable to sleep, tossing and turning until I doze off in the wee hours of the morning.  It has soaked in my tears on countless nights, when I was heartbroken, or when a loved one passed away, or when I was feeling miserable for some reason or other.  It kept me comfort on my travels as I relaxed my back against it while going over documents on my laptop, or reading a novel to relax my mind from the days exhausting work.

 

My pillow knows all my secrets, my deepest feelings, the darkest corners of my soul.  It has been a silent witness to my amorous encounters, sharing my sweet passionate moments, lying quietly under my head as bodies embrace in a fiery dance of love. It has also witnessed my moments of rage…of extreme jealousy…of mad desire to take revenge…to be cruel…to inflict hurting and pain….

I move my hand over my pillow, feeling its familiar contours.  I love its softness, its touch, its shape. My body, mind and soul feel relaxed as I lie for a few moments, feeling safe and secure as it gently and lovingly holds my head.  I am relieved that they allowed me to bring it here. It is the only thing that reminds me of my home, of my life, of myself.  When I hug it tightly, all the beautiful memories and moments of my life come alive and I can simply close my eyes and pretend I am not here, not in prison, not sentenced to the rest of my years behind bars.  It makes me feel that a part of my life is still safe and secure, that some things don’t change, even if everything else does.

The lights turn off as I hear the cringing of the prison doors shutting close. I curl up with my pillow like a snail curls up in its protective shell.  As deep darkness surrounds me, I shut my eyes and cling to my soft cushion as if clinging to life itself. 

In the looming silence of my prison cell, I hear only the echoes of my heart...I see only the imaginings of my dreams…I feel only that familiar embrace...as I lie here…silently…with my pillow.

غيوم في يوم العيد

أجلس في شرفة البيت المطلة على الحقول وأشجار الموالح والفاكهة. رغم الخضرة المحيطة بالمكان والتي أعشقها واشتاق إليها دوما، رغم تحليق الحمام كأطياف رقيقة تحمل الهدوء والسكينة إلى النفس، ورغم تمايل أشجار الرمان والجوافة والزيتون مع نسمات الخريف فيما يشبه صلاة كونية بديعة، ينتابني حالة من التوتر والضيق العميق. فالسكينة يقطعها صراخ قادم من عدة ميكرفونات محيطة بالمكان، يصعب تمييز ما يقال من هذا الضجيج المتنافر... فصلاة هذه أم معركة؟

التقط عبارات بها تجريح بأصحاب الأديان المغايرة، انتفض من عنف نبرة الصوت وتهجمها، اسمع كلمات لاذعة عن المرأة، انكمش داخل نفسي وأسرع إلى داخل البيت وأغلق النوافذ،  يخترق الصراخ الزجاج والجدران وينفذ إلى رأسي الذي قارب على الانفجار، الوذ بحجرتي الصغيرة ولكن يلحق بي الصياح ويدق بعنف على باب الحجرة، أكاد أشعر أن البيت يهتز ويترنح تحت وطأة المطارق الغليظة التي تصيح بلا  توقف. اندس داخل السرير واتدثر بالألحفة والبطاطين لعلني أجد دفئا ومهربا من قسوة هذا السيل الجارف من حناجر باردة لا تعرف الرحمة...أعيد هذا أم إعلان حرب؟

بعد ما يبدو أنه دهر من الزمن تسكت الميكروفونات ويعود الهدوء إلى المكان، ، انتفس الصعداء واخرج من مكمني، أعيد فتح النوافذ والشبابيك، واستقبل نسمات الخريف المحملة بروائح البرسيم والتبن والروث الممزوج بطين أرضنا الطيبة. أدلف إلى شرفة المنزل مرة أخرى وأحاول أن أستعيد سكينتي وصفاء روحي، أتأمل مخلوقات الله وآياته في السماء والأرض وانصت  إلى صلواتها وتسبيحاتها...استعيد هدوء نفسي، واتعجب لبشر لا يبصرون .

أتطلع إلى السماء، أري طيورا محلقة في سماء صافية تحملها قوة أجنحتها الهشة، وأري غيوما رمادية تتجمع في الأفق تسبقها ريح باردة، ارتجف للحظات وإعود أدراجي إلى داخل المنزل.

