هذه ترجمة القصة القصيرة "الغرفة للأديب محمد اللغافي، الموجودة في قسم "حدائق الحكمة"
The Room
Translated by : Abdellatif Rhesri
The sigh emanates from a perturbed depth. He passes his hand on his forehead from the right to the left. He forces himself into getting up slowly. He moves to the front door of the room , leaving all his stuff on the round table : a packet of cigarettes, the lighter and the ash tray containing the remnants of the cigarettes he smoked since he had woken up ; about twelve remnants of cigarettes in just half an hour. He did not get notice of a cinder that, while he was being heedless, fell on the pillow on which he was laying his head. It made a hole in it and left a smell that lingered there for a long time, for the two windows were shut. Along with their poor state, they could not let air in. Even the photo that was hung between them both had lost its features throughout the years that had elapsed.
The photo no longer resembled him despite his consant cleaning. It is nice, gleaming with the youthful smile drawn on the face, and the fancy coat and neck tie. He no longer looked at it for a long time since his face had grown wrinkled and lost its cheerfulness. Everything for him goes on according to a plan contrary to his wishes.
At a certain time in the past, he was clean. He is still so from inside ; I mean right in his heart, though his brown coat has become as dark with dirt as his bed which no one cares about.
He does not regret the isolation he has opted for and his self-inflicted loneliness. Most clearly, his dreams have faded away. He no longer cares about the days. He is pestered with some provocative questions : Why does he exist ? What role does his existence play in life ?
As he bowed down to reach for the door lock, his small wallet dropped from the pocket of his coat. There’s nothing of any importance in it, just his identity card (ID) which had become invalid fifteen years ago. The card read :
Family name : Bachouch
Personal name : Said
Occupation : teacher
Date of Birth : 1/6/1958
This date might not be correct. His father had guessed it before when he had got accustomed to the new life in the city and then had his name registered in the «Civil State » register.
Address : Appartment 6 / Building B / El Ward Boulevard Casablanca
Despite all this, he keeps just one thing in his memory depicted in a romantic photo that was taken in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
He picked up his wallet and returned it to his pocket. He hesitated before going out remembering that he he had forgotten something.
He turned round and went back into the room searching under the pillow. He did not find what he was looking for. He grabbed the covers in both hands and shook them hard. Then , a money bill of twenty dirhams fell down. He tucked it into his pocket and sat down on a discoloured sofa. He let his hand fall on it until he heard the creak of its fragile wood.
The dust of the elapsing years rose up fell like autumn leaves. He lit up another cigarette and smoked it violently.
He blew out the smoke forcefully, then he puffed it like a mass of clouds that covered the rusty zink ceiling, after about five puffs he burned the cigarette away.
Theis time a sound invades his ears. It is not strange ; it seemed familiar. But it does not seem so now. He has missed this sound for about twenty years now. It is coming from outside emanating from an unknown being.
He put out the cigarette remnant in the ash tray. He got up astonishedly. Taking the first step, he hit the round table and it turned upside down and the cigarette remnants fell on the room floor. The ash tray was broken and the ashes were scattered here and there. Then, he fell down on his knees trying to pick up his stuff. Whenever he moved, the table moved along his side. He realised that a chance peg had stuck to his coat. He got rid of it and got up, his face being wet with sweat. He turned the table to its place while the sound was growing nearer and nearer. The mustles beneath his shoulder blades were shaken and his heart beat as fast as the knocks on the door.
He went hurriedly towards the sound. He bowed down, opened the lock, then pulled the door open.
There was no sound there.
No hand was knocking on the door.
Morocco
5/6/2009
