الحيّ أبقى من الميت
بقلم: أسيمة ابراهيم -سورية
ترجمها إلى الإنجليزية عبد اللطيف غسري -المغرب
- ستحضرها معك، قل بأنّك ستفعل..
- لا أستطيع، هل جننت؟ بالله عليك كيف خطر لك هذا.
- إيّاك أن تعود بدونها قل إنك ستفعل، لولا منعك إيّاي من الذهاب إلى أم خالد البارحة، لكنت أتيت بها بنفسي.
- حسنا، اتركيها على الله.
كادت أن تنفجر، وتصرخ بوجهه وتمزقه بأظافرها، وهي تذكره بفعلته في الشتاء الماضي حين ظل يترقب المعونات.
أشاحت بوجهها عنه، وشغلت نفسها بتدثير صغيرها، نفخت على يديها في محاولة لبثّ بعض الدفء في أطراف أصابعها المتجمدة، مسحت بها على وجنتي وحيدها الباهتتين، وهي تقول بصوت مرتعش:
-أحمد يرتجف، أصابعه مزرقة. سيتجمد من البرد.. تحرك يا رجل
سحب نفسا عميقا من سيجارته الرديئة ونفثه، ورد عليها بقهر محاولا كتم حشرجة الفقد:
-محمد، محمد يا امرأة..
قطع السعال صوته، التقط في عينيها هلعا ورعبا، هذه المخاوف تسللت إلى عقله، وأخرست لسانه، وجعلته يجرّ مزيدا من السعال المصطنع كي يهرب من الخيمة، أحكم لفّ الغطاء الصوفي المهترئ على رأسه، واختلس نظرة إلى ابنه المدثّر بلحاف سميك، فاحت منه رائحة الرطوبة، وقلبه يلهج بالدعاء له أن ينجو..
انتعل جزمته المطاطية الطويلة، ووضع على كتفيه الواهنتين بطانية من بطانيات الإغاثة القديمة، وهمَّ بالخروج، لكن صوتها عاد ينقر أذنيه وهي تتمتم باكية:
-لن أدع محمدا يلحق بأحمد، وأنا أنتظر الإغاثات..
أسرع نحو باب الخيمة وأزاح بقدمه الحجارة التي وضعها على أطرافه المتدليّة ليثبّته على الأرض في وجه ريح أو حيوان شارد.
لم يكد يضع رجليه خارج الخيمة، حتى لفحت ذرات الثلج خديه، وجعلته يغمض عينيه نصف إغماضة، وتابع سيره نحو الطرف الشرقيّ للمخيم، تراءت له عائلته ذات ثلج قديم، وهم يتقاذفون كرات الثلج، كانت ضحكاتهم وحركاتهم السريعة تبثّ الدفء في عروقهم، وتحبسه داخل ستر جلديّة لامعة ومبطّنة بالفرو. لعن الثلج في سرّه، كيف صار قاسيا هكذا، كيف أخذ منه أحمد، وسيفقده محمدا إن لم يتصرف بعجل.
تابع سيره المتعثر، انغراز جزمته في الثلج مرة إثر مرة، أعاد له ذاك الشعور حينما كان (بوطه) العسكري ينغرز في ثلوج جبل الشيخ منذ سنوات بعيدة، وعيونه ترصد كل حركة على الجانب الآخر، وشعوره بواجب الذود عن وطنه ينسيه البرد ويبعث الحرارة في عروقه. وقف فجأة مكانه، سحب علبة السجائر من جيبه، التقط واحدة وأشعلها. وهج الجمرة لفح وجهه وأسال دمعة واقفة على طرف جفنه.
جلس القرفصاء، تلفّت هنا وهناك، سحب نفسا آخر من سيجارته ورماها لتنطفئ على كومة الثلج، انتفض واقفا، فتح عينيه جيدا، شعّ منهما بريقا كلّه تصميم على إنقاذ ولده.
أكثر من عشرة جثث صغيرة مسجّاة على الثلج، اقترب من جمع الرجال المتحلقين حول الجثث صامتين بعيون ورّمها البرد و البكاء، أخذ المعول من يد أحد الرجال، وبدأ بالحفر ومع كل ضربة على الأرض، كان يزداد دفئاً، والحفرة تكبر، تمنى للحظة أن تبتلعه قبل أن يقول ما يريد لأبي خالد.
