AN ANTHOLOGY OF
MOROCCAN NEW SHORT STORY, VOLUME 3
The Octopus Of Modern Times
-Short Story-
Written by Malika Assal
"Hey you there, disguised between the
circles of Time
So mild under the crust,
I smelt your perfume in my murderer!
Like a butterfly, you hang down, broadly
smiling
But when I reach out to grab you,
You withdraw back to your velvet world
And you never peep out again
(***)
When I reach out to grab you,
You fly across your affluent rainbows
I do not know where to.
Yet, I never get tired.
The horses in me are urging pursuit,
The seedlings of desire are burning
And I am rushing towards you.
(***)
How fortified you look
With all those jails and graveyards
Between you and me!
(***)
I see you fenced with orchids,
I see you stuffed with gunpowder…
(***)
When your sweat and mine will get tired
you will come along appended with dew
Then, I will get you with my hand and say:
”Come on, my love!
Come and bathe in my eyes’ water!
Have rest over my forehead!”
Briny are your apples and I Love them"
Extracts from her
poem "O Freedom, you are worth your weight
in gold!"
- Malika Assal -
Moroccan poetess and short-story writer
Born on June 13th
Author of:
"Tear drop"
(Collection of
poems) in 2005,
"Fanciful Heavens"
She is getting
ready for printing:
"Yesterday’s
Tattoo on the shrines"
(Collection
of poems),
"Cities
Reconsidered"
(Collection
of short stories),
“When
shall we eat Adam's apple”
(Collection
of poems)…
Once the mission
was accomplished, I felt very exhausted. So,
I piled up on the last seat of the train compartment, projecting my eyes
on the window, trying to steal some visual pleasure from the runaway
panorama before my eyelids get closed and a deep sleep lift me high up to the
heavens but only to find myself facing, within its space, a nightmare: An
octopus-like creature with dancing
tails, hiding his face behind chameleon masks but not his eyes that glow
with volcanic flame, pacing along towards me persistently.
Sorcerers and charlatans
crowd around him. Perhaps to snatch the threads of his identity or to reveal
his truth. They went miles away in their controversies but failed to meet their target by laying their hands on his
species or origins. They attributed him to Redskins, to Cowboys, to apes… They
wanted to know if he is marine or algal, prehistoric or newly-born, a foundling
or a legal being... Opinions and views multiplied but none could be judged as
wrong or right.
The octopus showed
his teeth and played with his tails, went to and fro before saying in a
metallic voice:
- “I am the one who
excels at jugging with eggs and stones, apes and humans beside the ability to
thaw in my saliva the valva of the volcan”.
Awe gained the
crowding bodies, terror overwhelmed the shivering souls…
Another team of
physicians and herbalists, those dead and the ones alive, joined the crowd to
investigate whether this weird being is carnivorous or herbivorous.
Some saw that he is
carnivorous as he loves eating nestlings, butterflies and foetuses in their
mothers’ wombs, even getting outrageous at the sight of blood. Others concluded that he is
herbivorous as he loves eating leaves, buds and saplings.
On his part, like
Tsunami, he carried on destroying carelessly everything, ravaging all fields
and devastating all oases.
Unanimous agreement
stressed the importance of getting rid of this monster that feeds death
channels throughout the world with human
bones and skulls, builds pavements of communication between the spots that he
minutely chooses in order to plant seedlings of freedom and democracy as he
prophesies in such a malicious way that everyone can perceive…
Dumbstruck, I kept
looking at all the ravages and ruins that he stirred up while something strange
like ants bubbled up from under the wreckage and doubled in number, climbing up
his neck and tails… Fear gained me… His tails started corroding so very
badly….. Sweat overwhelmed me… His veins got truncated one after the other…
Raucousness borrowed my shouts …
At last, he fell
down in an abyss, sparking happiness in everybody among the audience. Shouting
was all that can be heard. Then, there came claps and acclamations in the
rhythm of the whistling train that wakened me up with the broad smile still
drawn on my face.
***********
She is getting ready
for printing: "Yesterday’s Tattoo on the
shrines" (Collection of poems),
"Cities Reconsidered"
(Collection of short stories), “When shall we eat Adam's
apple” (Collection of poems)…
*The translator, Mohamed Saïd Raïhani, is a Moroccan
translator, scholar & short-story writer, born on December 23rd 1968
in Ksar El Kébir. He published in Arabic "The Singularity Will" (A Semiotic Study on First-names)
2001, "Waiting For the Morning" (Short stories) 2003,"Thus Spoke Santa
Lugar-Verde" (Short stories)
2005, "The Season Of Migration to Anywhere" (Short stories) 2006, "The Three Keys: Freedom,
Dream & Love" (An anthology of
Moroccan New Short Story in Three Volumes) 2006-2007-2008, "The History of
Manipulating Professional Contests in Morocco" (Syndical manifestos in
Two Volumes) 2009-2011, "Death of the Author" 2010…
He is getting ready for
printing:"Beyond Writing & Reading " (testimonies) , "Kais &
Juliet" ( Novel) and ""When Photo
Talks" (Photo-Autobiography).
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