مشاهد من مصر ما بعد الثورة (3): نريح أعصابنا...أو...الطالبان في باكستان

المكان: نادي الجزيرة الرياضي بالزمالك

الزمان: صباح يوم ربيعي من شهر مايو 2011

المشهد الأول

زوجان يجلسان في هدوء وسط منطقة مفتوحة تحيط بهما الأشجار الباسقة وأحواض الزهور وتمتد أمامهما مساحات واسعة من ملاعب النجيل الأخضر. يحتسي الزوج فنجان من القهوة السادة في حين تشرب الزوجة كوب من عصير الليمون المثلج. تسود جلستهما حالة من الهدوء والسكينة...أو هكذا يبدو...وتحيط بهما نسمات ربيعية رقيقة تحمل إليهما من حين إلى آخر هتافات غاضبة للمتظاهرين في منطقة ماسبيرو على الضفة المقابلة من النيل.

الزوج (وهو يتأمل جمال الطبيعة المحيط بهما): "ياااه...الواحد من زمان كان محتاج القعدة دي...هدوء وخضرة وعصافير وهواء نظيف...بعيد عن كل حاجة...شئ مريح للأعصاب".

الزوجة: "فعلا...كنا محتاجين ده من زمان(ثم تطرق بأذنيها لالتقاط الهتافات القادمة عبر مياه النيل ):"...بس سامع...سامع الهتافات...االناس زعلانة طبعا...ما هو احنا مش حنخلص...كل يوم يحرقوا كنيسة... كل يوم يرعبوا الناس...ده بكره..."

الزوج (يقاطعها وفي صوته نبرة تمزج بين العتاب والحنان): "يا حبيبتي احنا قلنا ايه؟؟ احنا جايين نريح أعصابنا ونغير جو ونبعد شوية عن السياسة والأحداث...شايفة الشجر والورد...سمعا العصافير".

الزوجة (وفي صوتها مزيج من الخجل والضيق): "ايوة أيوة...الشجر والعصافير... فعلا".  

يعود الزوجان للصمت و الهدوء وتأمل الأشجار والورود والإنصات للعصافير.

المشهد الثاني

 يلفت انتباه الزوجة  رجل ملتحي يسير بالقرب منهما ثم يجلس إلى مائدة لا تبعد عنهما كثيرا.

الزوجة (وفي صوتها نبرة توتر وانزعاج): "بص...شوف الرجل ده...اهو واحد منهم أهه...ده بكره يملوا النادي...ده بكره مش حانعرف نقعد القعدة دي...ده بكره..."

الزوج (وهو يقاطع زوجته للمرة الثانية وفي صوته مزيج من العتاب والضيق): "وبعدين يا حبيبتي...مش معقول كده...هو كل واحد بدقن حتخافي منه؟؟ وبعدين الرجل ده  شعره أشقر...وشكله خواجة خالص...ركزي في الطبيعة والقعدة الحلوة دي وبلاش التوتر ده...احنا جايين نريح أعصابنا".

الزوجة (وهي تحاول السيطرة على انفعالتها وتوترها): "حاضر...حاضر... نركز في الطبيعة".

يعود الزوجان للصمت و الهدوء وتأمل الأشجار والورود والإنصات للعصافير.

المشهد الثالث والأخير

تحدق الزوجة في موبيلها وهي تتابع رسائلها،  ثم تنتقل إلى رسائل تويتر. فجأة تصرخ...

الزوجة: "ينهار اسود!!"

الزوج (وهو ينتفض من على كرسيه): "ايه... في أيه...حصل ايه..!!"

الزوجة: "دول بيقولوا أن الطالبان في باكستان فجروا عربية مفخخة وموتوا80 وأصابوا 200...ما هود ه الي أنا خايفة منه... بكره ده الي حيحصلنا...ده بكره..."

الزوج (وفي صياحه مزيج من العصبية والغضب واليأس): "لا لا لا لا ....مش ممكن...كده خلاص...هي حصلت الطالبان...وفي باكستان كمان!!! لالالا أنا مش قادر...انا أعصابي باظت...انا ماشي...أنا مروح...."

