Priscal

Author's name: Ahmed Sabry Abu Al-Fotouh

Tonight, father, something strange happened. She said, as she prepared the bed for her to sleep next to: As I gazed at the edge of the hill tonight, I saw a man who looked like you, and a little girl who looked like me. They were lost on an old dark road. In one of his hands was a bridle like the one you hold, and in the other, a whip like yours. He was leading two young red colts pulling a four-wheeled cart. Above their foreheads hung a hand from whose fingers protruded small red chili pods. In the middle of the hand was a bead, not as pure as the blue of the bead. The neighing of the two colts buzzed in my ear as if I were the little girl who used to sleep on the tray, and I could hear nothing but it. I could not even hear the clamor of your smoke, nor the conversations of the cemetery inhabitants as they exchanged regrets.