Here's a story I've wrote in english. A story I do love as i love my own life. There were talking about sending it to a publishing house through a certain agent. Madness of writing in english. I was in progress--with the very kind help of an american freind, that's how we knew eachother basically--but i decided to stop. I can't write in english as a native. I'd like to mention here the eforts that freind have payed trying to confensing me to change up my mind, but i was stubborn as an ass. That kind of stubborness made that freind change her own mind about my writings later! Anyway, i was looking at my folders this night, and i saw Echoes. I thought I might give it some appreciation--for old times sake--by publish it here at last.
I didn't know why I kept looking at her, nor did she. If she asked me, I'd say nothing but she raised me and I love her.
Sitting on her favorite chair. Making up her veil, giving her green eye looks to everything, putting a leg on another as a beauty queen, those hands actions, which reflect how proud of herself she was. I always looked at her and kept wondering about the reason. Still asking about the reason until now. Why she left me to a tiny dark whole under the earth?
We had our small lamp in the house broken. My aunt came up with a good idea: leaving the kitchen light on, for the sake of my old grandma when she's going to bathroom at night.
One night I heard sounds out of my room as my grandma going to fall. I got up out of my bed and rushed out of the room to find her in the corridor, moving, leaning on the wall while walking. The light came from her back where the kitchen is. Her hair, clouds waving upon her head. Her face, dark. I felt scared. Couldn't help it. Just for a rushing moment I thought of all zombie movies I'm too much of a coward to see. She kept moving like not seeing me and entered her room leaving me frozen.
When I'm looking to her face now, before last washing to settle down to the grave. I remembered how could that beloved face made me before.
I looked to that black and white photo. She looks so young and pretty, standing digging her cutting eye looks into the viewer's face. Her face changed before I was born to the shape I always knew. Not as fading but as lightness. She gave away her stunning huge breasts and fleshy ass – on the old sexy fashion. Nature took her fleshy face as well. Even those hard eye looks are to be tender. I asked my auntie again: was that really my grandma? Auntie just gave me a tender look.
Once, there was a friend on phone. She got the call and told him I was asleep. The guy was polite and didn't forget to ask her about how life was treating her. She sighed and talked about the hard life. He was so polite to tell her sweet words. She felt thankful and didn't forget to ask him a prayer for her sake. The guy was so polite again and said that may God give her whatever she wanted. I want to die, she replied.
I name it Pavarotti. A tomcat. When I first saw it coming from the tomb of it's mother, I name it and so it became a He. I had never heard Luciano Pavarotti, but I always thought it was a lovely musical name. My Pavarotti hadn't any musical tone because he didn't mew-mew a lot. Usually sitting beside her, closing his green eyes down and giving us the gestures of wise men. He loved her and she loved him. Many times she waved him off her coach, but many other times she was just stroking his back and face saying how a good cat he was.
I loved them till I buried both; her with my eyes and him with my hands, just a few months after she left. Like my Pavarotti, didn't want to cut the everlasting argument they carried on while sitting beside each other.
ReasonShe has a lovely smile, a Soul of a darn cat. She's as beautiful as Satan. She is always asking whether or not I love her. I always say it was an old thing; too old of a thing to bother ourselves talking about. She's not in love with me. I don't know yet whether I, her. All I know that she is my ex girlfriend and that I cannot bear to let her ring me and not answer it. She was always saying that I'm a fucking crazy, and I'm always saying she is a lying bitch. Seems we have a great bond and notable ability of getting along. I do always ask her: why don't we give ourselves another shot? Second chance? She always says: Why?
My Ex's Shit
I wanted to ring her back. I went to phone then stopped. I gave the wall an absent look. I put on some clothes and walked the streets. A miracle could happen then I can see her walking before me now. The river was reflecting its usual sparkle as a gesture of glamorous laziness. Many couples were sitting and walking here and there. I sat down and I picked at a cigarette and I noticed a cat walking with the same glamorous laziness. She gave me a sharp look and I noticed it was an absent one. Sure, it's a cat for God's sake! Who knows? Who gives a shit?! The cat moved away while I was busy looking at some girl's lusty lips.
