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Fiction

Life without Me

By Raji Bathish
Translated from Arabic by Suneela Mubayi
Palestinian poet and playwright Raji Bathish sees bad news at the doctor's office collide with relentless consumerism.

What hurts me in all this is that my parents will be forced to bury me before themselves.

I feel guilt gnawing at me.

I do not know who vomited out this hypothesis, in between the cheap maxims and philosophies that this world is full of, made out of them this red line, the  extent of how appalling fate and its like are capable of being in what they suggest to us:

How harsh it is for a father to bury one of his sons . . .

This is what Walaa, who worked the job of a “kobee ryter,” that is, a writer of advertisements in a large global company in Tel Aviv that specialized in marketing nutritional, beauty, and cellular products, mumbled to himself after he left the hematologist’s, who had just informed him that cancer was spreading in his body at an unexpectedly high speed—a speed that exceeded the speed with which ideas for advertisements came to him in this demanding consumer jungle; so fast that it would not give him more than two months to live, or attempt to live or enjoy what time remained for him.

“All that’s left for me . . .”

Nothing is left for me but to pass through this air-conditioned tunnel, or the expensive supermarket stocked for the rich with very special consumerist requirements. Nothing is left for me except this corridor between the clinic where the doctor disclosed these new facts and the outside—an area perfumed with poisonous gases.

Buy one get one free: deluxe moisturizing skin lotion, for those who want to adapt to the hustle and bustle of the big city

These idiots. My skin, which will become like an autumn leaf, beseeches the earth to embrace its remains.

3 for 100 Shekels—Unbelievable, a once-in-a-lifetime promotion on water filters, the first of their kind to use the famous Shin-Shan-Shu technology

Iced water is poured on my neck and gradually trickles down between the toes of my left foot; a shudder tosses me beyond the domains of desire and memory. Who am I?

Who am I now? In this given moment, on this day, in this month, in this moment fleeing from the deadly heat? Where did that mischievous, lustful one go, who just two days ago was writhing in bed at night, whoring?

Who am I in this moment linked between the entrance to a store and an exit that does not bear good tidings? This moment resembles those victims whose limbs were tied to two jeeps, which would take off at an insane speed so as to split the victim’s body in half. I read descriptions of this scene in a number of history books on the Lebanese Civil War. I will return to that moment. What is the point of having a penis-enlargement operation with silicone now? The cancerous cells may have spread so much that the silicone may not find any space to settle in there.

Make precision a priority. Your body deserves more attention from you. Keep up with your action-filled, freewheeling life. A one-time offer: skin tightening cream + dead skin cell cleanser + free spa treatment (terms and conditions may apply: Mondays after 11 p.m., only on a first-come, first-served basis). The entire package for 300 shekels only, valid today until twelve midnight without the possibility of extension.

The world buys and buys and buys, pays the same amounts and more, believing that it has gotten a deal, obtained three different products for the price of one. These consumerist animals—nothing can fill this well rotting with corpses. Dear God, I smell the odor of burning human flesh from here. All the world’s manufactured concoctions will not get rid of that smell that nearly covers up the smell of fast-food restaurants . . . and of the heaps of people’s shit.

This loss, of what, is unclear; this tunnel and its deadly clarity . . .

Buy 3  cans or more of delicious Salaam Organic Pickles and get to take part free in the famous reality show ” Toob Seekrit Starz. ” Embark on your path into the world of fame, glory, and money. Salaam Pickles will put you on the front page of the tabloids, in high-society gossip, and bring the paparazzi after you.  Buy 3 cans of Salaam Pickles and call 700-700-123 to embark on the path to glory

Salaam Pickles . . . we help you reach for the stars

The stars—those pure islands which I never allowed myself to curl up inside like a fetus for a single day. I feared visiting them, afraid of missing any of this. All this . . . it’s nothing but a naïve glimmer inside a fragile Tel Aviv café (its patrons unaware), waiting to be raided by cheerful cancer cells laughing boisterously and whorishly, as if inviting a customer to get intimate with them at an acute angle. The stars . . . that troubling clarity . . .

To the Esteemed People of Jaffa
God willing, we present a concert by the eminent diva from Egypt:
Layla Murad
At the Inshirah Orthodox Club, Al-Quds Al-Jadid Street
A matinee concert will be held for respectable families, and an evening concert for refined young men
Entry for the sons of respectable families only
A raffle will be held for a train ticket from Jaffa to Alexandria or Cairo
Please come unaccompanied by your dear children

My parents will be forced to bury me before themselves.

Father, Mother, I have spent my entire life doggedly and methodically pursuing what you never expected, or rather, hoped I would never do. I did not become a dentist, nor did I live near you, nor did I marry into a respectable and prominent family; I did not marry at all. I did not comb my hair the way you wished, Mother. I did not stick to being interested in car models and football teams the way you wished, Father.