الزوجة ( وهي تحاول لملمة أشيائها لتلحق بزوجها الذي قام غاضبا من مكانه ): "استنى...انت زعلت ولا أيه...هو فيه ايه؟؟!!" 

ثم تلمح وهي تقوم من مكانها الرجل الملتحي وهو يقرأ جريدة باللغة العربية.

الزوجة (وهي تشعر بنشوة من صدق حدسه وثبت حسن تقديره للأمور): "الله...ده بيقرأ عربي اهه...يبقي مصري...يبقى أكيد واحد منهم...أما الحق أقول له عشان يعرف أني كنت على حق".

وتركض للحاق بزوجها الذي اختفى من المشهد تماما هربا من زوجته والمظاهرات والأشجار والملتحين والعصافير والطالبان في باكستان.

مشاهد من مصر ما بعد الثورة (2): الشيعة في الميدان - قصة من وحي الحقيقة

المكان: ميدان التحرير

الزمان: أول مايو - عيد العمال

المشهد الأول

مجموعة من أنصار حزب اشتراكي جديد يتجمعون باللافتات والمنشورات عند ناصية شارع قصر النيل مع ميدان التحرير. يبدو عليهم الحماس الشديد، فاليوم أول يوم منذ عقود طويلة يتم الاحتفال بعيد العمال في مكان عام وبمشاركة مجموعة من الأحزاب الاشتراكية والشيوعية والعمالية الجديدة.  ترفرف في قلب الميدان الأعلام الحمراء التي تحمل في وسطها رمز المنجل والمطرقة ، وترتفع اللافتات التي تهنئ عمال مصر بالعيد وتبارك نضالهم وتطالب بحد أدنى للأجور وغيرها من المطالب.

تبدأ واحدة من أنصار الحزب الجديد في توزيع بيان الحزب عن عيد العمال على المارة. وجهها مبتسم ومشرق فها هي الأحزاب التي كانت تحت الأرض حبيسة الظلام والملاحقة الأمنية تخرج إلى النور في تواصل مباشر مع الشعب والجماهير، وها هي رايات اليسار المصري العتيد ترفرف عالية حفاقة في قلب القاهرة...في ميدان التحرير.

يتوقف أحد المارة - وهو شاب في منتصف أو أواخر العشرينات من العمر- بعد أن أخذ البيان من المرأة وتفحصه، ثم ينظر إليها مبتسما وهو يقول:

الشاب: طب هي أيه الاشتراكية...؟

المرأة: (وبعض علامات الدهشة على وجهها...): يا سيدي الاشتراكية ببساطة هي....

الشاب (يقاطعها): أنا عارف أنها من أيام عبد الناصر....

المرأة: فعلا لكن كانت نوع آخر من الاشتراكية و خليني أوضح لك.....

الشاب (يقاطعها للمرة الثانية): لكن هي بدأت من أيام ثورة 1919...أصل أنا خريج تاريخ.

المرأة ( مع تزايد علامات الدهشة على وجهها): لا لا لا (وتضحك)...ثورة 1919 كانت ثورة ضد الاحتلال الانجليزي، أما الاشتراكية....

الشاب (يقاطعها للمرة الثالثة ومتحدثا بنبرة واثقة وقاطعة):  يا ستي دي بدأت من أيام ثورة 1919 أنا متأكد....ده أنا دارس تاريخ.

المرأة تنظر له في حيرة واندهاش وتعجب...وتصمت.

المشهد الثاني

يأخذ أحد المارة - وهو رجل في أواخر الثلاثينات أو أوائل الأربيعنات من العمر- البيان من المرأة ويقرأه برهة ثم ينظر إليها بقلق ويقول:

الرجل: انتو حزب جديد؟

المرأة (بافتخار) : أيوة

الرجل (وعلامات القلق والحيرة على وجهه): بس أنا عاوز اعرف حاجة...

المرأة: ايه هي؟؟

الرجل: ايه حكاية الشيعة الي في الميدان دول؟؟

المرأة (وعلامات الدهشة والاستغراب على وجهها): أي شيعة تقصد؟؟

الرجل: (وهو يشير بيده باتجاه قلب ميدان التحرير): الجماعة الشيعة دول الي رافعين الأعلام الحمراء.

