The Escape: novel

By Rashid Ben Addi

It is the cry of a whole generation, unable to get out of the cycle of inertia, and still sees the ray of hope coming from behind the border When we are assured of the low level of images that were exposing the boats of death that lead the young to die, just as butterflies go to the Holocaust and follow the beam of light, shaking the narrator reassured, and tells us that death boats are still fine It is only the destination of the butterflies that have differed, but their burning is still going on in front of the sight of a homeland that is in dire need of its wings and its lava, which withers without price. Young people flee to bars and endless hell, or sink into the belly of the Ghoul, to become a hand to strike terrorism, or leave to Turkey, and cut all ties to the homeland .. Or live endless dreams of escape may be in the coffin, may be a reminder to America For eternal migration And if all these manifestations of escape, lived by one hero, is "Yazid" hero of the novel, but in fact pictures of a whole generation, feels that he is outcast, and does not trust much that anyone will reach the truth of his feelings, so the young writer from the beginning anger In Manfesto opens his novel and says: Our feelings and feelings we are outcasts, uglier than words described in a novel or even in a poem Let the novel begin with infinite circles from Taha, Rabat, that harsh city. The bus is scattered between the bus (life), the cafe, and the sea The dream of a revolution comes fleeting, not for a better tomorrow, but for equal losses, or to lose the winners in this grim reality At the peak of despair lies the false hope more than once, on the establishment of a dream, or promise a way worse than the current way. Hope may appear in the spectrum of a woman appearing and disappearing, or in the pregnancy of a child aborting harshly, and remains just a painful memory, or loss added to the rest of the losses Even after escaping to Turkey, fate continues to play with a desperate young man. He gives him a man, even if he is old, but he is "Masoud" and abducts him without warning, with a quick death. Giving him love, an alternative family, and ending everything in a terrorist act kidnapping "Elaine", his beautiful and last hope The novel ends with no hope, and with a harsh decision to escape to the farthest point, beyond the world, without forgetting the hero, left a statement of condemnation on the wall of time written in short: I left this world as I entered .. sad

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Feb 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9781547568345

Book preview

With regard to our feelings and emotions, we who have been ostracized, they might be considered to be uglier than to be described by a few words, either in a novel, or even in a poem.

Rashid Ben Addi

I had always thought that as soon as i would get to a certain age, things would start to be more reasonable; yet, at a certain point, I found out that I was as disoriented as i had always been. This is what came to my mind when I was on my way to the bus station. Yet, for the millionth time I would come across the same tired faces, the same skinny bodies as well as the same gloomy features. To smile at someone would be considered as a wrongdoing in this place. There would be no room for smiling in Rabat city throughout the morning, since the city would grapple with you, as if it would be punishing you because of your little dreamy hours, in so far as there still had been something to dream about! The wretched people with their different destinations were spreading out all over the area, without looking to one another, as if they were dragged to their work places, I mean to their unhappiness, by means of a rope that was fastening them all together.

I went on wandering from one street to another, then I stopped walking, and for a long time waited for a bus to come; yet, it was late to come as per usual. The passangers were all avoiding to look at each other’s faces. On my right there was an old man who started vomiting all the disgusting liquids that were accumulated within his body, spitting them carelessly upon my foot, as if he was not aware of my existence! But, how could he be aware of it throughout the time that his mind was preoccupied with the cursed bread and butter?

The overcrowded bus stopped at long last, a bus that was no longer fit for anything except for air pollution through the stifling smoke that used to be emitted from its black rear. However, it had still been resisting time and struggling with it, just like us. The overcrowded bus stopped at long last, and so did the sighs of the passengers who went on pushing each other so as to get out of it. I had no other choice but to do like them, otherwise I would be compelled to get off at the next station. I was stuck to many other people, so that my coat turned out to be more and more shrinked, and my black shoos were trodden for so many times. I was about to get suffocated as my nose was stuck to the disgusting armpit of one of the Africans. I went on moving forward, in the direction of the door, with all my strength, preparing myself to get out and apologizing all the time for some things that I did not do intentionally. In fact, it was inevitable for me to hit against one of the bodies, or to rub on one of the asses that were too close to each other as a result of the crowd.

I was standing in the middle of Bab Al-Had field, hoping to be guided to something that might show me the way. In my left hand I was carrying my bag that would accompany me wherever I go, whereas in my right hand I was holding a cigarette, and with an absolute calmness I would from time to time puff in it. I wish I could understand the reason for which I was smiling every once in a while, as if I was pitying myself. A lot of images and attitudes were crowding In my imagination, so that they were pushing each other in an ebb and flow, just like a rough sea, the thing that might have been a good reason for these sarcastic smiles of mine.

