“Majak, Majak” Our friend didn’t respond to his wife who was calling for him. He was lying down when the warm rays of the morning sun sneaked into the transparent curtain and fell on his face. His face was wearing an expression of a man who had just came back home after he lost a battle. He left his bed lazily to fake tiresome so that he could persuade his wife that he didn’t hear her despite the bees’ buzzing which touched his ears while she was calling for him with that strange name. He slowed down to give himself a chance to avoid thinking about things that might lead to reveal the interpretations that he preferred to keep secretly. It is better to reveal his name. The name may not sound strange for you; it was KamillioNattaliBazgar. Our friend was measuring the reasons led her to call him with that strange name. He thought that she was still suffering from hallucinations caused by malaria. She caught malaria recently and she went on hallucinating for three days. She produced a lot of meaningless words during these three days but one of the neighbours affirmed that what she was articulating belonged to an ancient African saga and they mean: the happiness is to suffer in order to make others happy. Mango who interpreted the hallucination was driven out of a foreign country because he was accused of practicing adultery openly and when he was dismissed he was found making love with three blonde girls in a public park. People nailed at their place while they were walking to do Sunday’s requiem when they saw him. Let’s turn back to KamillioNattaliBazgar again. While he was measuring different possibilities his wife appealed to him, ‘What is wrong with you Majak? I have called for you million times and you have responded? Haven’t you heard me? What the hell is the wrong with you?!’ He eyed her with aggressive look that she ever met before. Their wedding party was turned into a massacre when the army attacked the site where the party was held. They went to the city to sanctify their marriage in its cathedral lest the army should turn it into funeral. He grew to realize that he was meant by Majak. His wife wasn’t hallucinating; she was serious. “Who is Majak?!” he wondered. “May be he is a man who has a secret relation with my wife” he thought. He attempted to interpret what was going on but he failed. He quitted thinking so as to avoid a morning discussion that would spoil his day. However he felt that ignoring asking about Majak would humiliate his manhood. Mango who reconciled him with his wife one day and who was driven away from that foreign country wouldn’t spare him if he knew the story. These ideas duplicated his burden and he addressed KamillioBazgarNattali angrily: “get rid off your wife who is not more than a tortoise.’ Strange feelings invaded him. He found himself portraying Majak’s image in his imagination. He saw him kissing his wife in their dining room. The way on which they exchange teasing told him they acquainted each other for a long time. He admired the scene as it was the first time he saw his wife in that high mood. She was happy and refreshed as if she had discovered the beauty of life just now. He was in a chaos. Things were mingling in front of his eyes. The man who was making love with his wife was KamillioBazgarNattali but oh wait it was Majak. While KamillioNattaliBazgar was bewildered and dispersed whether to continue to spy on the scene which put out his jealousy or taking action to stop what was going on, some one shook him violently. “Majak, Majak.” He opened his eyes and the ray of the sun flowing through the leaves of the Mahogany took part in waking him up. He opened his eyes slowly as if he didn’t like to leave his dream. He saw Mango in front of him. “For the sake of God, don’t drink it if you cannot bear it.” said Mango. It is clear now not only his wife who calls it with that name. His eyes are open now and despite his astonishment he doesn’t like to surrender to a conspiracy sewing its threads around his very existence. He also realized that the name is used to call for him in a wide scope and that when I used that name to call for him although I grew to acquaint him just two days ago. Kamillio Nattalli Bazgar sped to his home breathlessly. He found himself in the middle of his room in front of a mirror. He tried to know as hard as possible if the person in front of him was Kamillio NattaliBazgar or Majak. The truth that must be articulated is that his face resembles a face of a person called Kamillio Nattali Bazgar. But seeing his odd nose and the small wrinkles around his neck ensure that he is Majak. To be neutral as a narrator, I don’t align myself with any of the two names so that my friend won’t blame me. Mentioning the two names together hasn’t assisted our friend to indicate ‘to whom does he belong?’ He went on staring at the mirror without reaching to a fruitful output. “What is the difference between Kamillio Nattali Bazgar and Majak? Does the name resemble the face or does the face resemble the name?” All are calling me with Majak now and there is no way but to respond. But doesn’t the name carry the person’s identity? I have been bearing this name for 45 years and I have become the name and the name has become me. How can I change my name into Majak while I resemble Kamillio Nattali Bazgar? Neither Majak nor KamillioNattaliBazgar managed to find an exit from the secret conspiracy designed by others dexterously. All others including his friends, his relative and even his friends got used to call him with Majak. Our friend accepted the name, otherwise he would go to sanatorium. Mango managed to persuade him to accept the name and told him that in foreign countries where he spent extensive time, there is a sickness similar to his. “In Italy a woman forgot her name but what was worse was that she believed I was her husband.” Mango told him. “What did you do?” he asked. “Of course I did what had to be done. Have mercy on those who live on the earth and those who are in the heaven will have mercy on you!” As a narrator I dropped that name: KamallioNattaliBazagar lest someone should accuse us narrators of taking part in that conspiracy against our fiend. So our friend bears that name during the rest of his life in the village. All people forgot the insane that had forgotten his name. Even Majak forgot everything. However the situation turned upside down in that frowning day. It happened when a delegation from the International Organization of Mental Health visited the village and Majak found himself again at the edge of insanity. The delegation came accompanied by the director of the local hospital in the village whose appearance was similar to a homeless person rather than a doctor. They called him with a strange name and it was Kamillio Nattali Bazgar. He tried to explain that there was a misunderstanding and before he uttered a word the head of the delegation told him that they were aware of his situation as a result to what happened to him many years ago. The head person told him that their office which is located in the center of that city which is as white as snow has been following up the psychological disorders invading this village ever since its outset and told him that only one person managed to escape the epidemic and that person was Kamillio Nattali Bazgar who accepted to be Majak reluctantly to avoid the villagers’ wrath. The villagers have been suffering insanity and as a result of the efforts made by the organization they have retrieved their psychological equilibrium now. Majak haven’t accepted what has been said although all people in the village began to call him with Kamillio Nattali Bazgar prior to the departure of the delegation. Majak wondered if he was insane or if the whole village is not more than a sanatorium. He wondered if his name was Majak or Kamillio Nattali Bazgar. In the depth of his soul and far from the labyrinth of searching for the truth he knows well that he is neither Majak nor Kamallio Natali Bazgar; he is a distorted copy of both of them.
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Arthur Gabreil Yak, a novelist and short story writer from South Sudan. He published: ‘It doesn’t matter, you’re from there’, a short story collection, ‘Doomsday Soprano’ a novel, ‘The day when Azrael committed suicide’ a novel and ‘Gabo dances Flamingo and Tango and other stories’. Arthur who writes in Arabic is one of the most prominent writers from younger generation of writers in South Sudan. He lives and works in the US currently.
