Where Is Manar?
Book Two: Sorry, Ma'am — This Body Is Not for Rent
Chapter Fourteen: An Ordinary Day
—
"A normal day... and that in itself was strange."
"I say normal... but in Iraq, 'normal' needs an explanation."
A war was raging in the skies above us between Iran and America. And imagine this — I went out to the street and found elderly men washing the sidewalks, and people basking in the sun.
I decided to board the bus just to confirm I was awake and not dreaming. The cursed bus was quiet. When did the bus ever become quiet? Did every coincidence in the world agree to meet on one day? Am I still dreaming, lying on my bedroom floor?
I returned home in the evening after a long battle with my tangled thoughts. And slept. ??? Yes, slept peacefully — no dogs, no barking, no cars racing past the house like a track.
—
In the morning, I woke to the buzz of a motorbike bell in the street. Speeding past as usual. I opened my eyes. Ceiling. Fan. Curtain. I turned to the corner — Lonely was there, in his spot, either asleep or contemplating. No difference.
I sat up and looked around. No Donkey, no Professor Charles, nothing. I stood and walked to the window, opened it, and looked down. Donkey was there, in his place at the end of the alley, sitting and looking up at me. His tail wagged once.
I smiled.
"Wait," I called down. "I'll bring you food."
He barked once — his tone saying: I'm not hungry. I'm just here.
"Me too," I whispered. "I'm just here."
I went down to the kitchen and opened the fridge. The fridge was a fridge — not a breathing monster, just cold and full of food. I took a piece of meat for Donkey. Found a dead insect behind the fridge.
"For Lonely," I said to myself. "A new covenant."
I went up, placed the insect in the corner of the window for whenever Lonely emerged on his philosophical rounds. Then went back down, out to the street, sat on the curb, put the meat in front of Donkey. He ate quietly. I looked at the sky — grey as usual.
"You know, Donkey," I said in a low voice. "I think I'm starting to understand something."
He looked at me.
"All of this... the book, Asas, the Black Thing, you, Lonely..."
"All of this... isn't madness.
And it isn't normal either."
Donkey finished eating and rested his head on my knee.
"I'm not crazy," I whispered. "I'm just... trying to live with what I don't understand."
I put my hand on his head.
In the corner of the window, a small movement — Lonely crawling toward the insect, slowly, philosophically. I smiled.
"I have family and friends."
A little strange.
"And I love them. Even if they're crazy. Even if I'm the crazy one."
I closed my eyes for a moment — the soft morning sun on my face, the sound of cars, the smell of Basra that resembles nowhere else. I opened my eyes.
"Come on, Donkey. Let's go back inside. Lonely is waiting for us, and he doesn't like to wait."
I walked to the door. Donkey followed. We went in. I closed the door. Up the stairs, he followed. Into the room, he followed. Lonely in his corner, eating the insect with the slow composure of a man at a fine restaurant. I sat on the floor with Donkey beside me and looked at the ceiling.
"Tomorrow," I whispered. "Tomorrow I'll go to the salon. Cut someone's hair. Stand in front of the big mirror with my scissors and comb. Curse the customer who's late. Laugh with Ayman. And forget all of this for a few hours."
I fell quiet and closed my eyes. Donkey rested his head on my stomach. Lonely wiped his face after eating. I felt something move in the air behind me — not a threat, not fear. Just a presence. The Black Thing came early today. I didn't open my eyes.
"Go ahead," I whispered. "Sit. The room is spacious. Just don't make a mess — this is my room."
I felt it settle in its usual corner. Breathing. Watching. Waiting. But I was no longer afraid. I don't fight it. I don't surrender to it. I just... live beside it. The way I live beside Donkey. The way I live beside Lonely. The way I live beside myself — which doesn't know if it's dreaming or awake.
"Tsk," I whispered.
Donkey wagged his tail.
Lonely blinked.
The Black Thing took a deep breath.
And I... I slept. For real, this time.