المرأة (وهي تضحك بعد أن تبين لها اختلاط الأمر على الرجل): لا لا لا...دول مش شيعة ...دول الحزب الشيوعي...الي هو...

الرجل (وهو يقاطعها): هما بقوا حزب كمان؟؟!!

المرأة (وهي تحاول جاهدة أن تشرح للرجل): حضرتك مش فاهمني....دول مش شيعة...دول الحزب الشيوعي...دول حاجة تانية...دول...

الرجل (وفي صوته نبرة قلق وغضب وفي عينه نظرة إشفاق على المرأة الغير واعية بالخطر المحدق في قلب الميدان): يا ستي شيعي شوعي...يعني هي فرقت في النطق...كلهم بتوع إيران زي ما قالوا...ده لازم الأزهر والجيش يكون لهم موقف من الكلام ده....ربنا يستر على البلد دي.

المرأة تنظر له في حيرة واندهاش وتعجب...وتصمت.

مشاهد من مصر ما بعد الثورة (1): القطار- قصة حقيقية

المكان: عربة رقم 1 درجة أولى من القطار المتجه من القاهرة إلى الإسكندرية

الزمان: صباح يوم ربيعي من شهر أبريل 2011

المشهد الأول:                                      

زوجان يجلسان يقرأن الصحف ومن حولهما صمت مطبق، فلا صوت لثرثرة الركاب أو ضحكاتهم أو أحاديث مطولة على الموبايلات كعادة ركاب قطارات مصر، الصوت الوحيد المسموع داخل العربة صوت احتكاك عجلات القطار بالقضبان، وخشخشة ورق الجرائد حيث الجميع منكب على قراءة الصحف ومتابعة الأخبار وتطورات الأحداث.

من حين إلى آخر يعلو صوت طفل صغير يجلس مع والدته خلف الزوجان:

الطفل: "حسنى مبارك وحش....حسنى مبارك وحش"

الأم: "بس يا حبيبي...بس"

الطفل:  "باطل...باطل...باطل..."

الأم: "وبعدين يا حبيبي...بطل شقاوة"!

المشهد الثاني:

رجل ملتحي يرتدي جلباب ومن فوقه معطف أنيق بني اللون، يحمل في يده رزمة سميكة من الأوراق ويمر على المسافرين واحد واحد، يتحدث معهم برهة ثم يعطيهم ورقة من الرزمة. يصل إلى حيث يجلس الزوجان.

الرجل الملتحي: "طبعا حضرتك مسيحي..."

الزوج: "اشمعنا يعني، حضترك بتسأل ليه"؟

الرجل الملتحي:  "أنا اسمي "..........." وأنا مرشح لرئاسة الجمهورية (يعطيه ورقة من الرزمة) و أؤكد لك أنني احترم الكنائس والأخوة المسيحيين".

الزوجة (في غاية الانفعال والعصبية وهي تنظر إلى لحيته الطويلة ولونها المائل إلى  اللون الأحمر ومشاهد من قطع الأذن وهدم الأضرحة وحرق الكنائس تتراقص أمام أعينها): "أولا أنت ليه بتفترض إن إحنا مسيحيين؟ عشان أنا مش محجبة؟!! لعلمك إحنا ولا مسلمين ولا مسحيين، إحنا مصريين، إحنا مواطنين مصريين!!! ولو إنت مرشح للرئاسة بجد لازم تكلم الناس على أساس المواطنة مش أي حاجة تانية"!!

يقف الرجل واجما بعد أن باغتته الزوجة بكلامها وبالنبرة الحادة في صوتها.

الزوج ( ضاحكا في محاولة لتخفيف الأمر وأيضا رغبة في معرفة المزيد بعد أن أثار الرجل فضوله): "والله يا سيدي أنا بحييك على شجاعتك، بس كلمنا شوية عن برنامجك".

الرجل (الذي استعاد حماسته بعد سماع النبرة الهادئة والمرحبة للزوج): "البرنامج بسيط، احنا عاوزين نعمل لكل واحد بيت بحتة ارض، والضرائب 2% بس عشان نشجع الاستثمار ونوظف الناس على أن تكون المرتبات عالية، ماتقلش عن 1500 جم".

