Short story”I hope you feel better, doctor” [Archives:2006/928/Culture]

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March 13 2006

By: Hamdan Zaid Dammag
Translated By: Shaker Al-Molsi**

He was there too. I saw his form staggering in the gloomy darkness of night. The street still was engulfed in darkness and the dawn tranquility was disturbed by nothing except the chilly winds beating against the iron doors of the neighborhood's closed shops.

Obviously fatigued, he was staggering with his head concealed below the collar's edge of a heavy winter coat. As I approached him, he tried to swerve. I hesitated, but he was so near that neither of us could have evaded the other without leaving a doubtful or something-fishy impression on the other. Hence, we chose confrontation.

He put on a clearly artificial smile, the same as I was displaying. I greeted him but he didn't respond. A foul stench emanated from his mouth and I was sure he was drunk. I recognized him and he definitely recognized me. Damn him. How had he come to me out of the blue on this night? We hadn't seen each other for a long time. Our relationship had grown cold since he began to criticize me, flouting the ethics of mutual friendship. He came to barely tolerate me, as did I him.

At this moment, we were face to face and neither of us could ignore the other. It was a nerve-racking situation, but we kept silent and walked forward staggering abreast. Whenever our bodies touched, they would recoil fiercely from each other.

Suddenly, the muezzin called for prayer. I ignored his reproachful look. I then stumbled and fell to the ground on my chest. I stopped breathing for awhile. He burst into derisive laughter, with his hand groping for something to lean on. Blood boiled in my veins as he continued laughing. I picked up a nearby stone and threw it at him. He let out a shriek and fell down with blood running from his head. He ceased laughing and began weeping, screaming all the abuse I know at me.

Silence prevailed once again. I endeavored to feel the bleeding wound on my head while he lay exhausted on the pavement beside me. The street was still dark but worshippers' figures began appearing at the other end of the street. A few moments later, voices came nearer. I turned my head searching for him but he was gone. Many hands extended to help me stand to my feet.

“What happened?” one of them cried. “We just found him thus,” another voice replied. I listened unconsciously to their conversation. I kept looking for him but in vain e had slipped away!

– “Is he OK?”

– “Bandage his head well. He must be taken to the hospital.”

– “Who did him this? We should tell his family.”

– “No time for that now

I gradually recovered consciousness and discerned a neighbor's face. I cautiously tried not to let anybody smell my mouth but followed their instructions obediently. One of them whispered in my ear encouragingly, “I hope you feel better, doctor. I hope you feel better!”

*Hamdan Zaid Dammag is the Managing Editor of Yemen Times. He is a poet and short-story writer with many literature publications. He is a computer scientist and a research fellow at the Institute of Computing, London South Bank University, UK.

**Shaker Al-Molsi is a researcher and professional translator. He is the cultural page editor of Yemen Times.
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