Love in the Kingdom of Oil Read Online Free PDF

succession of blows as if he was banging a nail into a wall. He bent over from his waist, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He raised the jar with his arms, then placed it on her head. Her neck bent under the weight. The jar almost fell. The wind blew and the jar tilted sideways. She left it tilting and moved her feet, one after the other. She moved in the normal way along the path in front of her, as if she had walked along it before. She was familiar with this line of women, and she was one in the line. They moved with slow firm steps like those of time. The storm increased and the waterfall roared. Their bodies shook like straw blown by a gust of wind. Everything shook, apart from the jars on their heads, which remained fixed sedately in their places.
    She used to return with her body exhausted. She would curl up on the ground, her knees under her chin and her bag under her head. Her throat was dry and her tongue was cracked. She opened her eyes in the darkness. She looked for the glass bottle. It wasn’t anywhere. She went back to sleep. Then she woke up to a noise. He had caught an animal like a sheep or a goat. He had slaughtered it with a knife. The blood was pouring out like a fountain. The eyes looked towards her, as if they had never seen her before, and his voice roared, ‘Hey, you. Come and cook.’
    ‘I don’t eat meat.’
    ‘You don’t have to eat it. All you have to do is cook it!’
    ‘I won’t cook it.’
    He stretched out his long arm with the knife. She looked at the shining blade and bent her neck down. She cringed inside her body, hiding her neck with her hands.
    She dragged her body sluggishly to the kitchen. She wiped away the blood around her neck, lit the gas and put on the saucepan. Steam rose to the ceiling. She felt him standing behind her. He was savouring the aroma of the meat, and rubbing up against her from behind. When the appetite for food was aroused in him, other appetites of his were aroused as well. She abandoned her body to him and went off to sleep. As she was sleeping she felt a pain. Her conscience was pricking her. How could I give him myself in return for supper?
    In the morning there was a violent gust of wind. On the crest of the wind a sound came to her like that of an oar. She listened carefully, her heart beating. She heard a woman’s voice like that of her aunt.
    The sound was dissipated when the man moved his eyelids. He pulled her up and the black pupil appeared, staring at her. He seized an old rag, perhaps her
sarwal.
He began to twist it between his hands as if he was ringing it out. He made it into a cord, which he placed on her head. He made her bend over from the waist and then raised the jar with one hand.
    ‘It’s very heavy! It’ll break my neck.’
    Her voice came back to her as if she was speaking to herself. She carried it along the street towards the company, as if in a dream. Perhaps for this reason, her body was strong. She was able to carry it without getting tired. Rather she felt a type of lightness like one feels in dreams. But her heart was heavy. Even a self-respecting ox would refuse this sort of work. Perhaps the only creature who would accept it would be some extinct species of donkey. The jar also was of an extinct type. It had two ears and a stomach bloated in pregnancy like the one-breasted god.
    Some sounds echoed from afar. Faint cries uttered in unison, followed by sounds of muttering, muffled laughter, and then silence.
    It seemed to her that she was walking without moving forward even a single step. She was standing where she had been. She was no more than two paces from the threshold of the house. The door was open and he was sitting on his seat behind the newspaper.
    ‘The storm continues.’
    ‘You can wait.’
    ‘In this situation?’
    ‘When the oil begins to creep over the ground, nothing can stand in its way. You must deal with it when the sun is shining and it has dried.’
    ‘This jar is making my head