My Ex's Kiss
As she wanted to put a quote for her autobiography, she asked me why I never kissed her. I was too coward to answer that I was coward, but I told her to call me that if it would relieve her. She lifted her coffee mug to her lips and said that I was a fucking coward, but she could understand my reasons. Does she? It will be dazzling to hear why since I don't even know myself. She said that she never wanted a kiss, so she didn't encourage me. She smiled victoriously like she got Random House to print her biography.
My Ex's Hands
I met her this one day. We had a nice conversation then we both left. Long time after that - and seems like it wasn't long enough – she thought I was in love with her. She told me once that her hands shook when I told her I was in love with another woman. I didn't notice that, and I never imagined it. She kept approaching and I kept neglecting. She kept pushing and I kept hiding. When we both were pushing, her hands quit shaking. She told me that when I told her that story she wasn't in love with me but she felt like if I would love a woman that would be she. And if I did think of a woman, that would be she. My body shook.
My Ex and My Grandma
When she called me by accident she knew. Got silent for a moment then her voice came up deep telling me that she was such a great lady I lost, and that we must meet. I couldn't refuse, that bothers me like a cat who had to swim. We sat at the cinema hall. She was watching the movie while I was watching her hand. We went to a library we both like after having lunch. We walked the same street we love. We stand before her home after nine hours of "having fun". She was talking about what my next girl is going look like, and I was thinking of my hand, which got sweaty when I held hers for 15 minutes.
My Home's Scheme of Lonely Trees
I stopped going to my usual café. It wasn't out of saving money – cause I do not have any basically, but I've got a feeling wondering about its uses? You can have your own tea mug here at home. Watching TV you never did. Friends you can just call or meet them occasionally. Reviewing the objects you are always neglecting in your house. My auntie's face, which began to grow older after the good lady's death. Those wooden stair steps echoing the tapping of cats' legs. That tree in the so-called "garden". You vaguely remember another one that was tiny and shy but it seems like your old fashioned tree was not in favor of newcomers.
How did that tiny little tree disappear? Was it melodramatic action? A Murder? Nah! Your old fashioned tree couldn't do such a thing. It's a good tree indeed. Who can judge anybody for feelings? She just didn't like the tiny tree. So it was a suicide? That tiny sensitive tree eliminated itself when it understood that it was not a welcome in your community? I couldn't assure anything.
I looked at the floor thinking and I was both happy and astonished of that river of new thoughts and significant sparkles, which have been quenched only by staying home.
My Home's Birthday
They say it was been built in 1902. I don't know myself cause I wasn't there, and I didn't see any papers telling me what's the exact date of pulling up that great 15-walled building. Then I may wonder about the difference between 1902 and 1904 or 1917, even 1731. My aunt gives his rocks many touches of affection. Deep and crystal clear ones, even if she usually talks persuasively to her aunties about selling out the house that could bring them millions. That house we both lived in. She gave away her first screams as a just-have-been-born baby thought. I have been born in a house I do not love, and merely went to. She also had been married here; lived with a silly man he had gone after only one year to have another wife. We are living here now. Eating. Watching TV. Laughing and crying; shouting and whispering. Though we used to have birthdays. I stopped holding birthdays since I was only 11. Always He watches and never called for one of his own. Maybe we should think about making a will to our grandsons – if we have some, and if He still stands – to make him a millennium party. But only if I was assured He was there since 1902.
My Home's Stadium
I was a little kid who still got the lust for playing football with many kids who used to visit their grandma who living in our house. Sneaking is the only way to begin a game before unleash our joyful crying and naughty laughing, then my grandma's sister appears from her balcony, yelling with a nervous tone I do know it very well in my family. Naming us and whoever brought us bloody life to make it even a misery for her. We usually continue running as playing, but everyone to their grandma's apartment. I really felt hatred towards her. They say she used to steal from the family's income of two rented buildings along with our origin here. I do not care about it but I do when it comes to an old story tells she once hit her elder sister whom is my grandma. I stopped lusting after football. I can't help but hate that woman, even if she cried a lot when my grandma died.
