Arabian Stories

Any resemblance to reality is decidedly intentional.

1

Diab visited me in my dreams and asked me to cook him a fattoush. Thus, I called Sami’s mother to help me prepare it.

2

The two women started to make the dish for the boy, who had died two months before. That afternoon, Sami’s mother wrote on her Facebook wall, “I have been thinking of late of all the guests for whom we lovingly cook, write songs, and dance, and who, however, never end up showing. Not only do they turn their backs on us, but they also foist their crude absence on us. Today I recalled the features of the poetry about absence and presence that I once studied. Then I plugged away at putting the fattoush together for Diab, a boy whose acquaintance I never made. I know how he died though, as well as what he looked like by virtue of the two pictures I have seen of him. One hangs on the wall of his house; ...Read more →

In just a few hours, a new day will dawn and the Eid will begin.

What have you arranged for this special occasion? Will your kids end up regretting the fact that they came into the world? They cluster around the section of the shop with the bags of sweets and refuse to leave and return home unless you cave in to their demands.

You are expecting your open wounds to heal on Eid even though they have been bleeding every day for the past year. They are slowly depleting your stamina. They have deprived you of the ability to think, which in turn has driven you to subside into a stony silence. From time to time it is streaked with the smoke from your cigarettes, which swirls around you and merges into a cloud that floats up to the corrugated tin ceiling of your room. Did you save something for your sisters? Were you careful with your calculations so that you would have enough to spare for the feast? This time you ...Read more →

The night was drawing to an end. John Doe stared at the screen of his mobile phone. The street outside was dark and covered in snow. He was at the mercy of his mobile phone. The electricity had been cut off weeks ago and the only technological item at his disposal was the device he was clasping. It had cost him 300 dinars, his monthly wage. He headed to the kitchen, following the dim light shed by the candles in the corridor. He stepped on one of them and swore at the candle and at the light. Then he dissolved into a bout of laughter. One could accuse John Doe of not having always led an exemplary life, but at least he looked on the bright side of things. When he learned that his wife had been cheating on him and that his son was calling him names behind his back, he merely jested about his misfortunes.

After he had bust a gut in the corridor, he continued on, cursing while moving ...Read more →

I suddenly felt the pressing need to sit down on the saline sand dunes. The rising sun was shooting its bright rays through the stone walls of the colossal city. They stretched before me and fell on the gleaming surfaces of some discarded bottles. As soon as I saw the dimensions of the upper part, I lost all hope of being able to traverse the whole city on foot—assisted only by my two spindly legs. My blond hair was falling on my shoulders.

As luck would have it, after attending a public auction, I had come into possession of some old manuscripts drafted by a certain Dewey in 1830. I felt compelled to check the veracity of what my eyes were showing my brain by perusing those yellowed manuscripts, which bore witness to the fact that, however miracolous, the Rose City not only existed but had been standing since the 4th century BC.

She wore a bold purple that made the remaining stars in the sky flush. With her unveiled charms she flaunted her beauty, which surpasses the beauty women of flesh ...Read more →

Naji Al-Ali‘s cartoon

Hot topic, we know. Since we didn’t want to give resentments a chance to fester as you perused the exposition of our opinions while looking to us to confirm your own convictions, we have chosen not to defer the announcement of our disappointing news. The Arabian Stories team won’t be taking a stance on the political situation concerning the area. However, since one cannot avoid making decisions in life, and given that the situation starts to get ugly sooner rather than later if the choices one makes are not founded on criteria one can lay out in syntactically coherent pieces, the Arabian Stories team will try to explain why we have admitted stories involving places that, under international law, currently belong to the state of Israel, which is not considered part of the Arab World.

As this is a linguistic and literary project, we have adopted linguistic criteria. Arabic is the second official language in Israel and, for better or worse, the percentage of Arabic speakers who refer to Israel and the territories comprised within its borders ...Read more →

I was just taking my usual stroll along the sea, but the sea itself was behaving in a rather peculiar fashion. I stopped walking in an effort to better identify what exactly was weirding me out. Bingo! The stormy weather did not seem to be affecting the sea, which was looking as beautiful as ever, as if it were posing for a painting in which the navy blue was to be blanketed in a layer of sky blue and sedulously sprinkled with the white that was to depict both clouds and waves while lending the outcome a harmonic, magical air. I looked at the sea and a sensation of peace took hold of me. Suddenly, even though I tried to block them out, memories I believed I had rid myself of a long time ago came flooding back.

“Sea, what a mysterious creature you are! For thousands of years you have been by our side, listening to our stories and witnessing how our lives go by. All the same, you still somehow manage to strike us as ...Read more →

He let his worn-out body keel over onto the cold mattress and placed his hands behind his head before looking up at the ceiling with its flaking paint. A pang of sorrow darted across his eyes. It belonged to the same swarm of tribulations that had already been gnawing at him for quite some time. In order to ascertain the source of his distress, he decided to travel with his mind back to when he was just a child.

He had woken up early that morning. From the moment he stood up, he had felt an evil omen wring his heart. However, at that time, he had chosen to ignore it. Instead, he had gone out into the street; he had been intent on playing with his friends. Yet his feet seemed to be on a strike, unwilling to carry out his commands. He watched the other kids for a while as they ran and laughed. Afterward, he decided to head for the river, which had been talking to him in his dreams ...Read more →

Here I am, writing as usual.

I want to reveal what tears me up inside, but I am crippled by horror. I want to pour out my heart, but all my attempts seem doomed to fail. Every time I take a step in that direction, icy, brisk, bitter winds slap my face. I am buffeted by the scourge of my convulsive feelings, which are impervious to the meanings of peace and tranquility, the two states of mind I am so desperate to find myself in.

Here I am, looking for you once again.

I love to write while you are by my side. True to your nature, in spite of being seemingly calm seconds ago, you suddenly fly into a rage. You distance yourself from me; however, don’t dawdle before returning to me anew. Your soft voice has the power to calm my spirit and dispel my worries when I feel edgy and turn to you. Time has elapsed and destiny has ripped my dreams to shreds, dressed me to become its puppet, and left me ...Read more →

I have always wanted to be called a hero at least once in my life. My city is a den of criminal activity. One time, I saw a bunch of kids beat up a smaller boy just because he had briefly interrupted their match as he passed by them. On a different occasion, I saw some grown-ups picking a fight. A potbellied dude tried to break up the altercation. Unfortunately, things got heated real quick and one of the men ended up with his head bashed into the pavement. The culprit immediately disappeared into the throng that had clustered around the brawl and yelled, “What an outrage! What a disgrace!”

However, even as the blood started staining the pavement, the crowd’s general hue and cry veered toward a new subject; people began singing the praises of the potbellied man who had stepped in to try and salvage the situation. “You are our hero!” they shouted in unison.

Once, at the souk, one of the merchants grabbed me by the arm. He had decided ...Read more →

The cultural club’s party ended after the speech held in honor of the retired teachers of the city of Berkane. He had been awarded a certificate in recognition of all the work he had carried out during a lifelong career dedicated to education. To his dismay, they had misspelled his name and mistaken his faith. He got into the car and drove off to Taforalt, a place that he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind for quite some time, despite having had his life buzzing with activity lately. With every curve and slope of the road, he felt grateful for being able to snatch a few moments of rest while enjoying the glorious scenery provided by the Beni-Snassen Mountains. He parked the car just a few meters away from his grandfather’s grave and approached it with great respect and solemnity. He began delivering his sermon right away:

“Peace be upon you who now walk the earth of the great beyond. You have shown us the way and we, as your descendants, are ...Read more →