Utopia by Ahmed Khaled Towfik

that, and they don’t know why or how they deserved it.
    Here we take drugs to forget the agony of the moment.
    Here we practise our religion because we can’t stand the thought that our efforts are nothing but scattered dust with no value. The human mind can’t endure a terrifying idea like that, otherwise it would go mad.
    So I don’t want bloodshed. I don’t want people killed.
    But how do I do that while Somaya is snapping like an angry wolf?
    Somaya came to my shack at five in the afternoon.
    She was drunk, or so I surmised from her staggering gait and her slurred speech. She crouched down by the door, squatting with her legs apart to avoid a small, putrid puddle of water there, and she began fiercely scratching her hair.
    ‘You’re a liar, you lying son of a bitch,’ she said, looking at me with her small, stern eyes.
    I knew what she meant, but I feigned stupidity, and asked her what the matter was.
    ‘You know that guy hit me on the neck,’ she replied. ‘After that I couldn’t feel a thing. But I do know that he hit me. You’re a liar, and the son of a liar. You said I fell down without him laying a hand on me, and if it weren’t for you, the men would have torn him to pieces.
    ‘I saw you fall,’ I said as I squatted down beside her, ‘but I didn’t see him hit you, as you say.’
    She was stupid and animal-like. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d relieved herself as she sat there: a stupid animal that sits at the entrance of my house, continuously scratching its head.
    ‘I couldn’t work for two full days. Sometimes I feel as if he drove me out of my mind. My uncle beats me constantly.’
    Then she said determinedly, her ugly face growing serious, ‘I will tell my uncle that the man hit me. El-Sirgani will take revenge for his niece.’
    Yes, el-Sirgani has no mercy on the person who damages his goods. I know that. It’s all part of the tools of the trade for him. El-Sirgani was jealous of Azza’s love for me. He carried a gazelle’s horn knife that he could stick into the lens of my glasses. The burly el-Sirgani desired Azza. El-Sirgani took my cornea from me.
    I leaned toward Somaya and said in a whisper, ‘Somaya, I knowthis guy. Between you and me, he has a special kind of character. There are men who don’t get their full pleasure unless they hit a woman.’
    ‘All men don’t get their full pleasure without hitting a woman,’ she said in amazement. ‘The reason is that they are filthy perverts and children.’
    ‘Not every slap is the same. The slap you get from clients is different from that powerful hit to the base of the neck. That guy has an inner nature that loves to hit a girl until she blacks out and she becomes putty in his hands. He was clear about that to me, and he’s ready to pay. Like they say, “You pay dearly for your heart’s desire.”’
    I did a small calculation on my fingers. ‘You didn’t work for two days. Let’s say that means two hundred a day for two days. Four hundred Egyptian pounds altogether. We’ll add a hundred for your pain. So, it’s five hundred pounds for you alone. Since your uncle won’t know anything about it, he won’t take anything.’
    She let out an uncouth, stupid guffaw, and asked, ‘Five hundred pounds for me alone?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And you?’
    ‘I’m benefiting, of course. That’s why I’m defending him. It’s my job to humour his nature as long as he pays. Between you and me, he robs people who live in Utopia. That’s why he has a lot of money and phlogistine on him.’
    ‘Flog?’
    She said it with a dreamy look, floating in heavens of chemical contemplation.
    ‘Yes, flog. Can you imagine that?’
    ‘Heh heh.’
    I left her where she was and hurried back inside the shack.
    The guy was sitting on the ground absent-mindedly looking at the roof, while the girl sat beside him. She was resting her head on his shoulder.
    ‘Listen,’ I told him nervously. ‘Do you have any phlogistine on you?’
    ‘You