The Foghorn Echoes by Danny Ramadan

Author:Danny Ramadan [Ramadan, Danny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Canada
Published: 2022-08-30T00:00:00+00:00

VANCOUVER

The fog is thick, but I walk farther. Arms extending, eyes shifting. I know I’m dreaming, but I’m fearful all the same. There’s a sewing needle in my mouth, ready to stitch what’s left of the root of my tongue. My severed tongue wiggles in my palm, incapable of speech without the air of my lungs. The needle sews the wound in my mouth with a thick thread. It pierces from below, then it spikes back in from above, cinching tight. The needle finishes its job and my tongue is now all stitched up. I try to pull the thread off my skin, but it slips from between my fingers. It slides between the hairs of my moustache and tightens upon my upper lip. The thread knots as if the hand of a wool-maker pulls on it. It finishes its job and my mouth is sewn shut. The thread is long, and I hold its ends with each hand; I want to snap it sharply, but the root of my tongue, with my voice box and my lips, might come off my face. I moan, but the fog swallows the sound. My severed tongue jumps out of my palm onto the ground and slithers out of sight. I have to find it. I fall on my knees and search frantically. I crawl on all fours and yelp through locked lips, and there’s nothing to find among the rocks and stones on the ground. My knees and my palms bleed. I want to cry, but my eyes melt on my face. I want to breathe, but my nose is blocked with tar and dust.

A loud long horn sounds, and it clears the fog as if sucking it out of the atmosphere.

I crawl on calm water surrounded by the reflection of a starry sky. I can’t detach my palms and knees from the water’s surface. I’m stuck in a praying position on all fours, and the threads from my mouth are wet and getting heavier; they pull my face toward the water and I tense my neck to keep from drowning. The water streams with momentum, taking me to a waterfall. I’m thrown off the edge, stranded between earth and sky. The loud horn comes back, and I look up to the clouds of fog. It’s dotted with jets and they drop their bombs and I’m cornered and alone and stuck. I scream.

Ray shakes me. “Sam! Wake up! You’re kicking me.”

I jump out of bed, the echoes of the horn still ringing in my ears. “What’s that noise?”

“You’re speaking Arabic.” We’re in our dark bedroom, the heavy curtains closed. Ray is framed by the soft light of a fake candle he likes to keep on through the night. “Go back to sleep.”

The long horn sound comes back. I imagine it to be the cry of a mourning monster approaching the seashore. It’s followed by the squawks of seagulls.

“What’s that noise?” I ask, this time in English. I go to the window and lift the curtains, look out at the dark skies and the trees around our building.

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