Short Story; Wish for Sale

He was standing, thinking, and gazing at the Arabic department building. Suddenly, his colleague interrupted him and said, “Is not this building very stunning?” they both laughed. He said something under his tongue and admired that department and then both moved toward their departments.

Jawad was a lecturer in the English department whereas his friend was from Peace and Conflict Studies department. They were very close friends and knew everything about each other, even the minor ones. “How do your students behave now?” Ubaid questioned. “they still poke me on minor issues,” Jawad cried. “Haven’t you consulted the coordinator,” said Ubaid. “No! I haven’t, I wanted to solve the issue by my self” cried Jawad and continued “I have started studying many more books on teaching skills and most often on grammar.” “The world is cruel to innocents” Ubaid added. “you know I am trying really my best to overcome but I can’t, dad wanted me to get on, and I completed his wish. He got me in here by our uncle Latif, the director.” Cried Jawad. “What about your Arabic dream,” Ubaid asked intentionally. “ugh! That is still my love and passion but it's gone now,” replied Jawad. A student interrupted them with a morning greeting and passed by expressionless. They also departed for their departments at the edge of the track.

               Jawad entered the block and felt himself in a stiffed atmosphere. He breathed faster and faster. He suspected everyone’s gaze and started sweating. He moved up on the stairs to the 2^nd floor where the teacher’s staff room was situated. He reached the noticeboard and saw his timetable and then moved in and tilted toward the main table for the attendance and then he gave a glance to the newspaper and chuckled for a second or two and then moved toward his desk to get two-three books to read. He read two or three pages and then suddenly the bell rang. He got up and took his attendance book with him and moved to the class with heavy steps and breathe.

                Sometimes he thought of committing suicide or hanging to find solace in the life after death. He thought death might be good for him from the shameful chasing of guilt and dishonor. He, sometimes, walked with unconsciousness in the corridor, biting his lips with his teeth while thinking. He hasn’t satisfied his inner self against or in favor of his disability. He knew well of his inability but didn’t tell himself either. Whenever he began to think of his injustice with himself, he would consider it as treason and would not bother his mind to gather reasons.

                Jawad went to the class and upon entering, his shaking voice uttered hello and good morning. He noticed every student in one glance and read their expressions very quickly and came to realize no change. “We will study today… aa... How to… analyze ... Umm… modern literature.” Jawad said. He continued with a dull expression, “Modern literature is not classical… but a little new … new … in the sense that it is … straight forward … ughmm … means that … it is a kind of non-fashioned literature (a faint laugh in class) … like, no fabulous stories ( another faint laugh) …” he is interrupted by a question “what about the plot”-“yeh… well, it's ordinary … not such a long and sharp peak but sudden ups and downs… but unjudgmental (another faint laugh) …” – “how it is unjudgmental”-“right! It is like… ughm…. you can predict its conflict anywhere… (laugh from outside the door was heard) … ugh… it is not that much simpler” – “so it's like a lady.” Huge laughter was produced by the students and it felt him as imbedded in the shame of that laugh.

                When the class was over he praised God and left for the staff room. He silently sat there and observed other teachers looking at him which gave him more sweating. He heard a discontinuous chatting with a laugh in each of their pauses. At what was he ashamed? For which reason people were laughing? He knew well but he got some obligation. Once he mentioned that to Ubaid. And now, when he heard that laughing he was offended and he broke to tears, but his manhood prevailed and controlled it. He left for the bathroom and emptied his inward catharsis by the river of tears and he was seeing his reflection in the mirror full of shame, indignity, and inability.

                He was preparing for the next class and picked some other books to prepare for that class. He was turning the pages superfluously and was just overseeing them. He then clogged suddenly and went into deep thought. He thought of his father. His heart was full of respect for his father. He thought of his late mother. Her care reminded him of, as he would call it, the holy joy. He thought of his ambition to become an Arabic language expert and professor. His eyes filled with fresh tears. He recalled the moment when his father forced him to study the English language and literature and persuaded him that he would get him a good job and Jawad, obviously, agreed. He is here now on the seat of a lecturer as a result of his father’s great relations with the board of governance. Another wave of fresh tears came by, pushing the previous one and letting them go down the cheeks. He thought of those difficult years of education. His soul shacked, and he is embedded in unknown fear, as an unseen foot in socks.

                Bell rang for the next class. He picked the books and cleaned his cheeks from tears and left the room. On the right side of the room there came the stairs. He walked upstairs and turned right. Although his class was on left, however, something dragged him to right. He looked right and left. Faint muttering, laughing, argumentation, he heard, as he passed by to the edge. He saw people, so many, crowded. Chatting and whispering, and clapping their hands after a lame jock. He saw them everywhere; down on the aisle between the two blocks, in the corridor, at the big pillar, at the fence, in the ground, and beside him.

He saw himself with none, neither with his own soul. He felt very alone. He looked down the 3^rd floor and gazed at the ground, there he saw beautiful ground with green plants, few trees, a line full of flowers and a gardener cutting the extra and unwanted leaves and making their edges sharp and straight. Jawad liked it and he tilted his head more down to see them clearly. He wanted to be their part. He gazed and gazed and gazed. Suddenly he, like his tears, fell to them willingly and made his place between them and released his soul, which he didn’t found within himself.