E-Book, Englisch, 192 Seiten
Alrefai Shadow of the Sun
1. Auflage 2023
ISBN: 978-1-913043-37-7
Verlag: Banipal Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection
E-Book, Englisch, 192 Seiten
ISBN: 978-1-913043-37-7
Verlag: Banipal Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection
Taleb Alrefai is a well-known Kuwaiti author. Shadow of the Sun (Dhil al-Shams), was his first novel, published in 2000, with a second edition in 2012. centred on the suffering of Egyptian and other foreign migrant workers in Kuwait. In 2002, he was awarded the State Prize for Letters for his novel Ra'ihat al-Bahr (Scent of the Sea). His novel Fi al-Huna (Here and There) was longlisted for the 2016 International Prize for Arabic Fiction and has a French edition. His novel Al-Najdi (2017, The Mariner) based on the life of a famous Kuwaiti sea captain, has editions in English (Banipal Books, 2020, with an audio edition (Spiracle, 2022), French, Spanish, Italian, Chinese and Turkish.
Weitere Infos & Material
Chapter One
How long will this miserable rumbling in my head go on? I hadn’t imagined that the plane journey would be like this. The high seat rest is obscuring the woman sitting in front of me. All I can see is her black hair and that she’s flustered by her crying baby. I wish I could see her face.
He seems to be engrossed in his reading. Blocking the way to my seat. It was like I expected to see him again. I spotted him sitting there, and then he stood up when I approached and extended a long arm and an outstretched open hand: “Here you go, this is your seat.”
The baby’s crying is making me feel depressed. I wish I could burst into tears. If only I could go back to being a baby again so that a woman would take me to her bosom as I rest my head near her heart.
Last night, Saniya drew me to her heart. It was my final night with her. I can always tell when she wants me; she begins to act anxious, and her breath takes on a particular scent. She sends pleading looks. I wanted her to be honest about her desire for once, to call me to her, like Nema does: “Come here, Helmy.”
Nema, Hajj Metwally’s wife, isn’t like my wife Saniya. Each time I see her is like the first time. I was hungry to see her last night. I wanted to say goodbye to her, to make up with her. To kiss her and smell her perfume one last time. Preoccupied, I sat in the coffee shop. I was silent, as my thoughts played tricks on me. Then I got up, having made up my mind.
My heart pounded when I saw that the lights were off in her bedroom. Making sure no one could see me, I tapped on the window. I pricked up my ears, head lowered, casting my eyes down at the dusty ground. The window remained dark. I headed to the back door, listening out for the sound of incoming footsteps. I was sure that Hajj Metwally was at his shop. The door was steeped in darkness. I pushed it but it resisted stubbornly. I understood that she didn’t want me there, and so my longing for her grew, along with my distress and this maddening desire to see her. My mouth felt parched. I pushed at the door again, but it was still obstinately shut. I saw a shadow approaching, so I sped up to conceal my deceit. I carried on walking, head down and eyes focused firmly on the ground. I tapped on the window again. I knew she was on the other side and that she could hear me. I hoped that the room would suddenly burst with light, but…
Distraught, I returned to our room. I was met by the sight of Saniya’s face, just as agitated as I’d left it, and visibly sadder.
“Hello,” I said, avoiding entering into conversation.
I heard Saad’s voice ring out: “Baba! Baba!”
“Sit down and be quiet!” she shouted at him. He froze in fear.
I sat down in silence on the edge of the bed, transfixed by the room’s stifling amber lighting. Saad toddled towards me, casting fearful glances at his mother. I picked him up, gave him a kiss and sat him down on my lap. She began to pace up and down nervously as she tidied up. I caught a glimpse of my small black suitcase in its spot near the corner of the room. I thought about getting up to replace the blown lamp, but I felt tired.
Saniya was seething.
“I’ve had enough,” she said.
Maybe she’d had an argument with my mother, I thought, or with my sister, Saliha, or Saad might have annoyed her. Maybe it was about me going to Kuwait – her dread, and my silence through it all. I didn’t respond, so she left me with Saad and walked out. He was sitting on my lap. I breathed in the scent at the nape of his neck and began to play with him. Shortly after, she returned with his dinner. I went back to my spot at the edge of the bed. Meanwhile, she fed him angrily. I watched them through the smoke of my cigarette: my wife and my son. Our final night together.
Suddenly, she turned to me.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she fumed.
“Please, say something,” she pleaded, her anger having given way to distress. “This is our last night together. I want to hear your voice. Say anything at all.”
“I’ve got nothing to say, Saniya.”
I blurted the words out without thinking and she immediately burst into tears. Saad stopped eating, his frightened eyes roving around the room before they settled on her face.
