T .Feyza Boudabbous
Beneath a tree I was sitting anxiously and broodingly scrawling on my notebook when a hard pine cone dropped on me. I’ve been trying to come out with writing some words for days in my notebook but all my efforts availed me little. Like a tide, my mind was flowing to and fro with no shore to rest on, with all places and memories flowing back and forth haunting me, laden with thoughts, errors, sins and misfortunes. All this labor arose to nothing of any value to be written, but some aimless doodles. I usually end up closing my notebook and resorting to my silence or to hunting the quail.
The cone which bleeded my head a while ago was so beautiful that I almost forgot that it hurt me. Like a rose, it was full-blown , however poor of all its tiny grains because of wind. I tenderly started stroking it between my hands , scrubbing it like the wonderful lamp of Alladin reaching its head which was so reminiscent of Hayet’s right soft breast’s nipple. I pressed its sides, it was hard and soft at the same time. It is Hayet’s nipple, it is Hayet who struck me on the head to show me each time that she can always grab her place in a stifling world. It is Hayet who taught me that even the abandoned, forgotten and unworthy right breast has a heart ! it has a heart when the left one is on the heart’s throne. I heard it throbbing when I was aiming as usual towards the left one. It was beating right there below my left ear..I cannot be dreaming, this cannot be illusionary ! Its sound was cristally clear. I turned my face towards the sound , a rough nipple impinged on my nose. I lifted my head to see it. my soul gasped. It was the pinaceous awsome nipple of Hayet . chasing the letters with my right fingers, and fondling the pinaceous breast with my left ones, I staggeringly slipped into the corridors of my sleepless, alive memory. While the rest of the women taught me to speak , it’s Hayet who taught me to live. Eloquence is no longer needed , Hayet is a real ferocious life.
With a split heart my fingers are tracking their way stumbling through the tangling letters. How tiring it is to write about such a miraculous breast ! plenty of time I wasted flattering the left breast and ignoring the abundant right! Here it comes to save me from the dogma of trend. Crossing the road nosing between the bosom’s cheeks I grew aware of the fire lying there. Hayet’s right breast was like a bomb peaking on the chest’s mound with an ogling nipple. It was like unexplored, tough glittering marble of an empirical sculptor expanding towards forked ways. There, a mole sprung to take what is left of my sanity away leaving me with the amazement that the earnest lust can have varied colors . I continued my way upward on a smooth loose yielding land. I moved the tip of my tongue and stretched it a little forward on the tanned honey land. What a pleasant land and a cruel dome it was! it was as though God divinely squeezed some choclate and implanted the blown pinacious cone at the top of its northern pole and said : oh God !
Pressing the lost bud between my lips I also groaned : my God ! when Hayet grabbed my hair saying : there is no God but you demon !
I eagerly devoured her chin for a while before I moved towards the wonderful lips. They were nothing but a fountain of honey. I drew the shrinking bottom lip between my fingers like a piece of strawberry soaking the honey flowing from the fountain. i was still trying to seize the struggling nipple with my left hand’s fingers while Hayet was moaning like cute cats. My right palm slipped down into the greatest fountain ever which overflowed to engulf the fingers while my lips were being busy with the pleasant mouth and the left hand’s eager fingertips cuddling the pinacious breast’s nipple. Hayet started quivering and meowing loudly and I was delving into her delicate lips eating her tongue. I felt her squeezing my right hand’s fingers swallowing them while her nipple was melting in my other hand ! I pulled my right hand out her cunt and quickly penetrated her. Hayet moaned and moaned reaching out to my hair and grabbing it. I continued that great game playfully giving her many strokes. I touched her nose with my right palm and I felt her stiffling and I kept heatedly making love to her while she was shaking and groaning like a mare. I heard her sighing: « more ; more..murder me ! » before she heavily shivered. she suddenly bended in the opposite direction and exploded into thousands of pieces, collapsing into small fragments..
Here is the pine cone splitting in my hands too, while recalling her
? When are you going to ring goddamned phone
T Feyza Boudabbous
ترجمة لمقطع « نهد الصنوبر » من نكسة 69 للكاتب التونسي كمال الرياحي
ترجمة فائزة بودبوس