Love in the Kingdom of Oil by Nawal El Saadawi Read Free Book Online Page A

like a feverish tremor.
    She wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve. She contemplated her life. What was it that incapacitated her? In her childhood what had she wanted to be? Her body collapsed in exhaustion. She wanted to be a prophetess like the Lady of Purity, with her ability to restore movement to paralysed legs and sight to sick eyes.
    ‘A woman prophet!? We have never heard of this before!’
    ‘She’s inherited the madness from her aunt.’
    ‘A demon’s got hold of her and she’s become stubborn.’
    She closed her eyes and went off to sleep. She was resisting despair by falling asleep. Her mind regained some of its enthusiasm. Hope crept into her body like worms creep into the ground. She looked at the watch on her wrist. Time was passing and she was lying down. She jumped up on her feet. She stretched out her hand and took hold of the chisel.
    The land was changing as the oil changed. The oil was changing with the movement of the sun and the wind. Her breathing rose and fell according to the degree of hope or despair in her breast, and to the pulsing of blood from her heart to her arms, from her arms to her chisel, from her chisel to the ground, and from the ground to the oil, the wind and the sun.
    Everything began to rotate in wondrous harmony as if it was the law of the universe. If the oil changed, everything around her changed. Perhaps the power of the oil is beyond belief or of an unfamiliar type. Congealed oil is not like liquid oil, and oil sludge that settles on the bottom has another consistency, and a completely different viscosity. In the bowels of the earth, everything changes, even humidity. And in her head thought after thought went round, and the chisel hit the ground blow after blow, without purpose. Nothing leaves any mark, and everything ends in nothing.
    When she returned she saw the man lying on his back with his eyes open and a cigarette lit. He moved his head towards her a little and asked, ‘Did you say something? Weren’t you speaking?’ He was gazing at the flame in his hand. Perhaps fire was salvation.
    ‘What did you say?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    She said ‘nothing’ with a ring of submission. The place was bathed in silence. If one particle catches fire, fire will catch hold of everything. The thought of dying by burning did not attract her. She moved her feet towards the door. She held the knob with both hands. It would not open. It was permeated with damp and its bottom edge had stuck to the ground.
    The man put out the cigarette against the heel of his shoe. Then he picked up the newspaper and hid behind it. She saw the picture of His Majesty and the banner headline:
    On the occasion of his birthday, His Majesty orders the Statue of Victory to be washed.
    She closed her eyes, then opened them. She saw something moving like a snake. It raised its tail when it saw her, as if it was greeting her. She nodded her head to return the greeting. It exhaled air with an audible sound. She realised that it was saying something in another language. She nodded her head as a sign of understanding.
    The snake changed into a sudden movement with her hand. She pulled the newspaper from over the head of the man.
    ‘What is happening is unendurable by any human being, and you stretch out in your chair smoking and reading the newspaper as if there was nothing wrong with the world.’
    ‘What’s wrong?’
    ‘This is wrong. Can’t you see?’
    His eyes followed her finger as it pointed up in a circular movement.
    The Statue of Victory was made of alabaster covered with a black layer of oil particles. Before being washed its face looked black, covered with oil stains.
    She could not fail to attend the celebrations. The order had been issued typed out and sealed with the sign of the falcon. The women must undertake the washing and the men must stand in ordered ranks, and salute.
    She did not know how much time she spent washing the statue. It seemed to be submissive to her ministrations.