...a deathly serenade...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
was a hassle as he had to use his right arm and
reach his whole body over the passage. I could
only really see his arm protruding out of his T-
Shirt, just the nub, and by this I kept wondering
if he would have found me staring at his
deformity, but he didn’t, as I was hindered by the
attention of Rajib seated next to me for much of
the journey. She kept asking questions, albeit
sparingly as if acknowledging an awkward silence
that was constantly developing and then
redeveloping, as if a pebble thrown on a placid
lake: erupting and then reverberating into
nothing. In conversation she was warm and I
could appreciate her appeal to Ahmed, in their
engagement, but I sensed an element of strict
obedience, in the way she seemed to pronounce
her piousness when she mentioned Ramadan.
You see it’s not as if I had perceived Rajib’s whole
personality on the basis of her religious attire,
quite the opposite really, it was the very way in
which she performed, I thought, that spoke to me.
For one thing, the conversation, after banalities
made of the weather and another passenger
eating a kebab a few rows down, was strange as
she started mentioning what she thought a
woman’s role was in society. The little she knew
of me, meant I was one of those Europeans, she
said flippantly, like Americans. But Morocco was
different she explained profusely. I listened but
was mostly taking the time to consider what
exactly this sibling relationship was all about,
regardless of the impromptu fashion Lucia and I
had arrived into each other’s lives, at this point I
196