Just as the nature of my sexual relationships turned out to be complex, artificial, individualistic, and alienated, just the opposite of what you searched for in my eyes every other weekend. Mother, Father . . . and our old neighbor, my partner in watching pornographic films and in mutual masturbation.

I am now able tell you the truth: something indeed has died in the depths of your eyes.

And I present to you the latest fashion in destroying hopes: my death!

At least enjoy burying me, enjoy concocting a history that was never mine, even for a day.

The air-conditioned tunnel ends: a large orange grove that surrounds everything, and whose smell occupies my imagination—a paradise of oranges that stretches all the way to the eastern coast end of the Mediterranean . . . and beyond.

Translation of   “al-Ḥayāt min Dūni. ”  Copyright Raji Bathish. By arrangement with the author. Translation copyright 2011 by Suneela Mubayi. All rights reserved.

English Arabic (Original)

What hurts me in all this is that my parents will be forced to bury me before themselves.

I feel guilt gnawing at me.

I do not know who vomited out this hypothesis, in between the cheap maxims and philosophies that this world is full of, made out of them this red line, the  extent of how appalling fate and its like are capable of being in what they suggest to us:

How harsh it is for a father to bury one of his sons . . .

This is what Walaa, who worked the job of a “kobee ryter,” that is, a writer of advertisements in a large global company in Tel Aviv that specialized in marketing nutritional, beauty, and cellular products, mumbled to himself after he left the hematologist’s, who had just informed him that cancer was spreading in his body at an unexpectedly high speed—a speed that exceeded the speed with which ideas for advertisements came to him in this demanding consumer jungle; so fast that it would not give him more than two months to live, or attempt to live or enjoy what time remained for him.

“All that’s left for me . . .”

Nothing is left for me but to pass through this air-conditioned tunnel, or the expensive supermarket stocked for the rich with very special consumerist requirements. Nothing is left for me except this corridor between the clinic where the doctor disclosed these new facts and the outside—an area perfumed with poisonous gases.

Buy one get one free: deluxe moisturizing skin lotion, for those who want to adapt to the hustle and bustle of the big city

These idiots. My skin, which will become like an autumn leaf, beseeches the earth to embrace its remains.

3 for 100 Shekels—Unbelievable, a once-in-a-lifetime promotion on water filters, the first of their kind to use the famous Shin-Shan-Shu technology

Iced water is poured on my neck and gradually trickles down between the toes of my left foot; a shudder tosses me beyond the domains of desire and memory. Who am I?

Who am I now? In this given moment, on this day, in this month, in this moment fleeing from the deadly heat? Where did that mischievous, lustful one go, who just two days ago was writhing in bed at night, whoring?

Who am I in this moment linked between the entrance to a store and an exit that does not bear good tidings? This moment resembles those victims whose limbs were tied to two jeeps, which would take off at an insane speed so as to split the victim’s body in half. I read descriptions of this scene in a number of history books on the Lebanese Civil War. I will return to that moment. What is the point of having a penis-enlargement operation with silicone now? The cancerous cells may have spread so much that the silicone may not find any space to settle in there.

Make precision a priority. Your body deserves more attention from you. Keep up with your action-filled, freewheeling life. A one-time offer: skin tightening cream + dead skin cell cleanser + free spa treatment (terms and conditions may apply: Mondays after 11 p.m., only on a first-come, first-served basis). The entire package for 300 shekels only, valid today until twelve midnight without the possibility of extension.

The world buys and buys and buys, pays the same amounts and more, believing that it has gotten a deal, obtained three different products for the price of one. These consumerist animals—nothing can fill this well rotting with corpses. Dear God, I smell the odor of burning human flesh from here. All the world’s manufactured concoctions will not get rid of that smell that nearly covers up the smell of fast-food restaurants . . . and of the heaps of people’s shit.

This loss, of what, is unclear; this tunnel and its deadly clarity . . .

Buy 3  cans or more of delicious Salaam Organic Pickles and get to take part free in the famous reality show ” Toob Seekrit Starz. ” Embark on your path into the world of fame, glory, and money. Salaam Pickles will put you on the front page of the tabloids, in high-society gossip, and bring the paparazzi after you.  Buy 3 cans of Salaam Pickles and call 700-700-123 to embark on the path to glory

Salaam Pickles . . . we help you reach for the stars

The stars—those pure islands which I never allowed myself to curl up inside like a fetus for a single day. I feared visiting them, afraid of missing any of this. All this . . . it’s nothing but a naïve glimmer inside a fragile Tel Aviv café (its patrons unaware), waiting to be raided by cheerful cancer cells laughing boisterously and whorishly, as if inviting a customer to get intimate with them at an acute angle. The stars . . . that troubling clarity . . .

