Where Is Manar?
Book Two: Sorry, Ma'am — This Body Is Not for Rent
Chapter Seven: The Weight of Words
—
A normal workday at Sami's barbershop.
"RIIING... RIIING... SCREECH! SCREECH!" 📞📞
[The Teacher with the Virgin Heart] is calling you.
It's war, folks. 📞📞📞
[The Teacher with the Virgin Heart] is calling you.
Tsk... Hitler never gets tired of inciting.
My phone rang while I was trying to convince a customer that the "Number Zero" haircut was the only style worthy of a man going through a midlife crisis.
"Yes, Headmaster? Did the classroom fan break and you decided to use exam papers as fans?"
I heard Ayman's shouting over the students' noise: "Sami! Drop your dirty fan theories. Stop sending 'awareness messages' to kids through your brother! I walked into class and found them discussing: 'Why don't female sheep wear pants?'... For God's sake, is this a question for elementary school?"
I wiped the blade: "Tsk... What's the problem? It's a deep philosophical question touching on animal privacy. The female sheep is a hardworking creature, and children have the right to worry about her modesty in this Basra cold. Or are you still stuck with your old boring lessons?"
Ayman replied bitterly: "What lessons, you dog? You convinced them that the equator is actually a clothesline the angels hung to dry clouds on! And your Donkey Wisdom* that you stuffed into the kids — Jawad asked me today: 'Teacher, is it true the donkey is smarter than Einstein?' When I asked why, he said Einstein's discoveries were stolen from his first wife due to marital problems!"
I laughed slyly: "Brother, I'm giving them the general culture a man needs in cafes. Do you want them to grow up thinking wisdom is found in the textbook? Wisdom is in reality. And reality says the donkey possesses — as I told them — 'strategic balance' that lets him stand firm against life's storms. You teach them algebra; I teach them mending of spirits with anatomical facts."
"What facts? The education supervisor asked me today why students drew a 'donkey wearing a crown' in their art notebooks and wrote under it: 'Size is power.' I almost went to jail! Sami — focus on cutting hair and leave education to its people."
"Come on, Ayman, don't get angry. They're just lessons. You know — space isn't always measured in square meters. Sometimes it's measured in the —"
He hung up on me again.
"Tsk. Enjoy it." I finished the man's haircut and he left.
I tapped my phone, then glanced at the contact list. Which of the Dogs hadn't I insulted today?
Hadi? Annoying dog. Ali? Busy with Grandpa Mujahid. Ammar? Acted superior since the hair transplant.
Suddenly, a name jumped out at me: [Seal Dog & Phosphorus].
Sami's laughter stopped.
The thoughts dammed in my head burst open like a clogged drain finally cleared. What had I been doing for two days? How could I forget Maytham?
Calling...
No answer. What's stopping you from picking up — are you at war or something? Answer, damn it.
I called again.
Calling...
"Tck... Hey, brother Sami. Long time no hear."
I froze. That was the code phrase — the one Maytham only uses when he is at the bottom of trouble with no floor.
"Tell me who and where."
"She's a beautiful sister, but... I don't know. I think I'm somewhere in the Basra desert."
—
"Have you finally decided to get married?" I asked, trying to gauge the situation. If it were Dajja I'd know how to negotiate. But a girl? I didn't know the right frequency for dealing with females in such circumstances. Could there even be a girl who could hold Maytham? Unless there was a child involved.
And then a strange female voice cut through from Maytham's phone:
"Hahahahahey — look, boy, we got your second mother's approval. Don't worry, I won't eat you now. Maybe later if I get bored."
A woman in control of Maytham? You cowardly traitor — you disappeared for two days to spend them with girls. Tsk. What happened to Dajja?
"Hahahaha! Is this your brother the Dog? This is truly delightful!"
The moment I thought of him, his annoying bellow came through, the kind that travels walls: "Tsk. Dajja!"
"Hello, miss — seems like you're taking care of my brother. As long as he's still breathing with the dog people around, I owe you one."
"Ohhh — Dog People! Did your dog brother tell you? Good — if you really owe me one, I love good food and entertaining shows..."
The signal broke up. Three voices — the first woman, close, holding the phone. A second woman, far away, words I couldn't make out. And Dajja with his standard noise that reaches the house across the street.
"As long as my brother is safe and not on the menu — I swear on the honor of the Barbers' Union of Basra¹ I'll treat you to a full banquet."
"....."
Silence from the other end. Don't you trust the great Barbers' Union?
"Hello — anyone there?"
"Boy — a question." The woman's voice came back. But this time with a coldness in it, an authority — as if I was standing before my mother.
"Yes, go ahead."
"When did this boy tell you about the dog people?"
"Two days ago."
"Have you felt anything strange during these two days?"
Her suspicious question landed without context. I answered while still trying to understand it: "Not really. Everything felt normal." But she had a second one ready, heavier: "Then why didn't you help your brother when he was in trouble?"
I froze. As if the ground split open and swallowed me. Why hadn't I helped Maytham during these two days? The question was a dagger that buried itself in the chest of my memory — it dug up things my mind had suddenly forgotten, as if a wall of thick fog had collapsed and revealed an abyss. And without warning, a sharp pain slammed through my head, paralyzed my thoughts and blurred my eyes. "Aaghh — damn it!"
