The eternal night

The beginning of a tragedy

The eternal night

Novel

Yahya El fazazy.

                                              1

    The sorrows of my childhood is carved in my soul, and the picture of that little silly and puzzled boy passes in front of my eyes every now and then, on my face there was some indescribable anticipation and comprehension, something was running in my blood and was making me tense and stressed all the time, it was haunting, and there was no escape. I was uncertain whether my days will bring me any happiness at all, and when my mom would start yelling at me:

- Don't mix with the street boys, don't stay late outside.

Her tone would drive me even crazier and I would feel waves of mixed feelings fumble inside my chest. I was aware from an early age that I had to grow up stronger in order to survive and face this beast that we call life, therefor I tried my best to ignore every negative thought and negative feeling that was feeding my chaos.

I can't remember the exact number of years that I spent polishing shoes as a kid, many years without doubt, polishing shoes in the street was one of the hardest tasks I had to do on a daily basis to get some money, it was eating my life, and filling it with resentment and anger, before that I tried many other jobs that were available for a kid in my situation, I sold plastic bags in local markets, bread crumbs, copper and steel residue, however, selling cigarettes and newspapers were the major source of income for me at that age, I had to find and sell anything and everything so I could help myself and my mother survive poverty, unfortunately we couldn't.

I spent most of my childhood looking like a homeless, wearing old and worn clothes, sometimes I had to spend a year wearing some old used jeans and shoes that my mother was able to get from some benefactors, I can bet that I've never worn something new my entire childhood, I was always watching my mom coming through the door, grabbing me by my hand close to her and trying to put some piece of clothes on me to see if it fits, however, I've never complained until I got measles. Then whenever I would see her bringing some old rag I would jump from the window and spend the next two days sleeping in the street.

I used to shower once every month, my father would freak out If I showered more than that, and he would start bashing me, sometimes he would call me a lazy bastard, a good-for-nothing son of a bitch, a hanger-on... etc. I won't be able to count down all his insults, he would scold me for showering more than the allowed number of times he sets, or even if I spent a long time showering, even though he was not the one who used to pay the bill, it was mostly my mother and sometime me when I grew a little older, he never contributed with paying bills, he would spend all his money that he gets from working as a porter in drinking and smoking hashish with a bunch of unreliable old folks in the café. But to play the devil's advocate, he would buy a chicken and some vegetables once in a blue moon, he then would treat us like slaves for the next four weeks. To be honest I was not a fan of showering myself, I was kind of traumatized because of the way my mother was washing me when I was a little kid, she used to  almost peel off my skin.

In my early childhood I would spend more than two months without getting a haircut and when I start looking like a total bum and no one would recognize me anymore my mother would throw me some money to shape up and gain back my human appearance, the barber didn't like seeing me, he would cut my hair with that gloomy face, he would rush, curse something, anything, a fly, the weather or me, he would talk to me with his schizophrenic voice:

- You've got so much lice kid, how many times a year do you shower? I can't do this anymore. Oh god, have mercy on me.

Well I didn't complain, until he asked me once after he finished cutting my hair to sweep up the floor, after an untold number of people had their hair cut now it was me who was going to clean up, I felt so humiliated, I felt as If I was nothing but one of those lice he complains about, so I start shouting at him hysterically: