Read Online Telepathy by Amir Tag Elsir - Free Book Online Page B

cup, but found it empty.
    He replied, “This is a secret I won’t share with you. I haven’t disclosed it to anyone. I promised Father Matthew fifty years ago I wouldn’t tell anyone. Just two days ago I visited his grave and renewed my vow. What I want you to do is to show as much concern for your co-author as you possibly can. I took a special interest in the priest until he died. I actively supported him, because he added to my vita the important distinction of serving as a political prisoner.”
    I selected – from what I sensed would prove an endless chain – a final question: “Did you attempt to figure out how all that transpired? Did you arrive at a theory that explains his telepathic communication with you?”
    â€œNo . . .” the Shadow replied sharply. “I didn’t feel I needed to.”
    A brown-complexioned girl with small breasts and short hair, which was massed on the crown of her head, appeared from inside the house. She was presumably either a maid or a family member. Carrying a feather duster, she headed to the room the Shadow used as an office. I had entered that room dozens of times. In my early days I had scouted what he was reading, having a look at the books lying around with pages turned down or folded. I occasionally borrowed a book that appealed to me, without asking permission, and then either returned it or not. Last year when we were sitting in his office, he handed me a short story written out by hand on glossy paper. He said it was by a young woman and asked me for my candid opinion of it.
    I had taken the piece of paper and, glancing at it, discovered that it was supercilious Najma’s story “The Neighbors’ Goat”. She must have brought it to him after she was angered by my negative opinion of it. I read it again carefully while he watched.
    Then I observed, “Not fully cooked and lacks a lot of the requisite spices.”
    â€œRight,” the Shadow responded as his old man’s face glowed with a smile. “That’s my opinion too. But that’s not what I told the author. I’m not in the habit of expressing blunt opinions to women – not even when they write about manicures, shampoo, and Wella beauty products.”
    â€œSo how do you avoid the potholes of their insistence on hearing your opinion? Do you flatter them?”
    Abd al-Qawi the Shadow laughed, revealing teeth that were uniformly white and shiny. He must have a full set of dentures; no teeth, not even ones borrowed from jackals or hyenas, remain a bright, gleaming white and completely uniform on both jaws up to the age of eighty-nine. The memory may retain its contents and the body, with daily exercise, may stay fit, but teeth, which are crude grinding machines, cannot remain that solid.
    The Shadow responded, “I manifest naughty senility toward them: the tongue’s twaddle, my hands’ gestures, and my eyes’ lasciviousness. Then they leave me never to return.”
    I had laughed as I pictured that poor girl, who loved her story and came to present it to an expert, only to beconfronted by an old man flirting in a way she would never have imagined. I could picture Najma in that situation and felt like laughing some more.
    â€œWhat about male authors? How do you deal with them?”
    â€œI vanquish them by chattering on about a past that I invent from whole cloth and about my frustration with writing. They don’t knock on my door again after that.”
    The brown girl emerged from the room; the feather duster in her hand was all red now. She must have used it to remove the dust that had caused the adventitious sentence to fly out of the Shadow’s head. He would enter his office now to begin his daily writing, which I knew would continue till three p.m. It was almost ten a.m., and I would not leave him time to feel anxious or to glance at his watch. I thanked him for his help, although he really hadn’t helped