Free Love in the Kingdom of Oil by Nawal El Saadawi Page A

order of the law.
    The disappearance of the man appeared normal. With the flood of oil, it was possible for anything to vanish in the twinkling of an eye. Immediately outside the doorway, the waterfall was gushing as if the storm was beginning once more.
    When she went to cross over the threshold, she saw the chisel lying there. Around its head, the strap was wrapped in a knot. There arose in her body a feeling of familiarity. As if she was seeing the absent man, who had returned disguised as a chisel.
    Perhaps something had happened. The iron chisel began to have a human aura, which dispersed the gloom. She stretched out her hand to it, and cuddled it at her breast. Like a mother finding her lost child. As if the chisel was moving by itself. She slipped to the ground, digging with its little pointed head with an amazing determination. It kept digging with a stubborn determination. As if it was a child looking for its mother and knowing for certain that she was there, lying in that hole in the bowels of the earth.
    ‘Won’t you ever stop looking?’
    His voice startled her. She froze in her position. The chisel fell from her hand. The blue veins stood out on her chapped hands. She realised as he looked at her that her breasts were bare. She enclosed her chest with the bed sheet, her eyes half asleep. She was not properly awake and she did not know if he was her husband or a stranger. If he were her husband, it would be better if she screamed. For she did not remember that she had married a man with this appearance. If the man were a stranger he would pass on his way without any need for her to scream.
    When she screamed, her voice was alien to the world of men. She probably did not open her mouth for fear that it would be filled with particles of oil. Nevertheless, she saw the women gathering around her, with jars on their heads. She realised that she was under observation, that their ears could hear her voice even if it had not emerged from her mouth, and that their eyes were staring at her with a sort of anger.
    ‘You’re a woman like us. Why don’t you carry a jar?’
    She wanted to prove that she was not like them and that she could not live and die like an animal. ‘I have another goal.’
    ‘What’s that, sister?’
    She remembered everything all at once. She began to tell story after story. She began with her aunt, and Lady Zaynab, and the Virgin Mary, and that she wanted to be a prophetess so that she could heal people from illnesses like the goddess Sekhmet.
    The name Sekhmet rang in the air, which was swimming with particles of oil. The ‘t’ became velarised and the women no sooner heard the name than they tied their black scarves around their heads and began to strike their cheeks and cry all together, ‘Sakhmutt!’
    It is not strange that everything was turning out like this. It was as if she had returned to her childhood, when her aunt used to tie a scarf around her head, and pour invective on anybody who came near her. If the women of this village were like her aunt, then the black flood would inevitably be considered a natural event. Her heart filled with despair and her eyes darted around looking for a way out.
    She saw one of the neighbour women carrying a jar on her head. Her face was completely hidden behind a heavy black veil, and all she could see of it was half an eye, and something like a volcano exploded inside her, ‘You’re not a blind ox going round and round driving a water wheel. You must have the right to see what’s around you, mustn’t you? Or have you committed a crime in secret so that you’re no longer able to appear among the people of the village with your face uncovered?’
    ‘I don’t want to uncover my face.’
    ‘Is there a reason why you conceal yourself so much?’
    ‘There’s no reason why I should uncover my face.’
    ‘You could at least see the world.’
    ‘See what?’
    ‘The world. Isn’t it sufficient to see the world? Don’t you feel a desire to see