To the Esteemed People of Jaffa
God willing, we present a concert by the eminent diva from Egypt:
Layla Murad
At the Inshirah Orthodox Club, Al-Quds Al-Jadid Street
A matinee concert will be held for respectable families, and an evening concert for refined young men
Entry for the sons of respectable families only
A raffle will be held for a train ticket from Jaffa to Alexandria or Cairo
Please come unaccompanied by your dear children

My parents will be forced to bury me before themselves.

Father, Mother, I have spent my entire life doggedly and methodically pursuing what you never expected, or rather, hoped I would never do. I did not become a dentist, nor did I live near you, nor did I marry into a respectable and prominent family; I did not marry at all. I did not comb my hair the way you wished, Mother. I did not stick to being interested in car models and football teams the way you wished, Father.

Just as the nature of my sexual relationships turned out to be complex, artificial, individualistic, and alienated, just the opposite of what you searched for in my eyes every other weekend. Mother, Father . . . and our old neighbor, my partner in watching pornographic films and in mutual masturbation.

I am now able tell you the truth: something indeed has died in the depths of your eyes.

And I present to you the latest fashion in destroying hopes: my death!

At least enjoy burying me, enjoy concocting a history that was never mine, even for a day.

The air-conditioned tunnel ends: a large orange grove that surrounds everything, and whose smell occupies my imagination—a paradise of oranges that stretches all the way to the eastern coast end of the Mediterranean . . . and beyond.

الحياة بدوني

ما يؤلمني وسط كل هذا أن والداي سيضطران على دفني قبلهما….

أشعر بالذنب ينهشني…..

لا اعرف من تقيأ هذه الفرضية وسط الحكم والفلسفات المبتذلة التي تملأ هذه الحياة جاعلا منها خطا أحمرا لمدى الفظاعة التي باستطاعة القدر وما شابهه أن يقترحها علينا

“ما أقسى ان يضطر الوالد أن يدفن أحد أبنائه”….

 

هذا ما تمتم به ولاء الذي كان يعمل بوظيفة “كوبي رايتر” أو ناص إعلانات في شركة عالمية كبيرة في تل أبيب تختص بترويج السلع الغذائية والتجميلية والخلوية وذلك بعد خروجه من عند طبيب الدم الذي كان قد أعلمه ان في جسده ينتشر السرطان بسرعة فائقة وغير متوقعة بسرعة تفوق سرعة توارد الأفكار الدعائية في هذه الغابة الاستهلاكية المتطلبة مما قد لا يمهله أكثر من شهرين من أجل العيش أو محاولة  العيش أو محاولة الاستمتاع بما تبقّى له….

“ما تبقّى لي”

لم يتبق لي سوى المرور من هذا النفق المكيف أو السوبر ماركت المتكلف والمعّد للأغنياء من أصحاب المتطلبات الاستهلاكية الخاصة جدا… لم يتبق لي سوى هذا الممر بين عيادة الطبيب ووقع حقائقه الجديدة وبين الخارج: ذلك المدى المعطر بالغازات السامة…

 

 

1+1 هدية: حليب مرطب فاخر للبشرة التي يسعى صاحبها للتواؤم معصخب المدينة الكبرى….

هؤلاء الأغبياء….بشرتي التي ستصبح  كورقة شجر خريفية تتوسل للأرض كي تحتضن بقاياها….

 

3 ب- 100 شيكل حملة أسطورية لا تصدق فعلا على مصافي المياه  الأولى في العالم والتي تعمل بتقنية شون-شين-شو الشهيرة….

 

مياه مثلجة تنسكب على عنقي وتتسلل رويدا رويدا لتدخل بين أصابع رجلي أليسري ،رعشة تلقي بي خارج ديار الرغبة …والذاكرة …من أنا؟

من أكون الآن ؟ في هذه اللحظة المعطاة في هذا اليوم في هذا الشهر في هذه اللحظة الهاربة من الحّر القاتل…أين فر ذلك الشقي الشبق الذي تقلب قبل يومين عهرا على سرير الليل….

من أنا الآن في هذه اللحظة المربوطة بين مدخل متجر ومخرج لا تبدو له بشائر…هذه اللحظة تشبه هؤلاء الضحايا الذين كانت تربط أطرافهم بين سيارتي جيب ثم تتحرك السيارتان بسرعة جنونية لينشطر جسد الضحية إلى أثنين …قرأت وصفا لهذا المشهد في العديد من الكتب المؤرخة للحرب الأهلية في لبنان…سأعود الى تلك اللحظة ..ما الفائدة من إجراء عملية تكبير لعضوي بواسطة السيلكون الأن قد تكون الخلايا السرطانية انتشرت فيه بحيث لا تجد أنسجة السيلكون أي حيز تستقر فيه..

