Saturday, December 19, 2009

And Let the Earth Tremble at the Centers by Gonzalo Celorio

Somehow, you feel purified. For a moment, you think that that if you were poor you wouldn't mind being a shoeshine boy, because in barely three minutes he can produce a veritable work of art, even if the results are somewhat pedestrian.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Slutry Moon by Mempo Giardinelli

  Everything has worked out just fine, he said to himself. And he shuddered at his own certainty, the repulsive calmness of his comment.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Season of Migration to the North by Tayeb Salih

  I had to make a great effort not to break into tears.  "Hosna wasn't mad," I said.  "She was the sanest woman in the village- it's you who're mad. She was the sanest woman in the village- and the most beautiful.  Hosna wasn't mad."

  Mahjoub laughed, guffawed with laughter.  "How extraordinary!"  I heard him say amidst laughter.  "Take a pull at yourself, man!  Wake up!  Fancy you falling in love at your age!  You've become as mad as Wad Rayyes.  Schooling and education have become as mad as Wad Rayyes.  Schooling and education have made you soft.  You're crying like a woman.  Good God, wonders never cease-love, illness and tears, and she wasn't worth a millième.  If it wasn't for the sake of decency she wouldn't have been worth burying-we'd have thrown her into the river or left her body out for the hawks."

  I'm not altogether clear as to what happened next.  However, I do remember my hands closing over Mahjoub's throat; I remember the way his eyes bulged; I remember, too, a violent blow in the stomach and Mahjoub crouching on my chest.  I remember Mahjoub prostrate on the ground and me kicking him, and I remember his voice screaming out "Mad!  You're mad!"  I remember a clamour and a shouting as I pressed down on Mahjoub's throat and heard a gurgling sound; then I felt a powerful hand pulling me by the next and the impact of a heavy stick on my head.