Free Beyond Love (Middle East Literature in Translation) by Hadiyya Hussein Page A

Where are you,
Father? Do you remember that rainy night and the bitter cold? You were very sad and upset when the midwife told you of my birth, but as soon as Nadir came a
few minutes after me, you felt your good fortune. You
didn't get to enjoy it, though. Nadir and I used to crawl
together toward you to get close to your warm lap. You
would take him into your arms and give him so many
cuddles and kisses, but ignore my fingers playing with
your toes. I didn't cry despite my disappointment. Perhaps I hid my tears for some other time. And you left us, despite the joy you felt before we were even able
to speak. Here you sleep in this cemetery, and Nadir's
grave is being dug next to yours.

    The grave digger's voice rose as he urged, "Let's
keep things discreet. Don't you see how they nailed
him in?"
    How did my mother's fingers get the strength to
lift the coffin's tightly closed cover? (Such a precaution
was amazing: did they fear their victims so much?)
    The grave digger had come out of the hole and
was trying to grab my mother. My uncle tried to calm
her down, but her fingers were ferocious. I suddenly
found myself helping her to lift the cover, but as soon
as we removed it, we were consumed and paralyzed
by surprise. The corpse was not my brother, Nadir!
    The last sentence was written at the top of an empty
page, as though Nadia wanted to catch her breath or
wanted to start a new chapter after remembering every
terrifying detail. I was turning the page when Umm
Ayman knocked on my door.
    Nadia's notebook was still in my hands when I
opened the door. Umm Ayman sat down on the room's
only chair, looking into corners as if she had never seen
them before. I let her scan the walls; her eyes fell on a pile
of books on the small table; then she looked at the notebook and asked, "What are you reading?"
    Although I knew she didn't care about reading and
had come to collect the rent, I answered, "I'm reading a
diary."
    She opened her mouth in surprise, showing a gap in
her teeth. "Do you keep a diary?"

    I said casually, "No, it's the diary of my friend who
passed away a few days ago."
    She replied, patting her thigh, "May God have mercy
upon her and all of us; we all share the same worries."
    All of a sudden she asked me an unrelated question.
"Have you found a job?"
    I had bargained with her about the rent and had
promised her that I would give her an increase as soon as
I found a job. But days had passed, and I didn't have any
energy for work.
    "No, I haven't found one." I pulled the rent from
under my pillow. "I knocked twice at your door, but no
one was there; please take this."
    Her features smoothed into a mask of kindness. "I
came to inquire about you, not to ask for the rent." But
as soon as I passed her the money, she grabbed it and
slipped it in her pocket.
    When she walked out, I sank into a deep depression, wondering, "How am I going to survive with only
the little I have left?" But I didn't think deeply about the
answer; I returned to Nadia's notebook to find out what
had happened after they discovered the strange body.
    After the initial shock, we carefully examined the
corpse. Although the face had lost all of its features
because of the torture-burns, gouged-out eyes, and
mutilated lips-the white hair confirmed that a mistake had been made. My mother stood up, terrified.
She looked around and cried commandingly, "Look
for the owners of the cars that came with us."
    My uncle hurried to the north side, and I ran behind
my mother toward the west side, where groups were piling up sand on their dead. Our feet sank into the
smooth, shifting sand and stones between the ruined
tombstones, while the grave digger guarded the corpse.

    "Stop!" my mother yelled in a breaking voice.
Heads turned toward her. She looked miserable. Perhaps they thought she was deranged; they continued
pouring the sand as though they hadn't heard anything. She yelled again and again, walking toward