Cigarette Number Seven

arrangement for the least possible working hours. It’s not laziness. It’s just that I’ve discovered my inability to stay committed to anything. When did I become like this? Was it when you died, Baba? I think I made up my mind as I said my last goodbye to you at the entrance of the narrow tomb: never again will I invest my feelings in living beings. That was the angry vow I made to you. I blamed you for deceiving me by letting me get attached to your presence when you must have known you weren’t staying. I unwrapped the shroud around your head and feet and told you calmly that I wasn’t angry at you. I was just bitter and frustrated, and was faking my calmness in order not to upset you further. I knew you didn’t like change. Moving to that small tomb was certain to make you anxious, at least until you got used to your new companions. I didn’t want to make things more difficult for you, so before I climbed the ladder that led out of the dusty grave I told you that I wasn’t angry, just too clever to make the same mistake again. No one and nothing will ever again become the center of my life. I won’t sign any contracts, and won’t make anything indispensable to me. That was my vow of self-protection.

Everything comes to an end, Father, even you.

I wake up the same as I do every day, bored and peaceful. I open my laptop and stare at the email that has been waiting for a month. It’s finally time. I print it out and place the paper on top of my large suitcase that’s standing by the door. On that last day, having diligently smoked my seventh cigarette, I put it out, pick up my keychain, and detach the key of my small apartment. I get dressed, lift the suitcase, and step outside. In the elevator, I am met by the neighbor who gives me the same suspicious smile he’s been treating me to since I started living here nine years ago. I look down and stare at my purple shoes. Seconds before the elevator reaches the ground floor, I say without looking at him, “I work as a translator. I translate books. I’m moving out today. Take care.” He looks at me in surprise, shakes his head vigorously, and says, “You will be missed, Miss Nadia.”

I get out of the elevator, hand the key to the building’s caretaker, and take a taxi to the airport. Umm Kulthum sings out of the car radio.

You are closer to me than myself

Whether you are here or far away

I check my passport and the printout of the ticket that will take me to Radwa, and then I sit back and glue my face to the window. I watch the world outside go by. Maybe one day I will return and start again.

Selected Hoopoe Titles

Whitefly

by Abdelilah Hamdouchi, translated by Jonathan Smolin

The Final Bet

by Abdelilah Hamdouchi, translated by Jonathan Smolin

A Beautiful White Cat Walks with Me

by Youssef Fadel, translated by Alexander E. Elinson

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