Read Online The Fall of the Imam by Nawal El Saadawi - Free Book Online
Authors: Nawal El Saadawi
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everything was enveloped in darkness. The blood froze in his veins, for ever since he was a child he had feared the darkness. The acclamations of the crowd and the sound of drums beat the salute to victory. At such moments no one sees the bullet when it is fired from the gun, and no one but he falls to the ground. He alone is the one who dies. His body drops down between his feet, and after a short while it is gone. Nobody sees it go, it just goes, and power is shifted from one to the other as fast as the rubber face is shifted from one face to the other. As for the people, they do not feel that anything has happened, that a change has occurred, for the Imam remains where he is, standing high up on the elevated platform, his head raised to the heavens. The rockets celebrating the Big Feast continue to be fired, and the acclamations continue to resound, filling the air with one great shout: ‘God is with you.’
The Two Faces
At a distance my childhood looks as though it was a happy childhood. Time consumes pain and there remains only the joy. Tears of sadness wash the eyes and make them see better than before. I still see my sister’s face, and her eyes shine into my eyes in the dark of night. She takes me in her arms and her bosom is soft and smooth like a mother’s. As for my brother, I carry him around with me wherever I go like the odour of my body. I can smell him in my sweat, in the perfume of my flowers. His body is my body, his flesh is my flesh, his sweat is my sweat. He and I are one, inseparable.
In the nursing school I see myself wearing a white dress, my hair rolled up inside a white cap. I move from one bed to the other like an angel, light as a feather, my feet hardly touching the ground. I am a spirit without body, without substance, a tall and slender shadow passing by. My voice is a whisper, my breathing deep, like a child. My breasts under the bodice of my white tunic are small and defiant and round. I have a small white bed in a big dormitory, and by my side is a wooden drawer with my name, Bint Allah, painted on it. Next to me is my sister Nemat Allah. Her face is thin, her features wan, but when she sees me a light shines in her eyes.
The nursing school was a huge old building with walls which had blackened over time. It was the only school of its kind; only orphans were allowed to apply. Adjoining the nursing school was the military hospital. It had shining, varnished windows and big terraces closed in with glass which overlooked the river. Across the river was another huge construction with a history as old as the history of slavery in our land. Its walls, too, had blackened with time, and year after year so many layers of dust had covered them that they had become the same colour as the earth and looked as though they had risen from its bowels. The windows were high and covered with long bars of iron, like a prison. The eyes of children could be seen as they looked out, shining like stars in a world of night. They were known as the children of God, but the term used in official documents to describe them was illegitimate children.
Behind the children’s home was an open space, where the ground was flat and pale yellow, but at its furthest confines it sloped upwards into a low flat hill covered by cactuses and thorn trees which people were in the habit of calling wild plants because they thought that such plants could only have grown against the will of God. In the shelter of the hill was still another enormous building, its age as old as that of Satan on earth. Its black walls rose so high up in the sky that they pierced through the clouds, defying heaven. Its windows were tall, and covered with long iron bars exactly like the windows of the children’s home. From behind these iron bars one could see the faces of women looking out, their hair gathered in the folds of a handkerchief knotted around their heads, or left to float loosely in the air. Their hair was always long and tangled,
The Two Faces
At a distance my childhood looks as though it was a happy childhood. Time consumes pain and there remains only the joy. Tears of sadness wash the eyes and make them see better than before. I still see my sister’s face, and her eyes shine into my eyes in the dark of night. She takes me in her arms and her bosom is soft and smooth like a mother’s. As for my brother, I carry him around with me wherever I go like the odour of my body. I can smell him in my sweat, in the perfume of my flowers. His body is my body, his flesh is my flesh, his sweat is my sweat. He and I are one, inseparable.
In the nursing school I see myself wearing a white dress, my hair rolled up inside a white cap. I move from one bed to the other like an angel, light as a feather, my feet hardly touching the ground. I am a spirit without body, without substance, a tall and slender shadow passing by. My voice is a whisper, my breathing deep, like a child. My breasts under the bodice of my white tunic are small and defiant and round. I have a small white bed in a big dormitory, and by my side is a wooden drawer with my name, Bint Allah, painted on it. Next to me is my sister Nemat Allah. Her face is thin, her features wan, but when she sees me a light shines in her eyes.
The nursing school was a huge old building with walls which had blackened over time. It was the only school of its kind; only orphans were allowed to apply. Adjoining the nursing school was the military hospital. It had shining, varnished windows and big terraces closed in with glass which overlooked the river. Across the river was another huge construction with a history as old as the history of slavery in our land. Its walls, too, had blackened with time, and year after year so many layers of dust had covered them that they had become the same colour as the earth and looked as though they had risen from its bowels. The windows were high and covered with long bars of iron, like a prison. The eyes of children could be seen as they looked out, shining like stars in a world of night. They were known as the children of God, but the term used in official documents to describe them was illegitimate children.
Behind the children’s home was an open space, where the ground was flat and pale yellow, but at its furthest confines it sloped upwards into a low flat hill covered by cactuses and thorn trees which people were in the habit of calling wild plants because they thought that such plants could only have grown against the will of God. In the shelter of the hill was still another enormous building, its age as old as that of Satan on earth. Its black walls rose so high up in the sky that they pierced through the clouds, defying heaven. Its windows were tall, and covered with long iron bars exactly like the windows of the children’s home. From behind these iron bars one could see the faces of women looking out, their hair gathered in the folds of a handkerchief knotted around their heads, or left to float loosely in the air. Their hair was always long and tangled,
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