EXISTANCE is
compatible with chaos. The chaos’ time is never to be lost whilst being an
unconscious step towards more steps. It fits extremely with tiredness, while a
wild fantasy drives body and spirit across the unknown brighten jungles, a
coercion without handgrip.
She was glamorously
spelling a name. That was his name: ‘Jamal’. He slackly turned his face, then
the entire stretched carcass towards the source of that soft voice. There was a heavy
yellow light coming out from the open dusty window. He was insinuatingly
looking at her, while she was positioning before the window. He could not
define: who was she? Only a perfect female bulk like a standing fish, she was
dancing a cool Salsa style, moving her hips left and right, and the song’s
lyric was only ‘J-m-a-l-I-l-o-v-e-y-u-o’. He kept blinking, fighting his eyes
in the tough process of opening them and then she came closer, she gently gave
him a deep blind kiss and caressed him. He could undergo her heavy pumping. He
fluctuated thinking that he was pushing toward her attractive body; he was
actually pulled by a cursed hidden power of human sensation. He was feeling
that much unfamiliar joy within the lazy blistering veins. As he was weltering
on the pallet for many times, spicing up the scene, he shocked his facade head
with the iron skeleton of the bed. Still under the blanket, he was seeping and
his consciousness was getting back like the blooming gloom of reality of
typical poor’s mornings. He was bolting his sweaty body, trying to find out
what happened. He got the above side of his head out of the warm blanket, the
window showed a foggy sky, he wandered: ‘is it morning?’ He gazed at the clock
on the wall, it was suspended, and then he indolently covered his face, trying
to recover his thoughts. He was consecutively coughing, he remembered: the days
before, he had passed a tough headache, “Ugh! I’ve an exam today”, he looked at
the others’ beds in the shared room, none was still asleep, ‘has they gone?’ He
disgustedly jumped throwing the blanket on the left side. He put his feet on
the cold floor and walked towards the light. From the corridor, he saw people
walking on the campus’ yard. He called someone:
-
“Excuse me friend: What time is it?”
-
“It is 10 and 25 minutes.”
-
“Is it morning?!” fleeing from fool
people,
that person did not answer and walked away.
***
Again,
that was a cursed Thursday. Jamal walked on different directions in the room
with the same hysterical rhythm of a being who realized that he is not a
complete being. He was unbelievably responding to the walls, the same words
that he used to shout every morning since he had come there; he cursed the new day which suddenly
came after a short sleep. He remembered the time and befell in more
nervousness. He found out that he betrayed the planned program as well as the
will betrayed him. It was 10:40 am, he was in the way towards the faculty and
his breath was outrunning, squealing: “Damn the dream… Damn the dream!”
Jamal
had to be at the classroom and
set for an exam that seemed to be a matter of life
or death.
It was “the last chance exam”. Alternatively, a whole year would be lost.
Through the sportive complex of the campus, he climbed the wall, which
separates the faculty from the campus. He found that the easy point to jump to
the other side was blocked by cement… ‘What a bad luck!’ He looked for an easy
place swearing by Heaven to never getting out of the gate and taking the
familiar long way. All the places were hard to get through. He chose a place
near eucalyptus trees and many wild plants. With difficulty, he passed the
three meters’ wall ripping off the splinters of broken glass that were attached
to the above point of the wall. Finally, Jamal was in the faculty filled up
with dust and the appearance of a refugee who had fortunately fled from war.
An
hour was left. The boy entered the class without permission. He speechlessly
headed towards a vacant seat, while everybody was staring at his awkward steps.
Their eyes were raising thousands of questions. They were oddly looking at him
and at the footsteps which he left behind. They forgot that they had an exam.
The old lady in white stood like a statue, she was telling him many times: “You
are belated… you are forbidden… you don’t have the right to pass the exam…”
but, he did not notice her. On the seat, he took a long gaze at the way amid
the tables which he had just passed by: there were many bloodstains on the
floor. Astonishing red points were painting there. Accordingly, he understood
the others’ eyes, and he realized that he wounded his big toe. He didn’t bend
over to check the depth of the injury; inn sufferance was telling everything.
He guessed that there was no need to waste more time since the questions sheet
was still virgin. As time was no longer indulging, Jamal started recklessly
rapping the whiteness of the sheet.
His
eyes were still hazy because he did not wash his face with water and soap as
usual. He wrongly read the question, which was written on the blackboard with a
pallid chalk, it was too dubious: ‘It was about - Dead penalty -. But, he
foolishly read it -dead plenty-!’ Under the influence of pain and the tempo
tones of the hungry belly, he started filling in the sheet’s exam wrongly,
talking about the wide-spreading of death in his country that time around. He
recalled all the dead people and begged them to tell him about the factors
behind their death, he kept avoiding talking about natural death; nature
doesn’t kill.
Time
caught Jamal up and killed some of the banalities. It was twelve o’clock.
Everybody left the classroom except four: Jamal and his misery versus the lady
in white and her angriness. She was asking for the paper and the boy was needed
more minutes to finish. Lastly, the second part won the round. She left
heedlessly the classroom as everybody had done. Was anyone aware of that? The
pale boy had a queer nightmare… he had not slept enough last night… he had no
breakfast… he had climbed a high wall, and there he hit the big toe. Alas! The
big head did not know anything about people with bad-luck.
Was
the boy innocent?
Lonely
in a big room, he sprawled on the seat. He looked at his right feet, there was
much curdled blood on the big toe, and he didn’t give much attention to the
ugly scene whilst the empty tables did so; deafness was a solution. He stared
into the space in front of him for long time thinking of the morning girl and
of all that happened after that. He gave a deep clumsy laugh and creepily left
the place from the back door, exactly where none had gone before.
Written by M’hamed Kanour, Morocco
