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1 August 2024

Once Upon A Time, Tomorrow by Hilal Chouman

In this exclusive extract from Wasafiri 118: Abolitions - Writing Against Abandonment, Hilal Chouman – translated by Caline Nasrallah – explores themes of memory, grief, and the passage of time through two people's relationship to each other — weaving together personal moments with broader, unexplained phenomena, and creating a sense of mystery and unresolved tension. 

You can read and download the full piece for free until the end of August, or read it in the print issue of Wasafiri 118, which is available to purchase.


KHALED’S DREAM

These dreams left me a long time ago. Now that you’re here, I make a promise to myself. I say: Your presence will bring back the recurring dream I’ve been waiting so long for. The colours will be strange. They’ll stop at the outlines of things, will not bleed into detail. Not too dark, not too bright, leaving no room for shadows. The colours spill into each other and time passes around me. The details pile up. I say: The stability is moving. I add: The movement does not move at the expected tempo. Suddenly I stop speaking and notice the fixity of things. I see an image. And I realise I am not looking at it alone. You are there, looking with me. We are standing outside our bodies. We see ourselves, and with this discovery it occurs to us that we too might be part of some beginning, some still image being looked at by other people. The mere possibility of this – we do not need certainty – draws a smile on our faces. A smile that we ourselves do not see.

KHALED AND THE RAY OF LIGHT

He woke up in his old room. Rim was not in bed beside him. He looked at the time: it was five in the morning. He got up and went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of cold water. As he closed the fridge door, he noticed Soha’s note instructing Rim not to let Tiger drink tap water. It was Soha’s handwriting that distracted him more than the note itself. He checked the cat’s food and water bowls — they were full. He walked to the living room and switched off the television. Rim was asleep on his favourite sofa. He wasn’t sure if she’d spent the whole night here after ushering him to the bedroom or if she’d slept next to him in bed for a while before moving back to the sofa. The noise in his head was making it difficult for him to tell apart dreams and reality.

He paused by the sofa and studied her face. He had never examined it so intently before. She started to stir in her sleep. He remained standing there above her. She opened her eyes to see him smiling at her.

‘What time is it?’ she yawned.

‘About 5:15. You can go sleep in the bedroom if you want.’

‘No, I’ve had a lot of sleep. Between yesterday and today … ’

‘How do you feel?’

‘Fine … ’ she murmured, sitting up.

‘Coffee?’

‘God, yes please,’ she replied. He headed back into the kitchen.

Rim sat still on the sofa for a moment. Then she pulled on a jumper that was lying next to her and went to the balcony. She opened the door and stepped outside, wrapping her arms around herself.

It took a few minutes for Khaled to reappear with the coffee. Rim dragged the small table closer so he could set the tray on it. She pulled up a chair and sat down. He did the same.

‘Go put something on,’ she said.

‘It’s fine. I’m good.’

‘What do you mean, you’re good? You were in a cold sweat and borderline hallucinating last night.’

‘Me?’

‘Why else would I have got you to sleep in the bedroom?’

‘Did you sleep next to me last night?’

She looked puzzled.

‘No, never mind,’ he said, retracting his question. ‘I must have imagined it.’

‘What were you doing here when I arrived?’

‘I left some stuff here. I thought I’d drop by and pick it up while no one was home.’

‘But I’m the one who told you when I got here that no one was home.’

Khaled coughed. It was a real cough, but he took advantage of it to not have to respond.

Noticing his discomfort, Rim decided not to press the matter, instead circling back. ‘Don’t you still have some clothes here?’ she asked.

‘I must … ’

He went into the bedroom and turned on the light in the closet. His clothes had been stuffed into a box on the floor. He leaned down and rummaged through the heap, coughing as he pulled out a cotton sports jacket and threw it on. Stuffing his hands in the pockets, he went back out to the balcony and sat down. Rim poured him some coffee.

‘Aha! Much better,’ she remarked.

‘So you drink coffee now.’

‘This is my first cup since the last one you gave me.’

‘Seems you only have coffee with me then.’

She smiled.

‘Do you feel any better?’ he asked.

She nodded but said nothing. A ray of morning light shone from behind a building across the street. It settled on Khaled’s face. He closed his eyes.

Rim laughed. ‘It’s singling you out!’

Khaled moved his chair out of the light and closer to her.

‘You know, it’s going to keep following you.’

‘I know. And I’ll keep moving closer.’

She smiled and got up, excusing herself to the bathroom. Then she cocked her head back towards him. ‘I did sleep next to you last night,’ she said. ‘Just a little … not for long … ’

She disappeared inside before he could say anything in response.

Khaled slowly sipped his coffee and followed the path of the sunlight on the tiles. He noticed a swarm of ants marching on the floor. He didn’t think much of it at first, but as the ray of light grew broader and closer, he saw that there were an alarming number of them. He followed them to the corner of the balcony.

He moved the flowerpots, the better to see. The ants were swarming around Tiger.

Around his lifeless body ... 


Continue reading the full piece online, free to download for the month of August, or in Wasafiri 118.

Photo by PAN XIAOZHEN on Unsplash

Hilal Chouman is a Lebanese novelist and writer born in Beirut. He has written five novels in Arabic:
Summer 2024
Wasafiri 118: Abolitions - Writing Against Abandonment

Our summer special issue, Wasafiri 118 — Abolitions: Writing Against Abandonment, guest-edited by Farhaana Arefin and Dr Abeera Khan, explores the work of those organising against the degradation of life under racial capitalism from India to Lebanon, Palestine to France. In this issue, writing is offered as a tool for liberation, with language as resistance to enforced isolation for incarcerated people, and translation as a tool for building solidarity across borders.

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