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A Conversation from the
Third Floor 1
She came to the place for the second time. The policeman
stared down at her from his horse.
The time was afternoon. The yellow-colored wall stretched
right along the road. Inside the wall was a large rectangular
three-storey building; its small identical windows looked more
like dark apertures. The woman stood a few paces away from
the horse. The policeman looked behind him at the windows,
then at the woman. He placed both hands on the pommel of
the saddle and closed his eyes. After a while the horse moved.
It was standing halfway down the street. Then, a moment
later, it made a half-turn and once again stood itself at the top
of the street.
The woman came two steps forward. The horse bent one of
its forelegs, then gently lowered it.
'Sergeant, please, just let me say two words to him.'
His eyes remained closed, his hands motionless on the
pommel.
Above the wall stretched a fencing of barbed wire at the end
of which was a wooden tower. Inside there stood an armed
soldier.
The woman took another step forward.
'You see, he's been transferred...'
The sun had passed beyond the central point in the sky.
Despite this the weather was still hot. A narrow patch of shade
lay at the bottom of the wall.
The woman transferred the child to her shoulder.
When she again looked at the policeman's face, she noticed
thin lines of sweat on his forehead.
Quietly she moved away from in front of the horse and
walked beside the wall. About halfway along it she sat down
on a heap of stones opposite the building.
The prisoners' washing, hung by the arms and legs, could
be seen outside the bars of the windows. Mostly it was
completely motionless, even with the breeze that blew from
time to time.
The woman whispered to herself: 'They must be wet.'
She placed the child in her lap. For a moment her eyes
fastened on a djellaba that gently swayed to the movement of
the wind. She stretched out her leg and gazed at her toes and
the dried mud that clung to them. She rubbed her feet
together, then gazed at them once again.
Putting back her head, she looked up at the windows of the
third floor with half-closed eyes.
The soldier in the tower took a step forward. He rested his
head against the edge of the wooden wall.
He looked at the sky, at the roofs of the houses, at the street,
then at the head of the white horse.
Suddenly a shout broke the silence. The woman quickly
drew back her leg. She caught sight of a bare arm waving from
between the bars of a window on the third floor.
'Aziza! Aziza! It's Ashour.'
She moved a step nearer to the wall and stared in silence at
the window.
'It's Ashour, Aziza. Ashour.'
She saw his other arm stretching out through the window.
She searched with her eyes for something between the two
arms and succeeded in making out a face pressed between the
two bars. Other faces could be seen above and alongside him.
'Aziza, I've been transferred. Did you get my letter? In four
days I'll be transferred. Did you prune the two date palms?
Where are Hamid and Saniyya? Why didn't you bring them
with you? I'm being transferred. Where's Hamid?'
He turned round suddenly, shouting:
'Stop it, you bastards!'
She heard him shouting and saw the faces disappear from
the window. After a while his face was again looking out
through the bars, then the other faces looked out above his.
'Aziza!'
She looked at the policeman on the horse, then at the soldier
in the tower.
'Who are you holding? Shakir? Aziza!' She shook her head
twice.
'Lift him up. Lift him up high.'
She took the child between her hands and lifted him above
her head.
She noticed his arms suddenly being withdrawn inside and
his hands gripping the iron bars of the window. Then his face
disappeared from view. For a while she searched for him
among the faces that looked down. She lowered her arms a
little and heard shouts of laughter from the window. She
spotted his arm once again stretching outwards, then his face
appeared clearly in the middle.
'Up, Aziza. Up. Face him towards the sun so I can see him.'
She lowered her arms for a moment, then raised him up again,
turning his face towards the sun. The child closed his eyes and
burst out crying.
'He's crying.'
He turned round, laughing.
'The boy's crying! The little so-and-so! Aziza, woman, keep
him crying!'
He cupped his hand round his mouth and shouted: 'Let him
cry!'
Again he laughed. A few shouts went up around him. She
heard their words and shoutings. Then she saw his large nose
poking out through the bars.
'Woman! Don't be silly, that's enough! Cover the boy-he'll
get sunstroke!'
She hugged the child to her chest and saw the soldier
withdrawing inside the tower.
'Did you prune the two date palms?'
She shook her head.
'Why not? Why don't you talk? I'm being transferred. Pass
by Abu Ismail and tell him I send him my best wishes -- he'll do
it as a favour and prune the trees, then you can bring along a
few dates. Did you bring the cigarettes?'
She made a sign with her hand.
'Talk. What are you saying?'
'You've got 'em.'
To be
continued |
