Where is Manar?
Book One: The Twin Star
Chapter 5: Socrates San and the Art of Being Petty
—
"Sami! Ummmmm! You got a minute? Can we go to Kuwait Street?" Alaa asked, wanting to visit one of the city's shopping streets.
Hahahaha. I knew you'd need me eventually. Did you forget you hit me in the face yesterday? You little cow.
One of the wise men said — I think it was Socrates: "If a donkey kicks you, don't kick it back."
Sorry, my friend Socrates... Koon.¹
Hahahaha. Let's make my face look like some stupid Japanese anime character. I'm kicking the donkey. Why, you ask? Well... life without being petty sometimes is just rigid, boring routine. That's my wisdom, Socrates Koon.
—
[Scene: Sami's imagination. He's sitting with Socrates at a stone table, facing each other.]
"How are you, Mr. Socrates Koon?" I greeted him politely.
Socrates twisted his face in that strange way, his thick beard standing on end like a hedgehog's spines.
"Did you just call me Koon, young man?"
"Yes, Socrates Koon! You know! I'm trying to make my culture... Japanese." I smiled.
"Damn you... You're a Koon... your family's Koon... your whole tribe's Koon! You know what that word means? When I met the Persians and learned their language — do you know what Koon means to them?" He was furious. He kept going, not waiting for an answer, and threw his pipe at me.
THWACK!
It hit the stone table beside me, bounced off, and slammed into the wall.
"It means ASS...!! You Koon, you son of a Koon!" Socrates kept cursing, a vein bulging by his eye, his beard sharp and bristling.
"Okay, man. 🙏 Sorry. I didn't know, O Great One. We're trying to learn from you — you're the father of philosophy." I apologized, trying to calm him down.
"There is no virtue without knowledge," he said, finally settling.
"Yes, Socrates San.¹ No virtue without knowledge." I tried to appease him. But I noticed he'd gone silent. When I looked, he was opening and closing his mouth repeatedly without speaking.
"Give me the pipe." He took a deep breath. I picked it up from the floor and handed it to him. He grabbed it, inhaled deeply, and said:
"I won't kick the donkey if it kicks me... but... San? You're calling me San?"
"San you and your family and your ancestors! Does my beard look like the beard of someone you call San?... You know what? I WILL kick the donkey. And curse this stupid wisdom." He threw the pipe at me again.
—
[ A quick word from your narrator — yes, me, Sami: I just handed you the perfect weapon. Next time your anime-obsessed friend bows and says 'Koon-San' thinking he's being respectful — smile. You know something he doesn't. You're welcome. Now go use it. Or don't. Send some strawberry milk to Manar instead. She's the only one here still making sense. ]
—
I'll be petty. Hahahaha. Back to reality. Back to Alaa.
"Huh? Why do we need to go?" I gave him my best confused face.
"Ummm... you know... the Spider-Man game? The new version just dropped... and you promised you'd buy it for me if I took the dishes down from your room for a week." Alaa twisted his index fingers around each other.
"Huh? I promised you the game?" I was genuinely confused.
"Yes! Two weeks ago!" He lifted his head, looked me in the eye.
"I don't remember promising you anything. Ah, my head hurts because someone hit me while I was sleeping." You know? I think... I might have promised him something to make him serve me. Those were the best days.
"You promised! You can't lie! You said — take your empty dishes down for a week, and I'll buy you Spider-Man." He bit his lip, face flushed with anger.
Damn. I remember now. Two weeks ago, I promised him that if he served me for a week, I'd buy him Spider-Man. But then I kept extending it — he'd take my empty dishes when I ate in my room, take out the trash, bring me sodas and juice from the fridge.
Man. I've been living like Alexander the Great for two weeks. You know? Buy one week, get one free.
Shit. I meant to keep delaying it, enjoy the luxury life longer. But he started getting suspicious the last two days.
I think he hit me yesterday because he realized I'd tricked him. So he pushed Manar to ask for a bike. Probably by making Hadi's daughter provoke her jealousy — then she'd ask me to buy her one. But Manar's not easily fooled.
The confusing part? She's not stupid. Alaa can't trick her, even at her age. She's strangely sharp for a toddler. But Hadi's daughter's words got to her, and she didn't care about Alaa's scheme because she'd get the bike anyway. Alaa just... accelerated things.
Damn!!! This kind of planning feels like something my mother would orchestrate. I think Alaa complained to her. She pulled some strings. Even if he didn't complain, she was watching — and didn't stop it.
Man. I feel shivers down my spine. I'm telling you — she's terrifying. Not because she's violent. Violence is just a light hobby for her. She only uses it if she loves you. Believe me, it's a terrifying strategy.
Hadi and Maytham know her true nature. That's why they fear her like women fear insects — though that comparison doesn't really apply to my mother. Anyway. We've gone off track.
I remember Mom's words when I left: "Take care of Alaa." Meaning: buy him what he wants, or don't come back home.
I understand her now. So I'm forced to keep my promise.
Well, Socrates San. I guess you shouldn't kick the donkey that kicked you.
You know? I've been thinking at full speed. I'm thirsty from all this rapid cognition. It took maybe two seconds for all these thoughts to cross my mind.
"Okay, Alaa. Let's go buy your game. But first, let's get something to drink — I'm thirsty." I said this to Alaa, who'd been waiting with an angry look.
