Monarch of the Square by Sryfi Mbarek; Allen Roger; Allen Roger

Author:Sryfi, Mbarek; Allen, Roger; Allen, Roger
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Syracuse University Press
Published: 2017-10-04T16:00:00+00:00

Antonio

He was sitting on the doorstep of the deserted club. As the sun moved to the west, it was still hot. His legs were spread-eagled, his pants hiked up to his knees. His sandals were completely worn through. Occasionally he would raise his head toward the north to a point where a picture of a female flamenco dancer still hung on the wall; it was etched on a metal sheet that was almost falling over. But as he stared at the picture, his expression showed a complete lack of interest.

I noticed two children playing near him; actually, they were not so much playing as fighting. The girl had beaten the boy by successfully pushing his head into the street sewer. He had started screaming and yelling for his mother. With that, the girl had let him go. She’d gone over to the doorstep of the building across the street and sat down.

Antonio watched the whole thing without displaying the slightest emotion. The street was empty. Once in a while a car or motorcycle passed by. The girl and the boy grabbed each other again; they started screaming, then pulled apart. Every time they started fighting, Antonio just stared at them with complete indifference.

I felt bad for the boy being beaten by the girl, but realized that he would certainly get his revenge when they both grew up—the way men usually do with women. But then, he might still turn out to be the loser. Antonio had certainly been a loser years ago. That’s just a guess, of course. But, given that such things are beyond human comprehension, everyone has the right to speculate about victories and defeats.

Once again, the girl managed to stick the boy’s head into the sewage drain. I listened to his moans as he croaked out his insults and cries for help. His tiny legs were thrashing in the air, but the girl was merciless and kept pushing his puny body into the drain. I was worried she was going to kill him. I was about to yell at her, but just then I noticed her fall back into the street on her backside. Her spindly, fennel-like thighs were exposed. The boy had managed to kick her and get half his body out of the drain.

Antonio still watched indifferently, but he kept talking to himself. The sun was in his eyes, so he couldn’t look westward; the slanting rays were glancing off his thin frame, and by now he was soaking with sweat. The hair on his pale legs was glistening. Oblivious to everything around him, he started scratching his legs hard with his long, black, dirty fingernails. He grabbed his hat with his other hand, took it off, and placed it upside down next to him on the doorstep. But even if he had put it down by his feet right in front of him, no one would have dropped a measly coin in it. After all, the street was completely empty. His bald pate was gleaming in the sunshine, and the dry wind kept ruffling the hair on his temples.

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