My Home and My Grandma
She used to adore that house. Not as only a place we to live, but as an achievement of her father, the creature most beloved in universe. It is the house of my father. That is how she always refused selling it. I can admit she wasn't the one in charge, thanks to her strange worship for "daddy" and such iron relation was between them. That earned her envy that spread like fire when the old man died. She wasn't in charge but she always said No. Even after awhile, when she grew old and got along with her daughter's wills, I felt she was hiding her refusal under a thick skin. She used to say phrases like 'sucha beautiful house' and 'how marvelous and steady it was built'. Had many stories to tell me when I was a child about Satan's goat legs, which you can hear moving after midnight. That is why they always have a lamp above the doorway, and how once she had heard him knocking at the door. Did you open the door? No! I would be crazy to do that! She used to tell me about her father's cats. He owned a Kebab restaurant, a huge one near our home. Cats were all over the restaurant waiting for any sort of kind passing' to them. You know! But one day, Father got us a Persian cat. It was very lovely and so adorable and we name it Koky. It used to stand in the yard every night and wait for him. Once it saw him it run at him and push its body against his legs with an exaggerated purr!
You know what? What grandma? It was like it talked to him…yeah…when it was just sitting beside him and gave him its greeting looks. I told grandma that it must adore him. Grandma saw it then said yes, it did very, very much. It loves him the way it died a month after his death. I looked at her sad smile, and felt some fear.
My Home, My grandma and my ex
As soon as she entered the yard, she told me that my house matches perfectly to what she imagined. I was thrilled to be showing her my residence for the first time. Ten minutes earlier, it popped into my head when she asked me when I could bring her the first draft of a novel that I wrote. I asked her if she would like to escort me home so she can take it at once. I left her standing before our partition front door, looking around observing the mythical building she always heard of. My aunt was annoyed that she was there and blamed me to get her to our untidy basement we live in. I told her it was just fine. My grandma looked at me and smiled. She couldn't get out to greet my ex, but my aunt did. It was her first meeting with my ex and she was just happy and embarrassed. After handing her the draft, while walking the streets, she told me she wanted to meet the old lady but she was shy to ask. I replied it would happen as soon as I can.
My Aunt's Hair
Once, she called me to help her dyeing her hair. I looked to the white hair spreading over her head and I told her that she looked very fine indeed. Why ya hiding your age?! You must act like a mature woman! Of course I was kidding, and she knew that, but she couldn't help herself exploding on my face, calling me as a "bloody sadistic who wants to break that youthful spirit she's got". For sure she was very angry, usually that edge of anger when I'm laughing about this every time she asking me to help, but she couldn't deny that many times she laughed during yelling at me. Now she's sitting there, thinking about something God only knows what is it, putting a veil and letting her hair grown whiter and whiter everyday passes.
My Aunt's Pillow
She's short and nervous. Having the same adoration for cats' from her mother's blood. Going to the grocer everyday to spend sum of money she really needs buying a can of salmon for her four cats, which were five. Had one marriage but didn't work. Working seven hours a day and spending hours like them going to friends and talking on the phone, telling anything would happen to her and listening to their wise voices. But in every night passes she laying on her bed and began to think and replay an ancient event occurred many decades ago she merely tell anybody.
Her nephew could hear her speaking about that while she didn't even realize that she really speaks. He could hear her asking herself if she might be the reason for her mother's death cause she didn't concede her a doctor earlier. He could hear her crying upon a man she lost 30 years ago.
My Aunt and My Grandma
She was her mom's second baby. The first baby was a man who died after begotten a male child she and her mom loves him as a son. They both have much of things in common and much more in difference. Sometimes mom name her as a bloody damn woman who wants make her suffer, While the daughter accused her mom as the reason for the failure of her own marriage. Mom could say that her daughter is an untamable creature, and the daughter would say that her mom is a jerk woman who put them in that basement for being daddy sweetheart who sacrifice with her own condo for his own will. Sure it's old enough story about my grandma's father need of her apartment to inhabitant newcomers. She can stay at the good marvelous ground floor – actually it's a basement – if…IF she accepted the replacement. Sure she accepted. Anyway, both of the two old women have a strange life of pulling and letting strings.