الزوج: "كويس، بس مش الـ2% دي قليلة شوية، مش أفضل ضرائب تصاعدية؟"

الرجل الملتحي: "أبدا، إحنا عاوزين نشجع الاستثمار عشان ييجي مصر، أنا حتى بعت خطاب للرئيس أوباما وقلت له أن المصريين بيرحبوا بالشعب الأمريكي وان احنا مش ضدهم وبنرحب باستثمارات من كل حتة في العالم. وكمان عاوزين السياحة تزيد، يعني هدفنا 70 مليون سائح".

الزوج: "والله برنامج طموح جدا ويبدو إن أنت باذل جهد كبير".

الرجل الملتحي: "أشكرك، انا فعلا لفيت مصر حتة حتة،  بيت بيت، وكنت لسه في الصعيد".

الزوجة (تحدث نفسها وهي تتابع الحوار بين الرجل وزوجها): "ناقص يقول زنجة زنجة...دي ايه الأشكال دي!! قال مرشح للرئاسة قال!!!"

المشهد الثالث:

القطار يصل إلى الإسكندرية وينزل منه الركاب.

يحمل الزوجان حقائبهما وهما يتجهان خارج المحطة، ويلمحان الرجل الملتحي وهو يجر ورائه حقيبة سوداء فاخرة وفي استقباله رجل غير ملتحي يرحب به بشدة.

ينزل الطفل مع والدته من القطار وتتجه أنظاره إلى أرفف البائعين المكدسة بالأطعمة والحلويات والمشروبات. لا تجذبه أكياس الشيبسي بنكهة الجبنة أو الجمبري أو الشطة، ولا كانز الكوكاكولا  والسفن أب، ولا حتى  أصابع الشيكولاته والعسلية  أو أكياس البونبوني، فقط شيء واحد يشد انتباهه بقوة وتلمع عيناه وهو يتأمل ألوانه الثلاث، ثم يمد يده الصغيرة ليأخذه.

الطفل: "أنا عاوز ده يا ماما...أنا عاوز ده..."

الأم (وهي تنظر له وتبتسم): "حاضر يا حبيبي".

يمسك الطفل يد أمه وباليد الأخرى يمسك علم مصر...ويسيران معا خارج المحطة.

Pictures

I came across them as I was walking in the garden, heading towards my favorite spot by the sea. A young couple, totally absorbed in themselves, taking pictures of each other with a mobile phone camera. The girl was maybe in her mid twenties, a bit on the plumb side, with a beautiful rounded face and a flowing mane of blonde hair. Given her dark olive complexion I assumed her hair colour wasn’t natural. The young man was probably the same age, very thin and much taller than the girl. There was something about them…about the girl that caught the eye. Her face was lit up with an aura of excitement, of ecstasy as she tossed her hair left and right to pose for the pictures. Then I watched as she held the boy's arm and stood on her tip toes, bringing her cheek right close to his as her outstretched arm clicked a picture of their smiling faces, with the sea in the distance behind them. Then she turned the boy around, and again, cheek to cheek, clicked another picture of the both of them, this time with the trees and flowers of the garden in the background. Again they moved and floated from one position to another, with the girl, radiant with emotion, always leading the way.  A keen observer would make no mistake in guessing who the active partner and who the passive one in this dance of love was. When they had finished, I watched as the girl gave the boy an impassioned look, then, taking his face in both her hands, kissed him…on the lips…in full view of everyone.

I was taken aback by the audacity of the girl, by her boldness and daring in a country where such a public display of affection is strictly frowned upon, considered an act of indecency punishable by law.  I looked away and continued my walk towards the sea, leaving them behind in their amorous embrace. But I couldn't help feeling a pang of envy. When I was their age such an act in public would have been scandalous and unthinkable. Had things changed that much while I wasn't looking?! Had young women become this assertive and liberated?! As I approached the sea, I welcomed the sense of freedom it always gave me. The lingering picture of the enamored couple made me think how wonderful it would be to live freely and openly, with nothing to hide…to feel and express ones emotions without fear or shame…without secrets to conceal or inhibitions that cripple.

