First, let me explain the timing of your visit to this country. This country, my dear, is a sluggish place surrounded by abhorrent Eastern lethargy. This lethargy isn’t openly acknowledged among the public, but it’s legally defined as holding responsibility to those around you—those beside you, in front of you, behind you, and between your sides! I don’t understand why people don’t know which finger to use for pointing blame, which one for signaling at a traffic light, and which for the ego tossed into waiting basements. I woke up to write to you to explain some of what you’ll encounter when you arrive here.
The city. Thinking about it now, the city doesn’t concern us much. The purpose of your trip is to meet me. No, I won’t be able to come to the airport and greet you like a returning hero or a dearly missed wife whose husband longs for her more than a refugee longs for their homeland.
You’ll arrive on an early flight, scanning the faces of those waiting to greet their short-trip companions. You’ll search for a familiar face and think to yourself, “There’s nothing wrong with a taxi driver holding up a sign with my name on it. That’s the least he can do if he can’t come to meet me.” Will I leave you flowers with the taxi driver to lift your spirits after your long journey?
You’ll cover the distance between us from a supposedly neutral country, and the flight will take half an hour by plane to reach this airport and sink into the backseat of the car. You’ll leave the airport with the sea beside you, only to find a monster lurking on the outskirts of the land, ready to swallow both sea and car, engulfing you in a cacophony of noise and high humidity amidst the lanes of cars fleeing its shadows.
You’ll need to leave the city, but I can’t promise to send a taxi to pick you up from the airport me, as the cost is high, and I don’t know anyone in the city whom I can trust. You’ll travel much longer than the plane did. Perhaps you’ll book a room in a modest hotel and remain there until evening falls, observing how the monsters celebrate with their luminous fangs while captives dwell in their jaws.
You might want to take a walk, wishing I could join you to share in the fleeting joy of walking the streets without fearing the appearance of a sharp fang that could nullify your identity papers. Or maybe you’ll want to sip coffee in a corner store where actors play out their roles before you, engaging the audience in the theater of the place. Then you’ll call me on the phone to discuss the possibilities, with references to Magdiyya and others that we’ll laugh about, woven into this monotonous yet surprisingly traditional scenario.
I might be busy writing a story or developing theater ideas, but I won’t let the phone out of my sight with your voice on the other end. I’ll take a sip of water, promising you better water than what’s in the hotel room for bathing. Here, where you’ll soon arrive, there’s a spring that flows with water all year round, though it has almost dried up since the war began nearby. The spring water is so fresh and delicious that we shed a tear into the cup before drinking, to temper its sweetness. You’ll find that seawater isn’t suitable for bathing, and the tears of salty fish aren’t for us. Here, our tears are richer in minerals than the bottles you’ll buy, even though some of our minerals have been stolen.
Sleeping alone isn’t new, but this night holds a different flavor. The morning that follows will sweep it away. It’s a promise that you won’t sleep alone the next night. I’ll wait for you to take a taxi to me, or perhaps you’ll decide to save some money and take a minibus, locally known as a “van,” though I prefer to call it a rat, given its behavior. You’ll feel like you’re riding inside the body of a creature constantly in a foul mood, with no regard for rules or directions. A sense of impending danger will accompany the improvisational journey, depicted as a tale of a witch arrested and publicly burned.
It’s better if you hire a taxi and enjoy the winding road to its end. The driver will pick you up at 7:15 in the morning, and you’ll reach the foot of the first hill that separates us. You must carefully observe the size of the monster whose fangs you’re leaving behind. As you ascend the mountain, the delightful vertigo sets in between the hills that cradle it. You’ll pass through them, noting the numerous freckles adorning this chest and feeling the weight of stories, especially those of a masculine nature, etched into its plump surface. You won’t delay long to offer prayers to the sky. Rather, it’s the heat rising from the female’s body after being possessed by intensity, causing her curves to sag as she descends from the hilltop, with clouds attempting to calm her trembling.
The driver might pause briefly as the plain unfolds before you, allowing you to admire the view, and as you gaze at the distant horizon, you might spot another woman standing at the threshold of her house, contemplating its fires, torn between attending to her children’s needs and confronting her enemies. The taxi descends after several curves, passing through a quaint town where mothers strive to teach their children proper dental hygiene, providing as much Sensodyne toothpaste as they can. Take in as much as you can, for it will become etched in your memory. I’ll get a toothbrush and place it in a painting whose pieces I’ll gradually collect—a painting of metaphors only I can understand, though I’ll gladly explain them to you, and perhaps you’ll find one that resonates with you.
You’ll complete the remainder of the journey in just an hour, but it won’t be like any other hour. The road ahead won’t hold your attention as much as what you’ll see on either side. Most notably, you’ll see a woman giving in to her desires, relaxing her body to cast shadows on those nearby. Perhaps the clouds will whisper to them of distant snowy cities, while on the opposite side, you’ll hear the moans of a girl still waiting on the doorstep of her burning house.
I’ll stand at the symbolic gate of the camp, waiting for the cars to pass, calling the driver every minute to check your progress and estimate how long until I reach you. The taxi will stop in front of the gate, and I’ll stand before the tomorrow we’ve awaited for so long. I won’t rush to embrace you; instead, I’ll simply smile and take your bags. After negotiating the fare with the driver, I’ll lead you to my home. Along the way, you’ll see the camp and the elderly man who can no longer move, coughing and complaining. You’ll see the fatigue etched into my features from years of waiting, perhaps wiping my face with your hand or taking a piece of white chalk from my pocket to write on the wall of my rented house, “Here lies the tent.”