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| Inner Voice - Short Story |
Spider webs occupied most corners of the living room ceiling, and they surely occupied most corners of my room’s ceiling too, though I could not see them there. The light in the living room was worse than the darkness of the bedroom, because it revealed the truth of our home, the truth that made us ashamed to receive any guests. That was because Mama was not good at taking care of the house. Ever since we moved to Alexandria, I cannot remember seeing her clean it even once. When I stepped out, Baba was preparing to leave for his another home. His face and hands were darkened, though his original complexion was much fairer, almost like mine. Everyone was in the apartment except Islam, the youngest brother. He was outside in the street. Seif sat waiting for the food, Mahmoud was styling his hair before going out, and Mama was in the kitchen. I tried to speak but could not, so I pretended I had only come out to eat. I walked toward the dining table and fiddled with the plates scattered across it.
- I need money. I’m going out.
It was Mahmoud. His clothes clung neatly to his thin body. He said it in our Upper Egyptian dialect. Inside the house, we all spoke in our native tongue, but outside we abandoned it. Could that be called abandoning our identity? This year, in Arabic class, we studied that peoples who abandon their language become slaves rather than masters, followers rather than being followed. But if we spoke in our real dialect, the Alexandrians would mock us. I do not know. We simply could not bear ridicule, nor the feeling of being different.
- I left you five pounds, you dog
Baba answered sarcastically, and Mahmoud snapped back angrily:
- What am I supposed to do with five pounds?
Seif could not help interfering.
- Fifty’s the bare minimum!
Mahmoud grew even angrier. Their voices rose while I kept fiddling with the dishes, still trying and failing to speak. I decided to say something other than what I truly wanted to say. Strange! I could always speak when I did not mean what I said.
- Mama… what’s for lunch?
- Just a minute, I’m making it!
She shouted from the kitchen for no reason, and Baba mocked her tone.
- Don’t yell at them. Did I raise men so you could yell at them?
- May disaster bury all of you
- Don’t curse the kids, damn it. I told you a hundred times
As a child, I used to secretly pray that God would let Mama die and keep Baba alive, especially when I asked her for something and she cursed me, saying things like: “May calamity strike you with a thread of blood… may a feathered scorpion sting you.” Even now, I do not fully know what those curses meant. Baba was always the tender one, the affectionate one, while she was angry for no reason. His defense of me gave me just enough courage to speak, and though I stammered, he tried to listen carefully.
- I… I need… tomorrow… money
- Lolita, you command. How much do you want?
- …One hundred and fifty
- I only have twenty now to get by, but I’ll figure something out tomorrow. When do you need it?
- Tomorrow… two... tow o'clock
- I might be back at three o'clock.. Why don’t you skip tomorrow?
How lucky I would be to postpone the confrontation, even for one day. I agreed and sat on one of the couches beside Baba.
- Didn’t you just get paid?
Seif asked him.
- Your uncle Essam took it
- Again?
- He already took ten thousand, and every bit of money that comes in gets stamped for him as a tax
- Ehht! *(An Upper Egyptian exclamation of disbelief).
- He’s my older brother. I can’t say no to him. Relax, I’ll handle it… Huda, do you have anything?
Mama answered loudly from the kitchen:
- How would I have anything when you’ve got my credit card and already took the salary?
- Mmm, you liar. So you haven’t secretly saved anything? Or were you planning to send it to your siblings?
- May my hands wither if I ever hide anything from my children.
Mama stepped out of the kitchen excitedly:
- He cou… listen to me…
Baba laughed:
- We’re listening. Go ahead
- He could go tell them next time
- No, my son won’t humiliate himself in front of anyone
- I swear, I don’t understand this pride you people have!
Mama was older than Baba, and she looked older too. A severe scarf wrapped tightly around her hair, and her face always carried a scowl that suggested a harshness completely out of place with the bright blue pajamas she wore around the house. I noticed it and lowered my gaze. Baba commented:
- Didn’t I tell you to change that tracksuit? Don’t sit in front of men wearing pants
Seif noticed she had abandoned the food to argue instead:
- Did you finish the rice?
- It’s on the stove
- Then hurry up
- Yes, Seif-bey
She went back into the kitchen. Mahmoud stopped styling his hair and turned to Baba again:
- Seriously, figure something out. I can’t go out like this
- You dog, are we really still on this?
- Yes, we are still on this. Whenever Alaa needs something, you figure it out for him
Baba laughed:
- Of course I do. He’s the best one among you. A respectable man. Focused on his studies. Not wasting his time with girls or nonsense
It hurt me that he saw me as such a perfect one.
- I swear, I don’t know how you let them roam the streets day and night like this
That was Seif, commenting on Mahmoud and Islam constantly going out.
- No more spoiling them from now on
Mahmoud flared up:
- Better to roam than rot at home
Seif mocked his anger, mimicking his expressions and tone in an irritating way. Baba said to Mahmoud:
- I’ve been ignoring you since morning, but you’re pushing it. Talk properly to your older brother. What do you even need money for?
- What do you mean what for? They’re going to watch football matches
One day Baba confessed to me that he was saddened by Mahmoud and Islam. They went out too much, and their behavior was deteriorating, unlike me and my older brother Seif. I told him simply that the reason was that during our childhood, he used to sit with us all the time. He taught us how to behave in every little situation. But with the younger ones, he no longer did that. He became consumed by marriage and having more children. We did not even gather around the dining table anymore; each of us ate alone whenever he want. So I decided to defend Mahmoud. I opened my mouth to speak. At first nothing came out, then suddenly the words burst forth all at once.
- If it’s an important match, then maybe—
Seif cut me off viciously:
- Mind your own business. Speak when somebody asks you!
My face flushed violently, and my eyes filled with tears. I stared at him with bitterness, then looked at Baba and said in a trembling voice:
- What was that supposed to mean?
Baba frowned, but he spoke gently to Seif:
- That’s enough
Seif continued in the same careless tone:
- He jumps into every conversation like a popcorn kernel exploding. Not every discussion needs him in it
- Alright, enough
I looked at Baba in disbelief. Was that all you could do? Then Mahmoud spoke again:
- I still want to go out
Baba exploded at the top of his lungs, making me flinch in fear.
- What do you want, you dog?!
- What do I want? What have we been talking about this whole time?!
- This bastard won’t shut up till he makes me scream. People will think we’re savages!
The apartment burst into Baba’s shouting. He cursed Mahmoud and the way he had been raised, blamed Mama, said our morals were ruined because of her behavior as both wife and mother. I felt as though a cloud of smoke had filled my chest and smothered my breathing. Mahmoud backed down and decided not to go out. I stayed where I was, struggling not to cry.