I finally woke up to throw my cigarette butt that burnt my fingers. A loud screaming came to my ears, so that I grew aware of the great number of children who were looking like some ghosts, riding some plastic cars and playing with them. For a while i hoped that I had got some of the childhood’s vitality to ride their beautiful games with them, but I actually wanted to break those small cars, simply because I no longer dared to play or to do just like them, without the least embarrassment,  or because I probably wanted to live behind time, to live out of my age; but, I actually was not able to do such a thing.

There was a great number of women with ragged clothes just across the street, sitting down on the floor along with a number of little children and begging for some pennies. They were exploiting the children’s innocence so as to implore those who do not have any relationship with them. They were begging the strangers after being disappointed by their nearest and dearest. I actually did not know whether they had really been disappointed, or it was for them to willingly choose such way of earning money. Yet it must be certain that they had been disappointed by this age in the same manner as many other people had also been.

After many hours of looking for the job, which i had been pretty sure that I was not going to find, I decided to come back. In the bus, I came across the same wretched people, being full of activity and vitality at that time. They Appeared to had been fully wakened, in such a way that they unleashed their endless tittle-tattle:

Never shall I be astonished by anything from now on .

A man shouted: Never shall I be astonished by anything from now on. Neither by the boring radio, the untruthful newspapers, the disgusting tv programs, the stupid Arab revolutions, nor even by my treacherous wife. Never shall I be astonished by anything from now on .

One of the ladies replied afterward, saying:  

So do i. Never shall I be astonished by anything from now on. We are in the twenty-second century; yet, I am still struggling with this obstinate illiteracy nevertheless. What could make me more astonished than such a thing then?

Even myself , A student said: Even myself. Never shall I be astonished by anything from now on. I have been an archeology student without being able to come upon any identity of my own on the stones. Am I really myself?

Then a soldier said:

So do i. Never shall I be astonished by anything from now on. For throughout all my life, I have been watching over the gost that has been chacing me all the time .

The bus driver shouted furiously:

We’re drawing near to the last stop. So, prepare yourselves to get off .

They replied with one voice, shouting:

We would like to go further than the last stop, So carry on driving please .

But, as for myself, I said:

Let me get off here please. I have been just like them. Never shall I be astonished by anything from now on. But I am tired of moving from one place to another to no avail .

As the crow flies, I made my way home without looking to the people around me. In fact, I would often look to some people, trying to feel that they must be more than the ordinary people who used to pass near to me everyday. I would try to imagine how much they could be involved, and I would wonder about the experiences they might have had in their lives. I was trying to cross to the other side of the street, and all of a sudden I beheld Ismaïl, who was a friend of mine. Down the street over there, He was standing next to the traffic light, and meditating. I in turn went on contemplating him throughout the time that he was holding a cigarette between his fingers. He had been a human being who was a mere stranger within his homeland, in such a way that he has forgotten about his childhood memories, about which he told me so many times. With a gloomy face he was standing in front of the cars, then he went on shuffling his feet. His gait was really identical to mine. It would in some moments seem to me that my mind had got out of the abiss of existence to make its way towards the space of imagination, in such a way that i would acquiescently pass over life, not caring either about the people around me, or about the recognition of my destination.

I kept walking, making my way home, throughout the time that I was really starving. My mother opened the door for me, and I received her with a sparkle in my eyes, then I turned it off at full tilte, with a sorrowful smile upon my face. She had already prepared the dining table, and what a dining table it was! There was a chicken broth, together with some cheep fruits. I directly sat down without waiting a second, I held out my hand and went on eating. I was absent-minded, and unconscious of both the food I was eating as well as its taste. I did not stop eating until I did not find something on the table to hold out my hand towards.

I after that lay down a little, hoping that I could get some sleep, in the absence of the obsessions that used to bother my mind, and in the absence of my mother who used to get on my nerves with her endless questions as well as with her increasing tittle-tattle. However, there actually was no go. For I soon heard her speaking to me with a sulky voice:

Where have you been?

What do you mean?

You certainly know what I mean .

I actually don’t know anything. I’d like to close my eyelids for a while if you please, for I feel really tired .

You’re always tired indeed. As if you are doing something else than wandering around the streets just like a vagabond .

The world went black in my eyes. I would miserably let out a deep sigh whenever my mother would push me to look for a job. Therefore, to make her feel that I am trying to do something, I used to go early out of the house in order to wander around the streets as well as the public squares any which way, so as to get away of the house, and to make those who live with me in it feel that I was a serious person, for they would never understand that I had actually been amongst the large number of the jobless people that had been rapidly increasing in a daily basis.

