Neighbors

She was strong,” Mahsus told his friend. “Life positively glowed in her eyes.”

“But she’s dead,” Latif replied. “Intuition and guesswork often let us down.”

“She seemed stronger than death.”

“Stronger than death! That’s a rhetorical expression! No one can be stronger than death, not even the Devil himself.”

“How do we know death exists?”

“However you look at it, it’s a reality. Someone disappears from our lives; they can no longer talk to us, love us, or hate us.”

Mahsus turned down the radio. Through the wall they could hear the sound of muffled voices: people coming to pay their respects, no doubt. Now she and her brother would realize for sure that they were not isolated from the world, but rather connected by a number of relationships. For some time they had both withdrawn into themselves, so much so that people started talking about a suspicious relationship. Some of them even thought they were married.

“She never responded to my ‘bonjour,’” said Mahsus. “At first, I thought she was deaf, but actually she was just very shy. Still there was a glint in her eyes. That was how she often responded.”

“She often responded to me. I even thought she might knock on our door one evening when her brother was out at the bar doing what he always did—drink his two beers.”

Latif took out a cigarette, but hesitated before lighting it. His gaze riveted on the wall as he listened to the soft music coming from the radio; he seemed somehow detached from the world. He could picture her, washing the pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen or arranging the books which were strewn all over the floor. He looked down at all the books and magazines on their floor. They did not possess a bookshelf to put them on, but instead, what they did have was limitless quantities of indifference and laziness. Here they were, two newly appointed civil servants sharing a room and saving whatever they could. In fact, so far they had not managed to save anything at all.

Latif lit his cigarette. Mahsus was lying on his stomach, paging through a magazine and listening to the noise coming from behind the wall by the door.

“She was so beautiful!” said Latif. “Do you realize that I’ve been in love with her but never even thought about it before?”

“Are you crazy?” asked Mahsus. “A living man in love with a woman who’s dead?”

“I can’t imagine her dead. Even now, I can still see her smiling, her eyes sparkling.”

“All of us can imagine such things, but we can’t be in love with the dead. I mean, physical love.”

“You don’t understand. Love isn’t necessarily related to the body.”

“Who smiles? Who is shy? Whose eyes shine? Are those the attributes of gods, or humans?” Mahsus closed the magazine, stood up, and looked out the window. He asked Latif for a cigarette, then went to the toilet. It was emitting a foul stench from the squat-hole; the very smell of it made him shudder. He could still hear people paying their respects.

“If your parents were still alive,” a man was telling the girl’s brother, “this would kill them. They loved her so much. They loved both of you so much.”

Mahsus realized that the two of them had no living parents. It would be the young man’s turn next, he thought. Was the whole family cursed by death? Buttoning up his pants, he went back to Latif.

“Latif, are you aware that their parents died a long time ago?”

“So what?”

“It’s the young man’s turn next.”

“Since when have you started predicting the future? Can you tell me when you’re going to die? Listen, I’ve an idea. Let’s go and convey our condolences for his sister’s death.”

“But we don’t even know him. We’re not connected in any way.”

“He’s our neighbor.”

Mahsus paced around the room for a while, thinking. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Just a few yards away they found the door open. The sound of voices grew louder. Mahsus led the way, with Latif following hesitantly behind. They went inside and found a few people offering condolences. Nobody noticed Mahsus and Latif, so they just stood there. . . .

“I don’t know how to pay proper respects,” Latif said. “You go first.”

They spotted the young man. He was talking to an older man, who looked very tired. His seemed to be the voice Mahsus had heard from the toilet. When the young man spotted the two of them, he recognized them but hesitated for a second before coming over. Mahsus shook his hand and embraced him. “Our condolences,” he said quietly. “We’re your neighbors. Do you recognize us?”

“Yes, I do,” the young man replied softly.

He shook hands with Latif, and they embraced too. Latif’s eyes filled with tears, and he noticed the same smile and gleaming eyes. Shuddering, he couldn’t think of what to say.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” he managed to say after an internal struggle. “Your sister was . . . I . . . I . . . love her.”

“Thank you. She was kind. She deserves that and more.”

The young man spotted someone else and walked over to him. Latif felt awkward. He was sweating. His body was ready to move on, but his legs refused to budge. He collapsed into the nearest chair.