That could be based on the cooperative relation between the weakening old and the still-in-shape mature woman, and could be not, cause the fact is my grandma had spent more than three years – while she was 70 years old – eating fast food. She's a stubborn ass so as we as a family. Many years ago, things have been settled and they both lived "Happily Ever After"; but please hold your laughing when grandma receives the coming new day with smile and greeted her daughter happily with a wide smile, then name her in unreasonable anger when the daughter give us her back.
My Aunt and My Home
A new letter has come. She received it and looked at her name written with a bad handwriting she easily recognized. The 36 as her street number in the address could be red as 38 as usual. Her old colleague has sent another letter from the lands of desert and offensive sun. She thanked the postman who was a freshman politely. Walking in the corridor, heading the kitchen where she put the teapot on fire. She heard the sound of her nephew turns on his bed during his sleep. She smiled. Just like his father.
She poured the tea, sitting on the nice little chair in the kitchen which she always named it as a "cute". Her friend was just fine. Living with her three kids and a decent husband. Letter asked how's the life treating her nephew. She smiled again cause she saw flashes of old days. Her friend was deeply in love with her brother, the handsome officer who's older than her by a full decade. They both - she and her friend – used to play "catch me" in that huge house she live in. Many times her brother was going out, or returning from his military college and smiling hi to them. Her friend told her that she loves his smile and that old odor of his huge house with that lovely yard and that tall tree. That tree which she wrote on its surface "I love you".
Her old colleague had a paranoid nightmare that her beloved's mother, that stiff lady with merciless puritan methods would find what she have wrote then banning her seeing her love again. Days had passed. My brother has been dead. Mother too. You lucky bastard had a great life. Flashes of unpleasant memories hit her. She closed her eyes. Suddenly she felt like going out to the yard. She stood before the old tree, trying to recognize a phrase been written long time ago, with a bad handwriting.
My Aunt, My Grandma, The Home and My Ex
Many times we had notable fights. I wasn't always that polite boy she raised. She had to be frustrated and I never blamed her for that, not even for just a second. She wasn't my aunt, but my real mom. Grandma was on my side most of cases as her spoiled little grandson. That souvenir God's sent her from her gone – too – soon son. My aunt was murmuring, then shouting about my last birthday present from my girlfriend. It was a lighter on the shape of a naked woman. I told her that's my own privacy. She replied that I'm not that wise mature man yet. What did that girl done to your mind? I threatened to leave that home which making me sicker day after day. My aunt gone to her room and shut its door behind her in violence. I entered my room and made a phone call to my girlfriend. She was annoyed to hear such things and asked me how'd my aunt know about the present and its sender. I replied it was a slip of the tongue. She asked me to compromise my aunt. She's your real mom. I knew very well that she held back a reasonable question: if you left that house, where the hell you gonna live? I was really broke and they all knew about that. I got furious and got my bag; opened it and began to set down my clothes.
Unreasonable actions of a real jerk during the age of foolishness. I have no home but here. I have no family but her. My mother probably being penetrated now by her new husband, didn't give a shit about how life is with her own biological child. All what I was thinking about is to set myself "free" of anything monitors my life. My aunt wouldn't be my Big Brother. Living alone. Getting a job. Have a brand new life. Maybe I'd kiss my girlfriend in my own condo for the first time in our relationship. I was fooling myself with all of those illusions. I knew it and I was on the edge of desperate helpless crying. I heard the sound of opening my door so I pulled myself together. Someone got near to my back. I didn't turn around. Waiting for my disturbing anger to show up when my aunt trying to cheer me up. Just I heard the sound of crying. I did turn around that time to find my grandma standing before me, saying while crying do not leave me, sunny. I hugged her and failed to hold back my tears.
I saw my aunt standing aside my door, looking to us the way a lonely sad dog would.
July 2, 2004, 05:07 AM
Cairo - Egypt