Free Cockroach by Rawi Hage Page B

more like an uncle.
    No, he’s just a friend.
    Well, he just sits there, brooding through the loud
     boom-booms, smoking like he is about to recite poetry.
    Well, actually, he could be a poet.
    Ah! So he is a poet.
    Do you want to dance or ask questions?
    I am dancing.
    Good.
    While I danced, I looked at the man. Our eyes met. He turned his head,
     crushed out his cigarette, stood up, and walked towards us. He laid his hand on
     Shohreh’s shoulder and said something in Persian to her. She answered with a brief
     nod, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he left.
    Reza danced alone. He was happy and energetic, and like a bear his large
     body secured a void around it. When I squeezed Shohreh towards me and slipped both hands
     onto her torso, she pushed me away and danced alone. And then slowly she drifted away,
     and disappeared into the middle of the crowd.
    I walked to the bar and bought myself a drink. A hand rested on my
     shoulder and someone laid a kiss on my cheek.
    Farhoud, you man-killer, you should buy me a drink first, I said to
     him.
    He laughed and asked: Is Shohreh here?
    Yes — over there. I pointed at the dance floor. Farhoud danced
     towards Shohreh, and when she saw him she jumped up and down with joy, and moved into
     his arms.
    Though I was filled with energy and the music became even more intense and
     energizing, I did not dance. Instead I went and sat at Shohreh’s table on the same
     chair the poet had occupied. I smoked and watched the women dancing. Manywere young and good-looking. I searched the dance floor until my
     eyes alighted on a woman dancing barefoot, her shoes swinging in her hand. She laughed
     and danced in a circle of girlfriends. I watched her and smoked. When she left the dance
     floor, I stood up, followed her to the bathroom, and waited at the door. When she came
     out, I faced her with a smile, blocking her way as she tried to squeeze her shoes
     between my ankle and the wall. She looked at the floor. She pushed her right shoulder
     against mine. In my high state, with my elephant’s head and my ever-growing numb
     lips, I dipped my arm, swung it like a dangling lasso, and seized her wrists. She
     stopped pushing and lifted her head. Her face rose from beneath her hair, delicate,
     cautious, and still.
    I like the way you dance barefoot, I said. Excuse me, I did not mean to
     scare you, but I saw you dancing without your shoes and it reminded me of dancing
     gypsies.
    Do you know any gypsies? she said.
    Yes, my sister is one.
    Your sister, but not you?
    I can’t dance like her. So I guess I do not qualify as one.
    I dance like a gypsy?
    Yes. Will you take off your shoes again?
    I will.
    I wish I was a gypsy like you or like my sister, I said.
    Well, you stole my arm like a gypsy, she said, as she slowly pulled away
     her arm and walked towards her friends. She must have told them about me because they
     all looked my way. They formed a shield, a circle of human hair balancing on heels. Some
     of them were barefoot. In the middle of the circleof sweat and
     flesh that flashed and disappeared through strobes of light I saw those girls laughing,
     and I felt ashamed to be a hand-thief and a gypsy-lover.
    I looked away, and I saw Shohreh’s wide brown eyes watching me. I
     knew she had seen everything. She turned her head away. I went and sat next to her, and
     she ignored me. She stood up immediately and went to the bathroom.
    Later that night, I walked Shohreh back home. She lived down the hill,
     towards the train tracks. She told me that she had ambivalent feelings about trains.
     When a train passed in the evening, she said, it made her sad.
    When I asked her why, she held my chin and said, Well, there are some
     feelings that are only one’s own. Then she ran towards a snowbank and threw
     snowballs at me.
    I chased her and we threw snow at each other. I caught her by the coat and
     wrestled with her in the snow, both of us breathing hard, our eyes