أعد التدقيق في أولوياتك… جسدك يستحق منك اهتماما  أكثر …واكب متعة الحياة الصاخبة والمتطلبة من حولك ….رزمة لمرة واحدة…كريم لشد الجلد+غسول للخلايا الميتة+علاج سبا مجاني (خاضع لشروط الحملة :أيام الاثنين بعد الحادية عشرة ليلا فقط على أساس الأماكن الشاغرة)..الرزمة ب-300 شيكل فقط ،ساري-اليوم، لغاية الثانية عشرة ليلا ومن دون  إمكانية تمديد في العرض…

العالم تشتري وتشتري وتشتري تدفع نفس المبالغ وأكثر وهي معتقدة بأنها اشتركت في تخفيضات وبأنها حصلت على ثلاث منتجات مختلفة بسعر منتج واحد …هؤلاء الحيوانات المستهلكة …لا شيء يملأ هذه البئر المتعفنة بالجثث…يا الهي اشتم رائحة اللحم الآدمي المحترق من هنا …كل مستحضرات الدنيا لا تزيل تلك الرائحة التي تكاد  تحجب روائح المطاعم السريعة …ومجمعات خراء الناس..

هذا الفقدان لما هو غير واضح … هذا النفق ووضوحه القاتل…

اشتري 3 عبوات أو أكثر من مخللات السلام العضوية اللذيذة واحصل على اشتراك مجاني في برنامج الواقع الشهير “توب سيكريت ستارز” وابدأ طريقك في عالم الشهرة والمجد والمال…مخللات السلام تجعلك عنوانا لملاحقات الصحافة ومطاردات مصوري المشاهير…والتقولات في الصالونات والمجتمعات الراقية …اشتري 3 من معلبات السلام واتصل على رقم 700-700-123 لتبدأ طريق المجد

مخللات السلام…نجعلك تلامس النجوم…

 

النجوم…تلك الجزر الطاهرة التي لم اسمح لنفسي يوما أن أتقوقع داخلها كالجنين ، خفت أن أزورها كي لا يفوتني شيئا من هذا كله … وما هذا كله سوى “ألق” ينتظر بسذاجة داخل مقهى تل-أبيبي هش (مع أن رواده لا يعلمون ذلك) ينتظر أن تداهمه فجأة خلايا سرطانية مرحة تقهقه عاليا بعهر وكأنها تدعوا زبونا لمعاشرتها في زاوية حادة…النجوم …ذلك الوضوح المقلق…

 

الى أهالي يافا الأفاضل

نعلن بمشيئة الله عن عقد حفلة للمغنية الكريمة من القطر المصري

“ليلى مراد”

في نادي الانشراح الأرثوذكسي في  شارع القدس الجديد

تقام حفلة ماتينيه للعائلات المحترمة وحفل ليلي للشباب المؤدبين

الدخول لأبناء العائلات فقط

يتم السحب على تذكرة فطار من يافا الى الإسكندرية أو القاهرة

الرجاء عدم اصطحاب الأطفال الغوالي

 

والديّ سيضطران على دفني قبلهما

أبي …أمي لقد قضيت حياتي كلها في سعي منهجي ودءوب على فعل ما لم تتوقعوه أو بالأصح تأملوه مني …فلم أصبح طبيب أسنان ..ولم أسكن قربكم..ولم أتزوج من عائلة كريمة وذات شأن …ولم أتزوج أصلا ..ولم أسرح شعري كما كنت ترغبين يا أمي …ولم أركز اهتمامي في أنواع السيارات وفرق كرة القدم كما كنت ترغبني أن أفعل يا أبي…

كما جاءت منظومة علاقاتي الجنسية مركبة ومتكلفة وفردانية ومغتربه وخلافا لما كنت تبحث عنه في عيني كل نهاية أسبوع ثانية…يا أبي..وأخي ..وجارنا القديم شريكي في مشاهدة الأفلام الإباحية والاستمناء المتبادل ..

 

باستطاعتي أن أصارحك الآن بالحقيقة: لقد مات شيء   في سواد عينيك…

وها انا أقدم لكم آخر صيحات الموضة قي تخييب الآمال: موتي!!

استلذوا على الأقل في دفني..وفي اختلاق تاريخ لم يكن لي يوماً…

 

انتهى النفق المكيّف: ببارة برتقال كبيرة تحيط بكل شيء وتحتل رائحتها مخيلتي…فردوس برتقال يمتد حتى يخلص الساحل الشرقي من المتوسط …وأكثر

 

 

 

 

 

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