None of us felt sorry for the murdered and perished, or took a tiny wee bit of pity on them.”

The brothers listened to the description of the cruel events frozen all over. It was incredible that those atrocities were committed by a human, and that the human was their own father.

None of them tried again to comfort their dying father, assuring him that Allah would forgive him.

“You should have understood by now that I can’t be forgiven. So much so that I don’t even regret what I have done. At times I regret killing the children though, and that’s why I don’t want to die with my natural death. I want to experience the worst thing that might happen to an Arab. I want to die from the hand of my own sons. I want you to cut me to pieces and leave my remains in the desert to feast the animals.

You should know that it’s not a request, I have never asked you for anything; it’s my last order and you, my sons, have to obey it. Don’t be afraid. Allah will not punish you for this.

Doing so, you will kill a Shaitan[16] , and fulfill your father’s last will.”

***

The sun had already reached its zenith when the two warriors, riding loaded camels, set off, leaving the human remains behind them.

After some time, the elder one said with a feeble, broken voice: “Let Allah take mercy over our souls.”

They say, it all happened during the early years of the previous century.

Pakistan

June 20, 2011

STRAY DOGS

Them calls us stray dogs. So what? Let them do as them wishes. On the other hand, us isstray dogs indeed, for nobody don’t let us enter them homes, and we don’t have no masters.

A friend of mine from the neighborin’ quarter sleeps in various yards and entrance halls. So what? He is a smart doggie anyway. He can understand not only cursin’ and naggin’, but a normal speech of them humans. I mean it. And he hasn’t even spent no single day at school.

Them who is well-bred in the best families, them who done been taught how to give a paw to them masters or when to give them voices, are still awfully misbehaved. Them runs out into the street for five minute, pee at some wall, pollute the environment and rushes back to them clean and polished parquet floors again.

Have them done been taught at school to pollute them others’ habitat and then sleep peacefully, shampooed all over, in them comfortable easy-chairs? And them masters, them giant mans who walks them out, says nothing to that horrible fact. How can us manage to teach them a good lesson for this terrible disrespect? Them huge guys, the masters, is ready to call special organization that ‘takes care’ of the stray dogs, catches them, turns them into soap or sends them to the eternal sleep!

Nay, I ain’t not complaining. I just don’t understand why folks regards us as stray doggies and them as thoroughbreds? In what way is them better then us is? Is them smarter, prettier or better-behaved?

Us don’t relies on nobody. Us wins our own bread ourselves. It’s only a rare case when some good guy offers us a generous food nowadays. Them good guy folks vanished long ago. There was lots of them earlier though.

But in some way us is happier than them is, indeed. Them gets married after them masters’ will or with the help of the whole team of the match-makers. But us marries only the bitches us likes and loves. Believe me, if I take to some bitch, I can follow her to the other end of the city without no moment of hesitation.

Can them molly-coddles takes a sweet bone to them sweethearts from one end of the city to the other?

Them can my ass!

Pard’n me for using the impertinent tongue, for me is a stray dog. But every word me says comes from the bottom of me heart.

Everything comes from the bottom of us hearts – both hatred and love.

Them intelligent hounds done been taught to hunt or eat people up for ages. Wretched, ain’t it? If a person done no wrong to me, why should me eats him up? As for hunting, well, all of us done been after us game since us done born.

Us don’t dance to nobody else’s music. Us can never be led by the noses. Us hunt when us is hungry!

Well, me is not goin’ to sue you for the violation of us rights, of course. Neither is me goin’ to beg you to take care of us. It’s no use, me knows. But me will remind you of something: don’t forget that you should not ignore us. If there is some kind of problem in our district, us can solve it much better than them shampooed cuddle puppies.

So, my dear fellars, think twice before you calls us stray dogs and worship them artificial creatures.

Us has us own place in the city and under the sun. So you mind your P’s and Q’s while dealin’ with us!

Me apologizes for me ignorant talk. Me is a stray doggie, you know, and me lacks good breedin’.

Pakistan,

June 20, 2011.

THE CAPTAIN

In Casablanca, in the café Tubkala on the beach, you would often see an old sailor. His tanned face, rough features, thick, gnarled and a bit deformed fingers – all suggested that he had been at sea for a long time.

He spent most part of the day in the café or on the beach. When he got bored with sitting still in the café, he went out and took a slow walk along the shore. His clothes were fit for any sort of weather. Most of all he enjoyed taking a stroll in bad weather. He would put on his waterproof coat and, as if challenging the weather, walk as slowly as he could. At times he paused and gazed at the rough waters of the ocean, his gaze searching for someone or something beyond the huge waves.

The café was frequented by the young sailors who took their places making a loud noise. They got pretty drunk and left the café with the same loud noise.

At such instances, the old man seemed even more sunken in his sad thoughts. He kept his eye on the young sailors, and sometimes even didn’t quite catch what the waiters said to him.

Usually, he didn’t drink much. More often he smoked a lot, and gazed at the ocean through the café window.

The rumor went that he used to be the captain of a huge cargo ship for quite a while, and that his ship wrecked and most of his men perished in a terrible storm near Port Elizabeth. Only he and a few of his sailors had survived. The natives also claimed that he could never recover after this tragic event and the nasty feeling of guilt. There were a lot of other stories about the old man, but nobody knew anything for sure.

He was word-grudging. His orders were short and laconic, and if anyone tried to talk to him, he gave them only brief answers just to show that he didn’t feel like having a long conversation.

Nobody knew where he lived. In the late evenings, right before the café closed for night, he went out and strolled along the shore very slowly.

The years passed by indifferently, resembling one another, until one fine day the old man came to the café accompanied by a dog. He tied the dog near the entrance and asked the waiter to give him a small bowl. Since then he always fed the dog out of that bowl.

The man and the dog took long walks together and went home together. It was quite impossible to state the breeding of the dog, but it was beautiful and seemed to be quite clever.

Those days nobody could imagine the captain without his dog. They were together all the time. You could see the old man kneeling on the beach, saying something to his companion. The companion listened to him very attentively, as if catching the meaning of every word. The man treated the animal like his peer and never talked to him in a baby talk or showed any kind of disrespect towards him.