The Red Gladiolus

 Mansoura Ez-Eldin

Translated from Arabic by: Paul Starkey

Her corpse lay peacefully on the bed where I had moved it with some difficulty, as I straightened my clothes in front of her bathroom mirror, put new lipstick on, and drew a long line of kohl on my upper lids. The rosy colour of my cheeks made me forget to add any other powder.

Her hoarse, rattling voice as she screamed her last words had almost made me stop . . . but I had reached a point where it was difficult to go back, so I continued my furious thrusts at her chest. Her warm, crimson blood spurted out, while I stood there shaking, my eyes fixed on her face from which the life was draining for ever.

I thought it would be stupid to bother to clean the place up. I looked at the pink, short-sleeved jacket and the short black skirt I was wearing to check that they were clean. Fortunately, the jacket had not been touched by the blood, and though my left arm had a long smudge of blood on it, it looked rather like a red gladiolus with a long stem, and four or so blooms arranged one above each other. I was pleased by the resemblance. I gave a laugh that echoed around the locked flat. I had forgotten the person lying inside with nothing resembling life inside her.

I sat down on the armchair, put my bag on the floor between my feet, and took out my packet of cigarettes. I lit one, and began to smoke, feeling completely light-headed. I felt that I had finally escaped from my previous life, with all its clamour and disappointments. I was no longer the little girl I had been a few days ago. I felt no regret. On the contrary, I felt a secret pleasure that rather stunned me, even though I made no attempt to deny it. I was seized by a fascinating feeling I had never experienced before of floating over all the misfortunes I had ever encountered.

By now completely befuddled, I started to smoke another cigarette. When I had finished it, I picked up my bag and went into the bedroom where she was lying. I looked at her blue, motionless face but did not dare touch her. She seemed taller than she had been, and I was frightened by the similarity between my features and hers.

* * *

I went back to the bathroom, turned on the tap and washed my arm more than a dozen times. This time I noticed in the mirror the blue rings around my eyes.

I left the flat quietly, shutting the door behind me. The stairs were a bit dark, so I took longer than usual to reach the street, which was almost deserted. I walked along  slowly. I couldn’t find anything to think about, so I occupied my mind counting my steps, but whenever I reached the sixth step I made a mistake and had to start counting again. When I got tired of this game I headed for a nearby café and sat down in an out-of-the-way corner. The effort I’d expended since the morning had completely drained my energy. It had also creased my clothes, making me feel dirty – an oppressive sensation that I tried to ignore as best I could. I lit a new cigarette, and took a sip from the cup of coffee that the waiter had put in front of me before going away quickly. I sipped the coffee with pleasure . . . Then I turned the cup over onto the saucer and held it up so that I could see the shape in it, which looked like a dark-coloured map. Her face was in front of me, with all the pallor and terror that had gripped her in her last moments. I couldn’t control the trembling that suddenly came over me. That face will remain imprinted on my mind. It will stick with me and I  with it. My knife thrusts had brought me closer to her.

I remembered her with affection as she tried to clutch at anything . . . as enormous quantities of her blood spurted out. I wish I could fix this moment for ever. I was never as close to another human being as I was to her at that moment we shared.

I looked at my arm. The blood-red gladiolus was there again. I tried to rub the mark off but it would not go away. It was spreading like a lazy beast. I rushed out of the café and ran for ages, without measuring the distance. When I got tired, I stopped and leaned against a lamp post in a crowded street. The flower was still spreading, and two eyes belonging to a woman resembling myself had fixed themselves on me. I walked on with heavy steps, repeating “one . . . two . . . three . . .”. I had to give her one final glance.

From the anthology "Unbuttoning the Violin".. Banipal Books - 2006.

The Original Arabic Version of "The Red Gladiolus" was published in my first book "Flickering Light" - Merit Publishing House - Cairo - 2001.