Free God Dies by the Nile and Other Novels by Nawal El Saadawi Page A

the red colour of the sun’s rays, and the sweat poured out of him from every pore, streaming down his head, his neck, his chest, his belly and his thighs. He could feel it warm and sticky as it slid over his thighs to his legs, down to the cracked, horny skin of his bare feet. He felt wet as though he had urinated on himself. He slipped his hand under his galabeya and touched himself. He could not tell the difference between the feel of his sweat and his urine, nor could he sense whether his muscles were relaxed, or contracted, still or moving. All he knew was that he seemed to have lost all control over his arms and his legs. His body had become a separate part of him, a huge muscle which contracted or relaxed of its own accord, moved or kept still as he stood there watching it, so that he could hardly believe what was happening under his own eyes to this body of his which had always been a part of him. It was as though his soul had left his body and hovered at a distance, or as though another soul which was not his had slipped into his body.
    When he saw his bare feet covered in their dry, cracked skin walk out of the field, he wondered at what was happening with amazement. How could his legs walk out of the field like this on their own? He tried to muster enough strength in order to stop them, and for a moment he thought he had succeeded, but they continued to stride slowly out of the field, and out of his control to the only place where the burning rays of the sun could not reach him at that time of the day – to the stable.
    It was not really a stable. It was just a shed made of bamboo cane, palm tree fronds and maize stalks, plastered over with mud to form four walls and a roof. The buffalo would lie under it during the summer days and during the winter Kafrawi would spend some of his nights sheltered by its walls.
    The buffalo was lying on her belly as she usually did when the weather was hot. Her large, brooding eyes gazed at the dark mud wall, and her jaws moved slowly churning something invisible over and over again, while fine white bubbles of saliva kept coming and going at the corners of her mouth every time she breathed out or in.
    Kafrawi’s body dropped down on the ground close to where she lay. His eyes fastened themselves on something with the same silent, brooding look. He tried to contract the muscles of his lids and close his eyes in an attempt at sleep. But they remained wide open, continuing to stare fixedly at the dark wall of mud. The buffalo looked at him. Her big eyes were covered in a film of moisture, like tears that had not yet formed.She stretched out her neck coming so close that their heads touched. Then she started to wipe her lips up against his neck like a mother fondling her child. It seemed as though she was trying to say something to him, to ask him what was wrong. He rested his head on hers, wiped his wet eyes over her face, and brought his parched lips close up to her ear. He whispered, ‘O, Aziza, Nefissa is no longer here. She has run away.’
    And so Kafrawi started to speak to the buffalo, to tell her what had happened. She seemed to answer him, and somehow he could understand what she said. For ever since he had opened his eyes and taken his first look at the world around him, the buffalo had been somewhere close by, either in the field or in the house. Before he learnt to walk, or to pronounce his first words he could see her looking at him with her big, silent eyes as he stood alone in some dark corner crying bitterly as only children know how to cry.
    When he began to crawl on his belly over the ground, the first thing he started to do was to crawl in her direction. He could feel her touch his face with her smooth lips. Somehow she could tell when his lips were parched and dry. She would move gradually towards him until her nipple was close to his mouth, and when he opened his eyes he could see the swollen udder with the black nipple hanging down. The smell