At that moment I felt something strange crawling under my skin, from my toes upward to my neck. A feeling like blood freezing in the veins, turning into small heavy pellets of lead. I tried to raise my hand to grab my throbbing head, but my arm wouldn't respond — it was a piece of dry wood.
Then hell opened in my throat.
"Listen, you wretch — don't interfere in matters that don't concern you, or I'll make you regret it."
The words came out dry and hard, carved from stone, and I had no connection to them except that my vocal cords had vibrated against my will. I felt a terror unlike anything before — the terror of losing control of your own body.
And in the middle of this terror, the strange book materialized before my eyes. Its mass was dark matter, like an ancient cold meteorite stone, radiating a weight that pressed on the air around it. Not just a book — a creature floating with disturbing calm, surrounded by a halo of silence. On its cover: old inscriptions and letters that defeated my understanding, seeming to move slowly. I remembered then what Manar had said about the notebook behind me.
I tried to scream. Tried to move my tongue to say 'help me.' But my jaw was clamped shut with the force of a rusted vice. My thoughts began to blur and overlap. The phone rang again carrying her mocking voice: "As I suspected — a Scout.* Hahahaha! Listen carefully, boy: you are master of your body no matter what happens. Remember these words."
"I TOLD YOU — SILENCE!" A sound tore from my throat that exceeded human frequencies, carrying an echo from depths dark and ancient.
I felt a sudden heat consume the hand holding the phone, the device heating with terrifying speed. A sharp painful ringing erupted from the meteor-book — as if thousands of needles were piercing my eardrums. The phone exploded, burning and shattering into flying pieces, and the fire nearly took my hand if not for the thick bandage wrapped around my old wound, which seemed to form some kind of protective barrier.
"The curse — what is happening? Who are you, by the Creator of the Heavens?" I screamed — this time in my real voice, a scream charged with desperation and every last drop of force I could gather from every cell, trying to break this damned paralysis.
And my own mouth answered me, while the metal book floated closer as if co-signing the threat with cold murder: "Ask your dog friend who bound me to a rotten man like you."
My jaw was nearly dislocating from the battle of words — my tongue twisting between what I wanted to say and what the entity was forcing out against my will. I said with weakness and something breaking: "Listen, my lord the spirit — I don't know what binding you're talking about. I swear I agreed to no contract."
"Tsk. A worthless creature. I don't know how your friend bypassed the contract to bind me to rot like you."
At that moment, with the psychological pressure mounting, nonsense began pouring from my tongue without awareness — a pathetic defense mechanism: "Yes yes, you're absolutely right. What if each of us went our separate way? Find another book and discuss the beauty of white paper together. Curse the phone people! I'll never touch one again. Printed books are the great cultural foundation!"
"As I told you yesterday, there is no point discussing things with a low creature. Tsk. A man's body. Well — anything is better than that cursed place." The entity's reply came from inside my mind this time, like a wicked whisper — a female voice, cold as ice.
The fear began to ease slightly when I recognized the tone. Something familiar. I said: "O Mother of Milk? Weren't you a dream? Am I dreaming again?" These days I couldn't tell the difference anymore.
The voice went silent suddenly. The meteor-book froze in place, as if time had stopped. Then — a massive pressure erupted from it, heavy and dark, forcing me to my knees with explicit menace. A furious voice came from my depths, the kind that could split walls: "Listen, insect — if you describe me like that again, or try to compare me to her, I will crush your filthy head the way I crushed the communication device just now. Is that clear?"
It is a terrifying thing — when your body speaks and moves against your will. My heart nearly burst from the pressure and terror moments ago... But now, kneeling on the floor, the instant I picture that enormous Cow chewing hay in cold indifferent silence—
"HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAY!"
I exploded in hysterical laughter I couldn't stop, laughter that shook my whole body and rattled my ribs. And it seemed the Cow — or the Book — lost its grip on me in the face of this unexpected wave of ridicule. The pressure retreated suddenly, and my body returned to me, light as it had always been. After the hysterical laughter I tried to stand up, gasping from the pain in my ribs, and noticed the metal book had completely disappeared.
"Tsk. Now I need to buy a new phone." My mind didn't process the scale of the catastrophe and instead chose to escape into the sarcasm of buying a new phone.
What are these thoughts? Is the cursed Cow trying to control my mind? But the moment I picture her chewing hay, clarity returns. I think I was hit with something strong — some American biological weapon they deployed on Iraq. There is no other logical explanation for what is happening.
—
¹ The Barbers' Union of Basra — a collective figment. We can all agree that a person with a screw loose will keep talking pure nonsense even in the face of mortal danger.
* Asas (عسعس) — An Arabic "opposite word": one that carries a meaning and its exact reverse simultaneously. "Asas al-layl" means night advancing in its darkness, and also night retreating at the approach of dawn. Historically tied to the asas — the night watchmen who patrolled the dark.
* Donkey Wisdom — yes, that Donkey Wisdom. The one from Chapter One. It has consequences.
— End of Chapter Seven —