“Oh, why do I have to have such rotten luck!” she wailed. Then she sprang up, grabbed Saad by the hand, and took him off for a bath. After a while, she brought him back out, wrapped in a towel. Her eyes were still puffy and her nose was red.
“Enough smoking. The room can’t take any more,” she said to me, as she stood Saad up on the floor, naked. She dressed him in his underwear and pyjamas, before carrying him to his bed. But then she brought him back and lifted him up to my face.
“Kiss Baba,” she said.
She sat down by his bed, patting his shoulders and stroking his head. Saniya can’t stand my silence. “I know this is just the way you are,” she once said to me, “but it scares me when you don’t say anything. I can’t tell what you’re thinking. I feel like you don’t love me and that you don’t care whether I’m here or not.”
“Keep an eye on Saad – I’m going for a bath,” she said, standing up. I took her hand in mine. Her fingers felt soft as I drew her gently towards me.
“Come here…”
I pulled her down to sit next to me. I was still in the same spot at the edge of the bed. We looked into each other’s eyes.
“Why are you upset?” I asked her, but she lunged backwards as if my sentence had struck her.
Drawing her to my chest, I stroked her hair as her tears began to fall.
“Saniya,” I said, softly. “You know what I’m like. My own silence annoys me. But this is the first time for me to travel and I don’t know what it’ll be like in Kuwait.”
She relaxed in my arms and her sobbing subsided. Saad was in his bed. A dreadful stillness hung over us. I could hear her breathing. The feeble amber light in the room continued to bother me. A thought occurred to me: I’ll be apart from her for two years. “Saniya, my darling,” I whispered. “It’s out of my hands.”
Sitting up straight, she wiped away her tears. When she spoke, her voice sounded hoarse.
“It’s not you. I’ve been upset all day. You’re going away and leaving me. I don’t know how I’ll live without you.”
She got up suddenly and wiped at her tears again. “May God ease the journey for you.”
Then a shadow of a smile appeared on her face as life beat into her voice: “I’m going for a bath. I won’t be long.”
Snatching herself from my arms, she quickly disappeared. It was clear that she was getting herself ready for us to be intimate. I looked at my little boy Saad as he slept and watched him quietly breathing. She emerged from the bathroom in a brighter mood. Meanwhile, I had changed out of my clothes. I spotted her familiar smile. Her face relaxed as she briskly dried her hair, letting it flow over her shoulders. Making a show of brushing past me, she reached the bed first and climbed in, her body pulsing with passion.
As soon as I got into the bed, she allowed her desire to show. Her hot body and heavy breathing seemed to seep through my skin. As if speaking to herself, she whispered: “Tonight’s the last night. You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“I was afraid it would be my time of the month,” she continued. “And we wouldn’t be able to…”
I took her into my arms, feeling her breath and the heat of her breasts. Our last night. We’d been married for four and a half years. I remember the way my father had taken his decision when I graduated from university, as usual without bothering to consult me. “You need to get married,” he’d ordered me in a cutting tone.
Overnight, marriage became his primary concern. Every time we sat down together, he would begin his onslaught: “What are you waiting for? You’ve graduated now and you have to get married.”
Each time, I wouldn’t say anything but he would carry on: “You’re a teacher now – a big shot. Pick a girl and I’ll do the rest.”
At the time, I used to dream about Saniya. Anticipating her arrival, I’d sit in total silence, pretending to read a book. I would see her when she came over with her mother to visit my mother and sisters. Her long-legged figure would make my heart quiver. I followed every step of her coquettish walk, and my eyes drank in her coal-black hair, her blushing face, and her shy smile. I gazed at her, full of yearning, and if I happened to snatch a glance in return, my heart would throb.
My father’s promises brought her closer to me. “Don’t worry yourself,” he said. “I’ll take care of all of the expenses – the house, the dowry, the furnishings. You’re my only son. Get married, so I can see your children before I die.”
I shouldn’t have succumbed. I should have taken my time and made sure I was financially stable first. Living in my father’s home was oppressive, both to me and Saniya, and it ruined the joy of marriage for me.
The morning after our wedding, I found my mother standing on the other side of our bedroom door. That day, I realised that every step Saniya and I took would be watched. My mother wouldn’t tire of monitoring each breath we took. Several times, Saniya surprised my mother by catching her eavesdropping from behind the door. Saniya would fume: “Unbelievable! What kind of woman is she?”
My mother would vehemently deny it. She swore on her life, accusing Saniya of slander. “It’s not fair, I swear,” she would sob. “Your wife’s making up lies about me.”
Unsure how to respond, I wouldn’t say a word. I knew my wife...