As I headed back some time later, I saw the couple still where they had been. This time the young man was standing up, smiling at the girl as she sat on a bench in front of him.  I looked at her as she tied her thick hair in a golden bun. Then from somewhere she pulled out what looked like a long black scarf. In a blink of an eye, and with quick and experienced hands, her hair was totally hidden under a black veil. Then she stood up and in another second she had all but disappeared behind a black 'abayia, with nothing of her left visible except her hands and face …still flushed and beaming with love. She gave a long passionate look at her partner then turned and walked away, with the young man following her at a distance.

I watched them in amazement and wonder as they disappeared into the horizon…a small black figure followed by a tall shadow…and all I could think about was those pictures…those many…many pictures.

A Scent of Rose Water

He clung to his mother as they walked towards the Moulid, smelling the soft scent of rose water that floated from her head scarf as the evening wind blew refreshing ripples of cool air against their faces. He was the happiest little boy in the world. At last he was going to theMoulid. How he had pleaded and cried to be taken there. Many in his family, even those younger than him, had gone before. They came back with amazing stories: of parades of chanting men in flowing white robes; of storytellers chanting tales; of puppet shows; of brightly coloured swings; of games they played and little trophies they won; of magicians, toys and delicious sweets. How he longed for that world! But he had never gone. Every year the Moulid came and went to their town but he was left at home, never allowed to go.

“There’s nothing for you to see there” his mother always told him. “You’ll only get lost or hurt my sweetest”.

And when he cried in anger and desperation she told him that he was her special little boy, that she would bring him beautiful gifts, that she would bake him his favorite cookies…she promised him so many things. But he never calmed down until she took him in her arms and hugged him tenderly, holding him until he fell quietly asleep amidst the soft scent of rose water.

But this year he was adamant. He was already ten years old, he wasn’t a baby anymore. He had a right to go just like everybody else! She finally acquiesced after his incessant pleading. They would go…but on one condition…he would stick to her no matter what. He would make sure to always hold her hand and never wander off on his own. She warned him it would be crowded and easy for a little boy like him to be lost.

Yes…yes… yes…he had agreed to every word she said…he was in seventh heaven…at last he would go!

As they approached the Moulid grounds, he shivered with excitement as his body vibrated with the multitude of sounds, voices and music that met his ears. The air was thick with all sorts of smells: incense, tobacco, spices, dust, smoke...an endless aroma of familiar and unfamiliar scents. He was in utter awe and rapture to what his senses were capturing as he clung to his mother, feeling safe in her presence as they both slowly navigated their way deeper and deeper into the crowds, slowly discovering this magic world he had always dreamed of.

He was overwhelmed by the mesmerizing devotional chanting emanating from the many tents that were erected around the Moulid, at times finding his body swaying back and forth to its rhythmic beat; he giggled with delight as he listened intently to every word of the puppet show; he was thrilled by the ride he took on the swings, feeling as if a hand was lifting him up into the heavens; he ate and tasted a multitude of delicious sweets, savoring new and unfamiliar flavours.

Music filled the air, but it is one particular sound that caught his attention …it was the melancholy singing of a rababa…how he loved it. It must be a storyteller chanting his tales. He followed the sound…slowly slipping away from his mother’s side…moving in the direction from where the music came. Before he got too far the rababa stopped. He stood there for a moment, hoping the music would resume, but it never did. He suddenly realized that he was standing all alone…not knowing in which direction to turn. He called out to his mother but she was nowhere near him. For the first time since he came to the Moulid he began feeling a deep sense of fear…people were bumping against him…he fell several times…he was all alone…not knowing where to go or how to reach his mother…was this what she had meant by being lost??? He stood there in horror and began crying…yelling out for her.

“What’s wrong little boy?” he heard a man asking him. “Are you lost?”

“He seems to be blind”, came a woman’s voice. “How could anyone leave a blind child all on his own like that??” she added with indignation.

Just as more people were gathering…just as he was reaching the pit of despair, he felt two strong hands holding him by his armpits, lifting him up in the air and in a fraction of a second he found himself in his mother’s arms.

“Didn’t I tell you not to leave my side” he heard her shouting in a panicked voice. “You scared me to death”, she yelled as she held him tighter.

“Sorry mother”, he sobbed with relief as he began feeling safe again in her comforting arms and the familiar scent he adored.

