Short stories

The crackle of gunfire blares like a storm. The blistering heat is suffocating. The wind churns up the sand in this sour drama staged at the Sinai Peninsula by an army checkpoint south of Sheikh Zuweid. The small building is shored up with sand bags as if it were a fort. Muffled pants and groans can be heard coming from inside. As one approaches the scene, one sees an ailing soldier scrunched down on the floor with his hand pressed against his stomach. His blood is gushing out, soaking his vest and caking the dusty pavement. Another comrade in arms lies next to him in the same position, but he has already lost his life. Half his brains rest at the bottom of an eerie dark red pool. The wounded soldier gazes in fear and bewilderment at the young general who lies stretched out on the ground in front of him. You can see he is scared stiff by the way he clasps his machine gun, as if he could wring some ...Read more →

His cart is brimming with neatly baked cookies and pies, which are covered by a thin insect-screening mesh. Every morning, he sets out at dawn while the city is still sleeping to earn his daily bread. He trundles his wheelbarrow toward the al-Boukharia market in downtown Amman. He pushes it through several neighborhoods before reaching the narrow corridors of the bustling market. To get his pies to be, bar none, the most delicious in town, he follows a secret recipe, which he has devised and fleshed out over the years with what his usual struggle to make ends meet has taught him on a daily basis and with what he has discovered tickles taste buds while simultaneously triggering sweet memories.

Bater’s father is already sixty years old, but his face is always wreathed in smiles that camouflage the signs of fatigue he accumulates throughout the work day. He greets everyone cheerfully as he plies his habitual route through the big market, whose shops are filled wall to wall with fine textiles, lustrous embroideries, and rare ...Read more →

The legs of the old man lying on the pavement were always in the way, but he never had the chance to chide him for it, because every time he stumbled over him, he was in a bit of a hurry trying to shake off his pursuers. It should be noted that the secret to mastering the craft of pickpocketry resides in having nimble fingers and in knowing how to become invisible. The scarf that covered the lower part of his face served the latter purpose. Apparently, the old man had no misgivings whatsoever about where on the pavement to plunk himself down in downtown Amman. He only feared that, by indulging his itch for settling in a fixed location, he would be making it easy for Ahed to find him.

He begged on the streets for a living, a trade for which the ability to become invisible can also come in handy. Usually, he could be found at the groceries market with a taqiyah placed over his sunburned face when he was conked out. At times he ...Read more →

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 ...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 ...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 →

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 →