—
Morning.
I woke to sunlight — real, warm, foolish. Donkey wasn't beside me. Lonely in his corner. Professor Charles snoring in the hallway. The room: normal, empty, boring. I looked at the Black Thing's corner. Empty. Nothing.
"Tsk."
I walked to the window. Donkey was down there in his spot, looking up at me. He barked once.
"Yes," I whispered. "I'm here. Still here."
I went down, got meat from the fridge, went out and sat beside him on the curb. He ate quietly. I looked at the sky.
"You know, Donkey — I think I'm okay. Not because things make sense. But because I've accepted they never will."
Donkey looked at me, then went back to his food.
"It's nothing new," I whispered. "The questions never end."
I put my hand on his head.
"Tsk."
Upstairs, in the corner the fan doesn't reach, Lonely moved slowly — searching for a new insect, or a new answer, or maybe just changing his angle. His philosophy needs a change of perspective sometimes.
And in the shadow the eye can't see, a book might be sitting — threatening nothing, frightening nothing. Just breathing and waiting.
I too sit in my corner. I too breathe and wait. I don't know if I'm real or a dream in someone else's mind.
"Come on, Donkey. Let's go to work. Customers are waiting. Hair needs cutting. A foolishly ordinary world expects me to be part of it."
I walked to the door. One of those single-mother's bastards sped past on his noisy bike, slicing through the silence like a jagged blade. A fat uncle slowly rolled up the shutters of his shop, revealing the same dusty shelves. Ordinary, foolish life in Basra was breathing again.
I turned back: "You're not coming?"
He looked at me. Tail wagged once. Eyes saying: I'm a stray dog. My place is here, on the sidewalk, waiting for you.
I smiled. "Fine. I'll bring food later. As usual."
I went inside and closed the door.
"Morning, Sami — up early today," my father said as he headed out.
"Yes. Couldn't sleep."
"Drink some water and read a little Quran before you sleep. The restlessness will pass."
"Thanks, Dad. I will."
He left for hot bread. Mom had said the same thing earlier — read some dhikr, drink water. If this keeps up, I'll do it. Illogical problems have their own solutions too.
"Good morning, Mom," I called out as I went upstairs. She was making breakfast.
"Morning. Don't be late — food will be ready soon."
"Okay."
Alaa and Manar still asleep. I went to my room. Lonely in his corner. Professor Charles in the hallway. Everything in its place. I stood in front of the small mirror on the wall and looked at my face — ordinary, tired, a barber from Basra who doesn't know if he's crazy or normal.
"Good morning, Sami," I said to my reflection.
The reflection didn't answer. Of course it didn't. It's a reflection. But for one small, foolish moment, I swear the reflection smiled — before I did. Not my smile. The smile of someone who knows something I don't.
I blinked. The reflection was normal again. Tired. Ordinary.
"Tsk."
I went down and had breakfast amid the usual chaos of Manar and Alaa and me — and Professor Charles, so we don't forget him. After Mom pressured me into eating three servings, I escaped when the war between Manar and Alaa broke out.
"Sorry, Manar... I'm breaking the pact."
I showered, changed, grabbed my keys and cigarettes and went down. I opened the front door. The street, the morning — some son of a shoe on a bike speeding past, the fat uncle opening his shop. Ordinary, foolish life. I walked to the salon. At the end of the alley, Donkey's tail wagged once. I raised my hand at him and kept walking.
"Good morning," said Ahmed the photographer.
"Hey, man," I said, and went and opened the salon.
I stood in front of the big mirror. Scissors. Comb. The smell of soap and cheap cologne. An ordinary workday. But I knew the night would return — the room, the shadow, Lonely, Donkey, the Black Thing. And I would sit with them, and talk to them, and love them. Because this is my life now. And myself — which doesn't know if it's dreaming or awake.
"Tsk," I said to myself in the mirror.
And the mirror... beat me to it.
—
— End of Chapter Fourteen —
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