“Don’t I always tell you to be extra careful," she said in a more tender voice. “You’re special…your eyes can’t see like the rest of us…you can’t wander off on your own like that”.

“Yes mother”, he said in a weak voice as he buried his face in her bosom. He knew she was right…but he had just wanted to listen to the storyteller and the music of the rababa.

Despite this scare, coming to the Moulid was a dream come true. It was a world that had aroused every sense in his body and would forever remain etched in his memory. But fornow, he was happy heading back home…wrapped in the safety of his mother’s embrace…and the soft scent of rose water.

Sleepers...Awake!

It was already past midnight. She was feeling so tired and worn out. She had been working for days on end, from morning till night. Another important report had to be finished and delivered before the end of the year. It was a critical moment in her career. It would open so many doors for her, so many possibilities and opportunities. There was still a lot to do and she knew she had a long night ahead of her. But she was feeling so tired. Fatigue was setting in, seeping deep in every part of her body. Her back was aching, her shoulders feeling numb. She looked into the screen of her computer feeling her eyes heavy from the strain of long hours of work. She would take a few minutes rest then go back to work. She opened the radio and lied down on the sofa. They were playing Bach's Sleepers, Awake! one of her favorite pieces. It was, calm, soothing, uplifting. She closed her eyes as the soft sound of the oboe floated through the air. How long had it been since she had heard it last? She couldn't even remember. When had she last gone to a concert? In fact, when had she had time to do anything truly meaningful? Her days were all the same, a string of duties and monotony…a rush to do everything…and nothing. She thought of him for a moment as the music permeated her mind and soul…filling in the empty spaces…but she quickly brushed the thought aside.

She stood up and opened the balcony, stepping out into the cold winter night. She was amazed as she saw a full moon shining like a sliver ball in the heart of the dark sky. She stared at it with her weary eyes as the music followed her out into the crisp night air. Thoughts of him came back again. She couldn't resist this time and for a moment she sensed that he was there with her…that his arms held her tight as they both looked up at the bright shining jewel decking the midnight sky...was that him whispering in her ears…was it the heat of his body that was keeping her warm…?

Tears rolled down her face as she stood there, in a magical trance. As the last note of Bach's Sleepers, Awake! was played she re-entered the room and shut the balcony. She looked for a moment at her desk and at the pile of work waiting for her.

She calmly shut her computer, turned off the lights and went to sleep.

Forbidden

He couldn’t get his eyes off the gorgeous beauty lying in front of him. He tried turning round and walking away, but he just couldn’t resist the temptation of looking. He knew it was forbidden, that he should brush away the thoughts that were coming to his mind…but the temptation was too strong, he just couldn’t help himself. He looked again, feeling a formidable desire swelling inside of him. No…he must be strong…he wasn’t a child anymore…he’d better leave right now…he knew better than this. If he dared do what he was thinking of doing, and his wife found out, she would really be upset. He turned to go again but hesitated at the door. Why be so hard on himself…why not break the rules once in a while… what was wrong in a little moment of pleasure …even if it was forbidden?? He was human after all for crying out loud! He looked again. No, no, he must act like a responsible adult and control himself. He could end up paying a high price and hurting himself and those he cared for if things went wrong. He’d better leave right now! He took one last look. But he knew he shouldn’t have because all of a sudden his defenses broke down. He felt his heart pounding faster …he was perspiring heavily…an aching desire gripped him mercilessly. Oh he just couldn’t resist this!! To hell with all the rules!!

-

He plunged forward, grabbed the knife and cut two big slices from the chocolate cake. He put them on a plate and began eating like a madman….God it was delicious!! He groaned with pleasure as he savored the juicy cake and felt the chocolate icing slowly melting in his mouth...it was pure ecstasy! He knew his wife would be mad at him. He was overweight, diabetic, with a history of heart problems. Sweets like this delicious beauty were strictly forbidden. But there were times when he couldn’t bear this deprivation. He loved chocolates and sweets, let alone this magnificent cake baked by his wife for their guests.

-

As he finished the last bits of cake on his plate he began feeling guilty that he had weakened and succumbed to his desires. But on second thoughts...what kind of life would it be if we couldn't enjoy some sweet little pleasures every now and then...even if they were forbidden.