blade?!
Marwanâs eyes turned bloodshot from staying up late and drinking too much, and the others got used to his behavior. They treated him as a victim of the explosion. Just another madman. His nerves would flare up for the slightest reason. His colleagues at work didnât abandon him, and he went on devising crosswords, though he stopped writing the horoscopes. He was given a warning when he started writing very difficult crosswords, using words he found in the encyclopedia, or when he wrote, for example, â7 Across: a purple scorpion, 5 Down: a broken womb (six letters, inverted).â
â
This meat tastes salty. Whatâs that horrible smell? Donât you read the Quran? Why donât you pray? The waterâs hot in the shower.â Marwan started to take revenge, taking pleasure in tormenting the policeman. He would eat and drink and do things the policeman didnât like, like drink gallons of whiskey, which the policeman couldnât bear.
Marwan complained to you about the things that troubled him most. He hadnât gone near his wifeâs body, except once, three months ago. He had the impression that he was sleeping with her along with another man, and the policeman groaned and wailed like a crazed cat.
The policeman didnât submit to his fate readily. He also knew how much authority he had. Sometimes he would keep jabbering deliriously in Marwanâs head until his skull throbbed. The last time Marwan told me about the policeman was while they had a truce.
The policeman wanted Marwan to visit his family. He told him some intimate details of his life so that Marwan would seem like an old friend. Yes, yes, yes. Iâm not interested in all those details. When you write, you can choose the limits and call the rest our ignorance.
Marwan sat on the sofa and the policemanâs wife brought him some tea, while his mother wiped her tears with the hem of her hijab. Marwan hugged the policemanâs little girl as if she were the daughter of a late dear friend.
It was the same scene whenever he visited. He started buying presents for the family on instructions from the policeman, and Marwan even went to visit the policemanâs grave with the family.
The policeman went into a deep silence when he heard his wife and mother weeping at his grave. He remained silent for several days. Marwan breathed a sigh of relief each time, assuming the policeman had disappeared.
He punched you on the nose when you were driving the car. I know . . . good . . .
details . . . everything in this story is boring and disgusting.
Then one day I visited him at his magazine. He was taking swigs from a bottle of arak that he hid in the drawer of his desk and smoking furiously. I started talking about our problems working at
Boutique
and the state of the country, in hopes of calming his nerves. He stopped writing as I spoke.
When I stopped speaking, he stood up and asked if Iâd go with him to visit the drunken boat in prison.
I wasnât even sure she was still alive. I rang the department in charge of womenâs prisons from his office and asked after her. They told me she was a patient in the cityâs central hospital.
I was extremely uneasy all the way to the hospital. Marwan smoked a lot and rocked back and forth in his seat. He began pressing me to take good care of his family, his voice full of emotion.
I told him, âWhat are you talking about? Marwan, what do you mean, âgoing to dieâ? Hey, youâre like a cat with seven good lives left.â
He punched me in the nose. Then he lit me a cigarette with his and put it in my mouth. I had an urge to stop the car and give him a thorough beating.
The drunken boat was lying in the intensive care ward. Just a skeleton. Sheâd been unconscious for a fortnight. We sat close to her on the edge of the bed. Marwan took a small knife shaped like a fish out of his trouser pocket and put it
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