After hearing her encouraging words, I got out of my bed on the spot, and then I put on my usual coat. I would wear the latter during all the seasons of the year, for I would no longer distinguish between the autumn and the summer. As soon as I got ready to go out, my face met itself on the mirror, so that I had got a strange feeling, as if I saw someone who had been quite familiar to me. I stood in front of the mirror, gazing at my face and contemplating the effect of the passing years on it. I changed a lot at a very short time. Before that, I used to look a lot at the mirror so as to get reassured about the beauty of my features, my elegance as well as about the beard that had been covering my face. Yet at that moment, I was in the midway; but, the gray hair had invaded my head, so that it had been messing up with my hair on the loose. Moreover, my face had been raped by wrinkles, in such a way that it had given birth to an old man of twenty-four years old.  In the midway I was, during the time that my ears would hear nothing but my mother’s nagging and sighs, which she would be uttering along with every single breath she takes. My father would exchange some looks with me a long way off, with a number of exclamation marks that would be out of breath on top of his head as he would stare at me for so long. My brothers would hover over me, in such a way that I would swallow the spit and saliva that would remain in my throat. As for my bedroom, I would actually step into it to hear nothing all over the house but a wail sound instead of the sounds of laughter and claps. In the midway I was, during the time that I had been depleted by the first part of my life, yet as for its second part, it might have been unsuitable for me. For when I lost every opportunity to happen upon the job that I wanted, I grew to be suffering from some new troubles, such as finding the way to use up the rest of my days that had grown longer than ever, together with the way to spend the rest of my nights that had also become extremely long, in such a way that they had been depriving me from the blessing of sleep. Even the few hours of the disturbed sleep that I used to get, they would be quite devoid of the innocent dreams that I used to weave in my imagination before. In other words, I had been no longer dreaming.

Yes. In the midway I was, yet not having anything whatsoever to wish or to yearn for. Besides, I had no longer been able to control my body parts under such a comprehensive mental disorder of mine. If only I knew! If only I knew how to manage that noisy clamor that was inside me. If only I knew how to release the yells that had been held back for so long within my own body that was no longer mine.

I woke up from my absent-mindedness, so I took my sunglasses and went out of the house without passing by the kitchen, in such a way that my mother would not see me. My mother, who had still been trying her best to convince the ghosts of the things that she could not convince me of.

In the high street once again, I went on strolling aimelessly with some disturbed steps. I again grew unstable, being defeated by Rabat city. I would therefore look at the people around me and follow their movements. My eyes would climb up the ladies’ bodies in a profound amazement. I would absent myself from the whole world and come back to it in a few seconds, then I would smile and go away, to come back there at the end. Ismaïl would come to my mind with his broken looks. Even Ismaïl had changed a lot. He had turned out to be more distracted than ever, in such a way that he could move neither forward nor even backward; yet, he had actually been trying his best to move forward in order to forget about his reality. I had never underestimated Ismaïle since the day we met. It might be true that I would sometimes look down upon him in the same manner as he would himself do with me, but both of us should be forgiven nevertheless. For with regard to him, he would love to change his past just like the chameleon would change its color throughout some areas, whereas I would love to get rid of my identity in the same manner as the snake would skin itself. However, we had actually been in the way we were before, chased by our misery wherever we might turn. I actually knew where he might have been at that moment; but, I was not planning to meet him. I would rather leave him alone for a while. I used to like leaving him alone despite the fact that he would want me to accompany him all the time. I was imagining him sitting in Al-Baraka  coffee shop, surrounded by the echoes, the looks as well as the rejection of the people around him. He was sitting by himself in the same dismall corner, meditating as usual and sucking his cigarettes one after another. The most important thing for him at all was to live and to carve by means of his fingernails some temporary happiness.

I after that found myself at the center of the Hilton forest. In fact, I had been really tired of going out of the house and wandering around for many long hours in such a suffocating atmosphere. I had been tired of talking with no one but ghosts all the time. I had been tired of kicking the rubbish along with the stones that might get in my way, in order to express my stress. I had been tired of sending kicks up in the air so as to manifest my anger. I had been tired of being a public spectacle for the passersby who would think that I might be going off the rails. On account of this, I convinced myself of having a seat. I thus sat down, bringing to mind the happenings that were mentioned in the news bulletin, which I already watched at home.

For quite a while I forgot about my own problems, and went on thinking of those of the world around me. As far as I am concerned, those horrible arab revolutions had really been curious. Oh my goodness! What was happening in Egypt, in Tunisia, and even in Syria? What was happening with the arabs? Could they really have a weakness for chaos? Had they turned out into peoples who grew absolutely keen on its abomination? However, what would not they be quite keen on it for? They had been considered to be a kind of peoples who used to live under repression for life. In addition to that, the Arab individual used to be compelled by the regime of his country to only seek his own interests. Then, as soon as his personal benefits would contravene those of another individual, he would kill him without the least consideration. In fact, the arabs appeared to be feeling the warmth of equality in those revolutions; yet, this actually was the warmth of the equality of the proportion of apprehension inside each of them. Everyone of them had actually been afraid, in such a way that they were all in need of real friends along with safety.  They might have also been expecting that justice together with equality would come running to them if they revolted against their regimes. Thus, by means of that chaos, the energies of the Arab youth, which had been repressed for so long, went on showing themselves through those revolutions. As a result, the young man who had once been cast aside by his bed would certainly