تــراجـم

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مكتبة هشام ادم(هشام آدم)
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03-07-2007, 01:36 PM

هشام آدم
<aهشام آدم
تاريخ التسجيل: 06-11-2005
مجموع المشاركات: 12213

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Re: تــراجـم (Re: هشام آدم)

    ______________________

    الجزء الثالث من قصة ( أحلام )


    Your father is dead, and your mother is poor and depends on you for financial support. You have no family to ask for help, and you have mouths to feed. You swear that your children must go to school. This has always been your dream, and one shared by Obi. You do not have to listen hard to hear him say, "Uche, our children must go to school until there is nothing more for them to learn. I want them to see the end of school."
    You cannot get a job because you have no qualifications. You do not have even a standard six certificate. Your mother always says that all a woman needs is a generous husband. She is wrong. A woman needs more than that. She needs generous in-laws too. Above that, she needs an education, a job, independence. These are what you want for your daughters. Your dream for them.


    It is this dream that pulls you into this blue-lit room that you rent while your daughters sleep in your other apartment at the other side of town. They think that you have a job helping out at the university hospital. You are lucky that even after three pregnancies, your body is still as firm as a just-ripe tomato. Your stomach is taut and has just a little bulge, the size of an orange right under the navel. People say you still look like you did at sixteen (and unlike many compliments, you know that this is entirely true).


    Your mother says you have a body like a rubber band. No matter how far it is stretched, it always snaps back to its normal shape. This body becomes your money-spinner. The first night you work, you are shy. You want to cover your eyes when the pot-bellied man takes your nipples between his teeth. You keep your legs tight together, hardly daring to open them. He laughs and says it is just like being with a virgin. He likes it. He thinks you are a tease, and that the coyness is part of an act. He growls in pleasure, and when he gets up to go, his eyes shine like a cat's in the dark. He reaches into a black leather wallet with gold lettering at the side and pulls out a bunch of notes, suffocating the room with its smell of central bank. He is a big spender, and he is happy with you. He gives you enough money to pay your house-rent for two months. The money helps de-shy you and soon, you are able to chuck the shyness in a bin where it mildews.


    As the man with the sandpaper hands whispers into your ears, you close your nose to the stench of his breath (it smells like the raw fish stand of the local Kenyatta market), and you count your blessings: your daughters are in a private school, your mother is being taken good care of, and your retirement plans are already in motion. You will be the owner of the biggest bakery in Enugu. You can already see the bakery, a white bungalow with "Dream Bread" emblazoned in red, a huge neon light lighting it up, its fame spreading from Enugu to Onitsha.

    THE END
                   |Articles |News |مقالات |بيانات

العنوان الكاتب Date
تــراجـم هشام آدم01-07-07, 04:17 PM
  Re: تــراجـم هشام آدم01-07-07, 04:21 PM
    Re: تــراجـم mohmed khalail02-07-07, 04:51 AM
      Re: تــراجـم هشام آدم02-07-07, 05:35 AM
        Re: تــراجـم هشام آدم02-07-07, 12:34 PM
          Re: تــراجـم هشام آدم02-07-07, 12:36 PM
            Re: تــراجـم هشام آدم03-07-07, 01:36 PM
              Re: تــراجـم هشام آدم03-07-07, 01:37 PM
                Re: تــراجـم omer almahi03-07-07, 02:02 PM
                  Re: تــراجـم هشام آدم03-07-07, 03:55 PM
                    Re: تــراجـم هشام آدم04-07-07, 12:18 PM
                      Re: تــراجـم غادة عبدالعزيز خالد04-07-07, 12:32 PM
  Re: تــراجـم lana mahdi04-07-07, 12:51 PM
    Re: تــراجـم omer almahi14-07-07, 08:53 AM


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