"Really? You'll finally buy it?" Alaa jumped with joy, his face transforming instantly.
"Of course, you little cow. When has your big brother ever broken a promise?" I answered proudly, striking my most heroic Kenshiro pose² — because someone had to.
"But if I'm the little cow... doesn't that make you the big cow? Since you're my big brother?" I heard Alaa mutter quietly, trying not to be heard — scared I'd change my mind. The rat. If he didn't need me, he'd talk to my face with complete insolence.
"What? I didn't hear you. The market's crowded." I pretended not to hear.
"Nothing... I'm just happy you're finally buying me the game after all this waiting." Alaa rolled his eyes sideways, avoiding mine, twisting his index fingers together.
You know? I've memorized him. He does this when he's hiding something, or trapped in an awkward situation, trying to change the subject. But the idiot hasn't figured out Mom's plan. Even if he cursed me now, I'd still be forced to buy him the game. Idiot... idiot... you're such an idiot.
"Let's go then." I took the kids and headed toward Kuwait Street.
—
It was close — a five-minute walk. On the way, I bought lemon juice for myself, strawberry milk for Manar. Alaa got water. He wanted juice, but I decided to kick the donkey. Opportunities don't come often. I'm sure when we get home after buying the game, he'll turn into a monkey.
Don't be fooled by how he acts like a gentle lamb right now. He's definitely a monkey underneath. Anyway. Enough talk. Let's buy the game and end this day.
—
As we all know, life is bullshit wrapped in bullshit. But most of the time, the bullshit comes in waves — and you can't avoid it when it decides to visit.
Today's return from the market was a pain in the ass. Let me explain.
First, some beggars — based on their professional expertise — decided I was a generous person. Actually, I was to blame. A dirty kid approached me asking for help, and my overflowing emotions kicked in. I gave him some change.
Sometimes my compassionate side likes to show off. But how was I supposed to know this would stir up a hornet's nest?
Beggars descended on me from every direction. Mostly kids. And worst of all — their new technique: they kept hugging and clinging to my legs until I felt I'd explode with rage. I chased them off angrily.
Damn. Alaa nearly got lost in the crowd. They're like waves — I tried shooing them but they stuck like glue. Like a politician's face plastered on every wall: impossible to escape.
But after I got rid of them, I noticed that most of them handed their money to someone sitting in a corner. Even begging has gone corporate. Damn this country.
But what do you expect? The country's situation is Koon, as Socrates San would say. Corruption spreads to every corner. So what do you expect from an organized begging ring?
—
We reached the toy store. I bought the game. Alaa became hyperactive as a monkey, jumping everywhere — until I stabilized him with a smack on the head. Then he calmed down.
On the bus ride back, it was packed. The crowded space and the passengers' unpleasant smell weren't enough — some uncles had to turn into political analysts, opening discussion threads that dragged on until I had a headache.
The worst part? Government work hours had just ended. The road was jammed. A trip that should've taken twenty minutes stretched into eternity.
An hour of hell.
When I got home, Mom was waiting for me to take out the trash, then go buy purified water — Basra's tap water is polluted and undrinkable. Then I bought bread. When I came back, Manar and Toqa were arguing about whose bike was prettier. Manar, snakes rising above her head, was locked in fierce combat against Toqa's double braids — which made her a formidable opponent.
Hadi was at work. His wife was busy cooking. My mom the same. So I was forced to judge. If one won, the other would cry. And who do you think had to calm things down?
It was hell, man. Hell.
A Grade-A Koon of a day.
—
By lunchtime, I still hadn't rested. As usual, Toqa was at our house. After she and Manar made up — thank God — my father and Alaa returned from school, registration complete. Ayman helped my father with the process.
Alaa starts officially tomorrow. School hours: 1 PM to 6 PM. Girls in the morning, boys in the afternoon.
First three days of the week: girls morning shift, boys after. Remaining days: reversed. So the school functions as two schools in one building. No one seems to oppose it. It's been this way since I studied there — and even my parents before me.
—
I was walking back from the bathroom at the end of the hallway. Manar stood there in her little pajamas. Unusually quiet. Not playing. Just staring at a point behind me.
I crouched to her level.
"What are you doing here, little one? Go to your room. Toqa's there."
Suddenly, she gripped my wrist. Harder than I expected.
Her eyes didn't hold their usual mischievous sparkle. They were wide. Strange. Like she was seeing something I couldn't.
She whispered one word:
"There."
— End of Chapter 5 —
—
Author's Notes:
¹ Koon and San:
San (さん) is a Japanese honorific used for formal, respectful address — like Mr. or Ms. Koon (کون) in Persian means "ass." Sami's insult to Socrates is layered: he mixes Japanese honorifics with a Persian vulgarity, creating linguistic chaos that would offend anyone.
² Kenshiro / Seif Al-Nar:
The protagonist of the anime Fist of the North Star. In the Arabic dub, he was called "Saif Al-Nar" (Sword of Fire). Sami strikes his pose to appear heroic in front of the kids.
—
A Word from the Author (Muntadhar):
No need to thank me. But if you insist — "Thank you, Sensei Muntadhar-San" will do just fine.
Or alternatively, send some strawberry milk to Manar. She's the only one in this story still making sense.