The Olive Hill

The blazing sun of July beamed on the cliffs of the remote Galetta isle. On the southern cliffs of that isle, stood Fairuz Lakhdar starring at the African mainland. She watched those black mountains with a blend of melancholy and relief. Someone was calling her from below; an ant-sized boy swimming in those turquoise waters with enthusiasm and vivacity. Fairuz bent her head to the boy below. She gave one last stare at those black mud mountains and jumped. When jumping, she did not think about hitting one of those big sharp rocks accidently. She fell like a javelin on the quivering body of the sea. She managed to fall safely. Her hair spread like incense fumes as she was diving. Suddenly she saw below her a hill, olive fields, and a town. She wished to get closer, but she could not hold her breath much longer. She was obliged to swim upward; to the realm of air, skies, and sun.

She swam to the only low beach on the isle a little bit eastward. There she laid naked and enjoyed basking in those blazing sun beams. The sea in front of her began to dry up, the sand being stacked to form a hill, olive trees growing, and a town being somehow erected. Hallucinations because of the heat ?

           Fairuz never liked the smell of the streets in the morning; fumes emitted by cars, coffee, breathes and sighs of people, the remains of burned trash. She had to meet with those smells daily when going to school. She would have been relieved to study somewhere else clean. Had she not failed in baccalaureate last year. Fairuz knew how the days were going; wake up, attend high school, lunch, return to high school, review at night, sleep, and then replay. She was certain of the inexorability of this routine. Yet, apart from getting used to it, she managed to create habits of her own. During the weekends, Fairuz would start her odysseys. She had to meet those olive trees when leaving the town at morning and turn to the west side of a hill that faces the remnants of a once big forest. There, in that forest, she would stroll deeper into the west each visit, until reaching Algeria one day perhaps. Of course, Fairuz cannot take epic journeys at winter. Since it gets dark quickly and besides, the forest starts mourning for lost brothers and sisters at that time.

Music was option n°2. It was giving her ephemeral relief.

Jazz! Fairuz loved jazz music. Especially that of local bands. They had that Tunisian touch at this type of music. A perfect Saturday night would be laying on the bed while listening to jazz. She would look at the furniture of her room and see how it would either melt or turn into an audience. She attended a jazz concert at Tunis when she was 16. Since then, she would picture that concert every time she listens to jazz.

A good dream is about jazz. A good movie is about jazz. A good novel is about jazz. And a good person is someone who listens to jazz according to her.

It's no wonder that Fairuz had not too many friends. In fact, she had none. People considered her habit of attending the forest every weekend, weird and suspicious. Not to mention that her taste in music separated her from the other girls. Since all what they were listening to, are pop and rap. Which were according to Fairuz pointless and mediocre noises. And she viewed the girls as Barbie toys. Of course, the girls and also boys viewed her as freak that do weird stuff at the forest. They did not bully her but they always were talking with mockery about her. Fairuz never cared however. She would hike in the forest. Look at those old laurel, poplar, oak, and eucalyptus trees and say "More trees, less people ˮ

           Khalil got tired of swimming. His fingers turned into peaches 'nuts.

"What are you doing? ˮ He exclaimed as he saw Fairuz basking on that low beach. "I'm basking ˮ she simply replied "I know that. But have you considered the heat? ˮ "I don't care. But you should lay here too. You look like an old rag ˮ Khalil looked at her for a while. He smirked and then he laid down next to her.