Translated by ELISABETH JAQUETTE 1—Idiot The oldest boys in the neighborhood—“bullies,” as our Egyptian neighbors would say—chased that boy… chased me . I’d long been obsessed with watching Egyptian TV shows and films, sneaking into the cinema to see them because in our house it was forbidden… “forbidden, boy, to go there.ˮ According to my mother, grandmother, and the other women in the neighborhood, screens are the devil’s handiwork: they corrupt good boys and girls. Of course, they’re poor women, without an ounce of luck. Since we’ve mentioned girls, the truth is that I’m as afraid of them as of the boys who chase me, but it’s another type of fear. It’s more like dread, the idea of standing in front of an incredibly beautiful girl and saying to her, as people do, “I love you.ˮ I’ve practiced a lot in the bathroom while masturbating, but nothing’s changed; white water flows, mixing with the poorly made soap, and in the end, I realize that I’ve lost the image of the girl who wal
موقع للكاتب السوداني عماد البليك يهتم بالرواية والأدب والفن والخيال