بدأ الرجال برصّ جثث أطفالهم المتجمدة والملفوفة بأسمال بالية، في الحفرة. عيناه تترصدان أبا خالد، حينما حمل طفله الملفوف بسترة جلدية لامعة، قبّله وشمّ رائحته، واتجه به نحو الحفرة، صار قريبا منه، عليه أن ينهي الأمر سريعا، منعته هيبة الموت من النطق، تسمّر مكانه، تشنجت أمعاؤه الخاوية، وكادت تخرج من فمه. علت نبضات قلبه على صوت المعاول، وتكبير الرجال وتهليلهم، صورة أحمد تمثلت أمامه، وكأنه يأخذ بيد أخيه ويمضي بعيداً، رمى المعول من يده، وقفز نحو أبي خالد هامساً له بتوسل:
-أريد سترته، الحيّ أبقى من الميت.
______
أسيمة ابراهيم
سورية
Life Is For The Living
A short story by Assima Ibrahim (Syria)
Translated from Arabic by ABDELLATIF RHESRI (Morocco)
-You'll fetch her, won't you? Say you will.
-I can't. Are you crazy? How could you think of that, for God's sake?
-I warn you of coming back without her. Say you will. If you hadn't prevented me from going to Om Khalid Yesterday, I would have brought her myself.
-Well, let fate handle the matter.
She nearly burst out screaming and scratching his face with her finger nails, while she was reminding him of his deed during the previous winter when he had kept waiting for the aids.
She turned away her face, and got busy covering her little son. She blew at her hands in an attempt to apply some warmth to her frozen finger tips with which she wiped her only son's pale cheeks, saying in a trembling voice;
- Ahmed is quivering. His fingers are becoming bluish. He'll get frozen. Come on ! Do something, man.
He took a deep breath from his poor cigarette, then blew it off. He replied with a feeling of repression, trying to silence the gargle of loss enraging inside him;
- Mohamed. That's Mohamed, woman.
His speech was cut short with his coughing. He caught sight of horror and terror in her eyes. Those fears sneaked into his mind, silenced him and made him feign more coughing so as to flee the tent. He adjusted the shabby woolen blanket on his head, and cast a glance at his son who was covered with a thick blanket that smelt humid. His heart kept on praying for him to survive.
He put on his long rubber shoes, placed one of the charity shabby blankets on his frail shoulders, and got ready to go out. However, her voice started ticking his ears again, as she murmured crying;
- I won't let Mohamed join Ahmed, waiting for the aids.
He hurried to the tent's door and removed with his foot the rocks he had put on its loose edges to fasten it on the ground against the wind or any stray animal.
No sooner had he stepped outside the tent, than his cheeks were smitten by tiny atoms of snow and his eyes were half-shut. He went ahead towards the eastern side of the camp.He recalled his family playing on a past snowy day, throwing snow balls at each other. Their laughs and swift moves made their veins get warmer under their bright leather suits with fur lining. He cursed the snow in secret, wondering how it had become so cruel as to take away Ahmed from him and threaten to take away Mohamed, too, if he failed to act quickly.
He went on walking and stumbling. The fact that his shoes got stuck into the snow many times recalled to his mind the feeling he had had when his military boots had got often stuck in the snows of Al Shiekh Mountain several years ago, while his eyes had been spotting the least movement on the other side. His feeling of the duty to defend his homeland had made him forget about the cold weather and rendered his veins warmer and warmer. He stood still, suddenly, and took out his cigarette box from his pocket. He picked a cigarette and lit it. Its glowing ember charred his face and brought down a tear that was at the edge of his eyelid.
He sat crouching, turning left and right. He drew another breath from the cigarette, then threw it away to be put out on the snow heap. Then, he flounced up and opened his eyes wide, which beamed with determination to rescue his son.
More than ten small dead bodies were lying shrouded on the snow. He moved ahead and came closer to the group of men who were mobbing in silence around the bodies, their eyes being swollen with the coldness and weeping. He took a spade from the hand of one of the men and began digging. The more he dug the ground, the warmer he felt, and the bigger the crater became, wishing it would swallow him up before he could say what he wanted to say to Abu Khalid.
The men started putting the frozen bodies of their own children -that were shrouded into shabby rugs- side by side into the crater. His eyes were watching Abu Khalid who carried his own kid that was wrapped in a bright leather suit, kissing and sniffing him, and headed for the crater. He got closer to him. He had to get it over with as soon as possible. However, the sublimity of death prevented him from uttering a single word. He got stuck in his place, his empty intestines getting spasmodic and nearly coming out of his mouth. The sound of his heartbeats rose higher above that of the spade digging and the men's invocations of God.
The image of his son, Ahmed appeared to him, taking his brother's hand and going far way. He threw away the spade from his hand, and leapt towards Abu Khalid, begging him in a whisper;
- I want his suit back. Life is for the living.
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