The barking of the posts of the camel

Author's name: Abdu Khal Publishing house: Al-Jamal Publications for Publishing and Distribution Year of publication: 2010 Literary classification: Novel Brief about the book: "The delegation group was still closed, so his statement was met with staring into his face without finding a response, so he added: We want to go out. The media delegate responded laughing: To where, Professor Omar... to any place, here the air is a playground... The media delegate tried to balance his words: Sana'a is not like Cairo or Beirut, Sana'a sleeps early. All the sedition's chaos sleep early, is it reasonable for Ghamdan Palace, Al-Qulais, the throne of Balqis, Al-Bardouni, Al-Maqaleh, and the Qaat trees to sleep after a revolution that opened all doors, is it reasonable at this hour without recalling thousands of years... Haven't you had enough of the long sleep in the embrace of the Imamate? Absence does not mean cancellation, we are the ones who obscure things and bring them to mind, we are pens that write what we want and erase what we want. Three women I brought to mind at once: my wife, Wafa, and Salwa... Two of them are present, and Salwa is absent although she is in front of me, but she is absent in her presence... She was searching through all our years of marriage for that woman who burned her future with a man who shared her life with a half-burned heart, she was looking for a way to keep this half alive with her at least, and every time she discovers that she received it as an expired item. Why can't I be with you in your successive trips? In every trip I carry my bags fleeing from these stakes searching for her ship that split the seas and left me an awkward passenger I forgot at one of the ports without realizing she forgot her captain, I seek in every trip to be alone perhaps I will find her anchored in a port I roam searching for her... Why can't I be with you in your successive trips? I get angry at them, and she clings to her silence, lowering her head, joking with her fingers about anything nearby. Exactly a year ago, her volcanoes erupted, throwing their lava everywhere. That calm woman who used to play with her fingers no longer exists; she became an image of her mother, an provoking image that incited me to burn all the wood she prepared to ignite Jadda's body, as I always desired. She carried a small knife in her hand, and threatened holding my clothes. I will kill you if you go out! Let me go, the time of the trip is approaching. You will not go before I kill you, or you shoot. A bullet only needs to be pressed on the trigger to pass through bodies and the universe together... I violently pulled her hair: You are divorced... divorced!!... now, and every time I pack my travel bags, I quietly close my apartment door after I bid farewell to my children at their grandmother’s and head toward hope that dives into the terrains of Yemen. Here I am in the port of Sana'a, looking at all faces hoping to catch her, and her arrogance drips from her old words: I am the daughter of a civilization deep in time, but your roots are weak. Why do we suddenly revert to hundreds of years ago... we lie dormant in the veins while the leaves are stiff and dry... Here I am in the depths of civilization from which I chase an old longing and escape from it...". When emptiness takes over inside you, it shapes you as it wills, elongates you, makes you grow, becomes gelatinous, becomes a giant, and spins in whirlpools, runs in time, and runs outside it, runs in space, and runs outside it. This is how Abdu Khal convinces you in all these states. In moments of his empty wandering, he departs with formed thoughts without a pleasant pattern, intersecting in his spaces the realities and illusions of life, politics and nostalgia, social problems and imagination, premonitions and childhood memories and maturity, hopes and failures... You will not stop to search for all this while you devour with your feelings and your mind Abdu Khal's streams through his main character, which he crafted and identified with, and perhaps identified with him... It doesn't matter, for the reader has nothing but to believe in the existence of that character, and beyond that, that he is part of it, or that in some of its retreats, it is part of him.