call the embarrassment of revealing imperfections. Perhaps shyness is the reason why women are afraid to reveal their physical imperfections (some psychologists even base their theories on the notion that women consider their vaginas a permanent imperfection that is something to be ashamed of). But Lama doesn’t have a single imperfection on her entire body that she could be afraid of revealing to her lover, so she has no problem being naked in front of him. As soon as Lama gets home she strips off all her clothes and does everything in the nude. She goes into the bathroom to stand in the shower for a few minutes and then comes out sopping wetto continue what she had been doing before going back into the bathroom again. In this weather there is no need for clothes, whether I’m over at her place or she’s alone; a bikini might suffice when she is alone but never when we are together. She got used to walking around in front of me, moving here and there, without covering her body with a single stitch of cloth. And when she sat down, she would do so freely, without caring what part of her body might be visible. That was Lama: a liberated woman who owns herself without any hang-ups; her lover could have his way with her, however he wished.
CHAPTER FIVE
I HAD A LIGHT LUNCH with Lama before going downstairs. She makes the best falafel sandwiches. I ate two while Lama had just half of one; to help wash it down we split a beer. I told Lama I intended to go visit my sister Samira in order to find out what she thought about our mother getting married and to ask her about some things that were still unclear to me, anything my mother might have confided in her, because women speak more freely amongst themselves; they don’t keep secrets from each other.
I also told Lama I had to stop by the Party building to pick up my ID card before going to military security at nine thirty, which is what the head of the patrol that stopped me near my mother’s house had asked me to do. I had forgotten all about it because we had been so preoccupied with the matter of my mother’s marriage to Mr. Ha’el, and she immediately got nervous when I told her I had to pass by both offices and started advising me to stay calm and not to make fun of them or piss them off because they are quick-tempered and might not have much of a sense of humor, because simple sarcasm might turn into a major catastrophe, such as causing me to have to go back and see them throughout the week.
The television set was blaring as I said goodbye to Lama and walked downstairs. It seemed as though the march had finally ended because the broadcasters were discussing, each from his own location, how great the march was, interviewing the masses and directing questions at them about their feelings toward the Leader and the twenty-year anniversary. When I emerged from the building the streets were empty. I headed toward the city center. After a few hundred yards I noticed that traffic had started moving once again; the scattered clumps of people returning from the march were on the move. Men who had preferred to stay home were tentatively coming out after making certain the event was over, but they were a tiny minority relative to those coming from the other direction. Car after car transporting young men who waved pictures and flags and chanted in support of the Leader started to pass by, their horns honking nonstop. Long lines of cars zoomed by, although sometimes they had to slow down and eventually the young men riding inside would start to lose their patience and chant even louder, as their shouts devolved into gibberish.
Two posses of marching young men held up pictures of the Leader and flyers that glorified him and the Party. Their clothes looked disheveled from sweat and the crowds; their faces and their eyes were as red as beetroot; yet despite the fact that their voices were hoarse they continued repeating chants and praises for the Leader. In a matter of minutes I
CHAPTER FIVE
I HAD A LIGHT LUNCH with Lama before going downstairs. She makes the best falafel sandwiches. I ate two while Lama had just half of one; to help wash it down we split a beer. I told Lama I intended to go visit my sister Samira in order to find out what she thought about our mother getting married and to ask her about some things that were still unclear to me, anything my mother might have confided in her, because women speak more freely amongst themselves; they don’t keep secrets from each other.
I also told Lama I had to stop by the Party building to pick up my ID card before going to military security at nine thirty, which is what the head of the patrol that stopped me near my mother’s house had asked me to do. I had forgotten all about it because we had been so preoccupied with the matter of my mother’s marriage to Mr. Ha’el, and she immediately got nervous when I told her I had to pass by both offices and started advising me to stay calm and not to make fun of them or piss them off because they are quick-tempered and might not have much of a sense of humor, because simple sarcasm might turn into a major catastrophe, such as causing me to have to go back and see them throughout the week.
The television set was blaring as I said goodbye to Lama and walked downstairs. It seemed as though the march had finally ended because the broadcasters were discussing, each from his own location, how great the march was, interviewing the masses and directing questions at them about their feelings toward the Leader and the twenty-year anniversary. When I emerged from the building the streets were empty. I headed toward the city center. After a few hundred yards I noticed that traffic had started moving once again; the scattered clumps of people returning from the march were on the move. Men who had preferred to stay home were tentatively coming out after making certain the event was over, but they were a tiny minority relative to those coming from the other direction. Car after car transporting young men who waved pictures and flags and chanted in support of the Leader started to pass by, their horns honking nonstop. Long lines of cars zoomed by, although sometimes they had to slow down and eventually the young men riding inside would start to lose their patience and chant even louder, as their shouts devolved into gibberish.
Two posses of marching young men held up pictures of the Leader and flyers that glorified him and the Party. Their clothes looked disheveled from sweat and the crowds; their faces and their eyes were as red as beetroot; yet despite the fact that their voices were hoarse they continued repeating chants and praises for the Leader. In a matter of minutes I
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