Divorce Islamic Style by Amara Lakhous

Author:Amara Lakhous [Lakhous, Amara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Literary, Family Life
ISBN: 9781609450663
Google: NuYFYAAACAAJ
Amazon: 1609450663
Publisher: Europa Editions
Published: 2012-01-15T08:00:00+00:00

Sofia

I’m sitting across from the Trevi fountain. It’s the middle of the night and no one is around. I see the big blonde (the one from La Dolce Vita) in the fountain, under the waterfall. Suddenly she starts shouting, in English, “Marcello, come here!” I go on watching, but I’m blinded by jealousy. Marcello Mastroianni is sitting there having coffee and he doesn’t make a move. I can’t bear it for very long, I take off my scarf and walk into the fountain. The water is freezing. Marcello puts aside his cup of coffee and gets up. I’m very surprised, because he’s looking not at the blonde but at me. I’m flattered. After a while he approaches. And when our gazes meet I realize that Marcello has the face of the guy with the tissue (the Arab without a name) whom I met first at Little Cairo and then at the Marconi library. After that I begin to tremble with cold. The Arab Marcello (from now on I’ll call him that) immediately understands that and embraces me very sweetly. I’m so happy. But the dream ends and abruptly I wake up.

Thank God I remember my dreams clearly, from beginning to end. And so? So what. I won’t have any trouble telling Samira. She is great at interpreting dreams—she always manages to get something important out of them. She often says, “The dream is an inner voice that comes directly from the heart.”

I get through the housecleaning in a hurry. Around ten-thirty I leave my husband sleeping soundly, as I do every morning, and go with Aida to the park in Piazza Meucci. When I get there I find Giulia and Dorina sitting on a bench chatting. Near them are two children playing on the swing, and Aida runs off to join them. Grandfather Giovanni is totally immersed in his newspaper. How strange! He’s reading Il Manifesto! What has happened in the world? Has he become a Communist? Why has he given up Padania, Libero, and Il Giornale? Life is strange. Nothing lasts forever, except God Almighty. I prefer not to say hello to him, in order not to disturb him. His reactions are always unpredictable.

I sit beside my two friends. I quickly discover the subject of discussion. Today we’re talking about breasts. About preventing breast cancer? No, about cosmetic surgery. Now that voluptuous bosoms are fashionable, many women (often they’re still adolescents, I’ve heard that the operation can even be a gift for high-school graduation) decide to remake their breasts in order to appear beautiful, attractive, or simply sexier. Giulia and Dorina are in favor of the operation. Giulia says, “What’s wrong with it? Today going to the cosmetic surgeon is like going to the dentist or the gynecologist.” Dorina agrees, “We live in 2005. A woman should be free to dispose of her own body as she likes.”

I myself have a different opinion, and since it’s impossible for me to remain silent, I have to interrupt to defend my convictions.

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