The Fall of the Imam by Nawal El Saadawi

capture all the wonder in the world. They looked around her in the night, watched a single star in the infinite sky hurtling down at the speed of light with a sound like thunder. It dropped to the surface of the earth and exploded like a huge ball of fire, spreading out into a sea of flames before her eyes. Now she could not tell day from night, for the fire had gone out and there were only clouds of black smoke with the sharp smell of dust creeping up her nose. Under the palm of her right hand was her gun, and with her left hand she clasped his fingers tight. She heard his voice say quietly, ‘You fired your gun at him and he has fallen to the ground. Look.’
    She lifted her head over the top of the trench and looked around but could see nothing. The clouds of smoke were as dense as night, and there was not a single light anywhere. She could not even see his face. She said, ‘I cannot see,’ and he said, ‘Neither can I.’ So she stared into the darkness for some time until she glimpsed him in the trench standing by her side. He still held his finger on the trigger of his gun, and he still held its muzzle pointing to the sky.
    He said, ‘One of them has fallen, but there are others still alive.’ In the darkness she saw his arm stretch out to her with a piece of folded paper in his hand. ‘If I die, take this letter to my mother.’
    She whispered, ‘Who is your mother?’
    And he said, ‘My mother lives close to the orphanage in the House of Joy.’
    She realized at once that it was Fadl Allah speaking to her, that he was still alive, that he walked on the earth, his back straight as a spear, his head raised proudly to the sky. His skin was brown like river silt, his features pale and fine, and his eyes looked straight into other eyes, their gaze unwavering, not slipping to one side or dropping to the ground. They shone in wonder, like a child seeing the world for the first time, and yet their steadiness was that of a man not to be taken by surprise.
    She said, ‘I am Bint Allah. Can you see me in the dark?’ And now it dawned on him that all the time he had known that it was her, her face, her eyes, the way she walked, the fragrance of her hair.
    He said, ‘And Nemat Allah?’
    ‘Nemat Allah died of love.’
    ‘And you?’
    ‘Love for me is life. I do not want to die.’
    She took him in her arms and held him tight. ‘What have you written in your letter?’
    ‘I have written to say that you should not be sad for me, my mother. I have not seen you since I was born, and I have not been to visit you in the House of Joy. But you should not be sad, my mother. Dying for my country means that I have lived for you. So forgive me for this absence which will last for ever.’
    She closed her eyes and said, ‘I see you as though it was only yesterday when you left. I see you as you are, as you always have been. You have never been absent, you have always been with me.’
    He closed his eyes and rested his head on her breast just as he used to do when still a child, then, suddenly awakening, opened his eyes and looked at her, seeing her as she was now, a woman. They were still in the trench and time had stopped moving. He put his arms around her, and the trench became too narrow for the two of them, too narrow for his arms stretching out to enfold her, too narrow for the vast universe, as vast as the burning disc of the sun up in the heavens. And she too wound her arms around him and the trench was now too narrow for her, for her to hold the universe in her embrace. And when the light revealed them in the trench holding each other, they did not unwind their arms or move apart, but held each other in a long embrace, their bodies slowly merging into one, and the whole world stood still to watch a scene of love, to see two beings changing into one, never to part again, never afraid of the light, never afraid of death, for each of them had known what dying was. Now he and she were gone, lost in one another, dissolved.