to stare at the broadcaster, not taking his eyes off her. He observed her closely this time, he did more than observe her. His ravenous gaze took her captive and began to grope her firm, luscious body. He knew she felt it from the beads of sweat gathering on her upper lip, which quivered slightly, and from the tone of her voice, which shook and jumped all over the place.
“...and after pronouncing the death sentence passed against them by the criminal court, the sole civilian judge approached the condemned and asked them whether they had any last wishes, or anything they wanted to say, before the sentence was carried out. The first man was shaking. Tears ran from his eyes, and his face had gone white. He said, ‘My last wish is that my mother won’t fall dead from sorrow on account of me.’ The other said, ‘I don’t have any last wishes.’ His strength failed him, and he wept.”
Luqman put his hand to his crotch. Come on! Get up, Partner! Stand up and enjoy the view of this splendid blond festival.
The broadcaster lifted a hand to scratch her breast with long, shiny red fingernails until a hard nipple protruded distinctly through her thin, white shirt. She produced the same effect on Luqman, only double.
The bitch! Luqman thought to himself. She was aroused but not at all distracted. Indeed, she went on smoothly without losing her train of thought.
“...They became even more terrified when they saw the scaffold and the nooses. They were unable to walk and visibly wilted after four steps. The first collapsed entirely and fell to the ground; the other stumbled. This prevented them from being dressed in the customary white execution gowns. So the guards carried them onto the platform.”
Luqman looked around. No one was watching him...watching them. Everyone was fixed upon the platform and what was taking place there. What if his partner gave the broadcaster a “good morning”? After being constricted, it could get some relief and a breath of fresh air...
“...The executioner swiftly put the head of the first man through the noose. Then he moved to the other and wrapped his neck with the rope. The wooden platform beneath their feet fell away, and the two men dangled in the air and began to jerk around until, after a few moments, they gave up the ghost. When the sentence was carried out, all the people cheered jubilantly and applauded. The number of those witnessing the execution is estimated to be in the thousands, from all different regions. The packed balconies and rooftops of the buildings surrounding the square testify to the size of the assembly.”
--
Luqman lifted his head and said, “Why don’t we go to your place?”
“Because I live with my parents,” she answered, grabbing his ears and bringing his mouth back down to her crotch.
Luqman lifted his head again and said, “No problem. What do you say we go to my place then?”
The broadcaster, both irritable and mean-spirited, responded, “My shift isn’t over yet! But in any case, it’s fine. You can leave right now, if you want to.”
Luqman laughed. “Are you serious? Where would I go? There’s no need to get angry, Miss...I’m at the lady’s command!”
The young lady dug her fingernails into Luqman’s back when she came, then her face relaxed all at once. She pushed herself back up in her seat and opened her eyes to stare at Luqman.
When Luqman moved to get on top of her, she pushed him away. “Sorry, I can’t help you. I’m still a virgin.”
Luqman smiled and nodded. He pulled away a hair that was stuck to his tongue and said, “No problem!”
But when he asked her to repay him in kind, she shook back her hair and fanned a hand in front of her face to show how uncomfortable she was from the heat. Luqman repeated his question in another way, grabbing her hand to...She jerked it away and fumbled with her key as she put it in the ignition and started the car. She folded her arms and began staring straight in front of her at the road. She was shaking.
Luqman kept watching her silently. Then he said, “Can I see you again?”
She turned and slapped his cheek. “Hell, no! Forget you ever saw me today. The best thing for you to do is forget about it. If you don’t, I’ll send someone who’ll make you forget your own name, got it?” She leaned across him to open the door. Then she pushed him out with her bare foot.
Luqman stood with his hands in his pockets. He lifted his eyes to the sky, laden with clouds. “That’s life, Partner! You win some, you lose some.”
He walked off.
CHAPTER 4
The neighborhood was still asleep.
Luqman would have thought he was in a rich neighborhood, were it not for the plastic bags, their bellies torn open and spilling out their garbage entrails. Masked ghosts, showing nothing but their eyes, sifted through the piles.
This was a new species, thought Luqman. The “unseen families,” as they had come to be called. It was the species of those who only went out under the cover of night, when they were turned out from the places to which they repaired during the daylight hours. First the war, and later the peace, had stripped them of their teeth, their fingernails, and their ability to buy. This species was distinct from the species of beggars in that its members maintained some dignity and pride, some fear and shame, such that they were not willing to be seen in used clothing, even if that meant they would consume half-eaten food.
Luqman saw these unseen ones scattered around the edges of the neighborhood like deformed insects or shattered trees with charred fruit. He turned his eyes away so as not to disturb the pleasure he felt upon entering the intimacy of this humble neighborhood, which resembled a blue bedroom sunk in a deep slumber.
Whenever Luqman entered the neighborhood, he felt he was going down instead of up, even though it stood atop a small hill.
Maybe it was the flowerpots that decorated the doorways abutting the small street. The entrances only went up two or three steps, as though to stay close and extend an invitation, welcoming the passerby to have a seat and make himself comfortable for a few moments. Or a few hours.
Or maybe it was the low buildings, not more than two or three stories tall, with their wan and faded colors and their windows, protected by airy, delicate curtains decorated with borders of lace.
“Thank God,” Luqman murmured to himself. There were still neighborhoods that preserved their modesty in this debauched city, crowded as it was with buildings that looked like mythical animals reminiscent of a bygone era or one still to come. Fanciful buildings, built for fanciful princes, shooting up every day, everywhere, insolent and disdainful. The buildings had strange, seductive names, enticing designs, and specifications that beggared the imagination. They rose up and remained half finished, hanging in the air. Like ghosts. Like freaks of nature, growing taller and more absurd. Like powerful men when they go mad and suffer delusions of grandeur, afflicted by hallucinations, amnesia, and nervous breakdowns.
Perhaps it was for all those reasons that Luqman loved Salaam’s neighborhood and felt a sense of ease and security there.
--
Salaam was a few years older than him and had never been beautiful. Maybe that was why the Albino, who hated women and didn’t feel safe around them, loved her.
She had been his neighbor and used to bring trays of coffee, juice, sandwiches, and other food down to “the gang,” when, at the beginning of the war, they took it upon themselves to stay up late, guarding the residential neighborhoods from expected raids. That was after the people of the city had been divided into thieves and heroes, good and evil.
The Albino never touched her. Whenever Luqman would tease him by alluding to her big butt, which jiggled at every step, he would say, “She has more honor than all other women combined!” And when Luqman would respond, “What makes you so sure?” the Albino would become furious, sputtering and struggling to speak, his face turning red. Luqman would fall silent and apologize. He was never afraid for himself during the Albino’s bouts of rage, though he did fear for the Albino.