Metwally Bassal (Përgatiti për botim Angela Kosta)
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A Short Story by Metwally Bassal
My Stepmother's Diary
I always heard that unfair saying, often repeated, "May God take your stepmother!" Since I was only seven years old, I considered it unjust, especially since I lived with a stepmother who was incredibly kind, compassionate, and loving; so much so that I became more attached to her than to my own mother!
I didn't know the details of the divorce at that early age, but I did know that my mother had relinquished her right to custody of me to my father! She was content with just one hour each week, only sixty minutes, to see me and check on me! What was strange was that my kind stepmother allowed her to come to our house, visit me, and sit with me for an hour. I saw her with my own eyes every time, she welcoming her and receiving her as if she were her own sister, not her husband's ex-wife. She would even inquire about her well-being and always tell her, "If you encounter any problem at work or elsewhere, call me, and I will solve it for you immediately. I consider you my sister, and I want you to consider me the same!"
Indeed, because she held a prestigious position in the local council, she helped my mother and was instrumental in getting her transferred from the remote school where she worked to one closer to her home.
Every week, my mother would come to see me and sit with me for a full hour. However, some strange things would happen during this hour, which I didn't notice. But the recurrence of these tragic events instilled fear and questions in me. Once, the ceiling fan fell and shattered. Thankfully, none of us were underneath it, or something terrible would have happened. Another time, the television exploded and caught fire, nearly setting the house ablaze. A third time, my poor stepmother was struck on the shoulder by a lightbulb hanging from the kitchen ceiling, which shattered and caused a severe cut. Her blood ran red all over the tiles!
These strange and frightening incidents kept happening. Every time my mother visited, disaster would strike, and the house would become a hotbed of misfortune. I even began to dread the hour she returned home! One night, I heard my father, in a fit of anger, say to his wife: "I will not wait for another tragedy. I will not allow that wretched woman into our house again. I wish I hadn't listened to you when you asked me to let her see the boy..." But my stepmother objected, saying: "It is wrong to deprive a mother of seeing her son, no..."
matter what. Please reconsider this decision. Surely she has nothing to do with what's happening." The last time I saw my mother, I was crying. Despite all her and my stepmother's attempts to comfort me, I couldn't stop. I felt like my heart would break in two! I couldn't hate her despite everything that was happening, and I was very worried and afraid of what would happen this time. This time, my father was taken to the hospital. The doctors said he had suffered a severe drop in blood pressure, which could have led to his death! Even though he had been perfectly healthy the previous days!
My father was discharged from the hospital and returned home, but my mother never came back. I never saw her again, and I heard some time ago that she had died. Neither my father nor I attended her funeral.
Years later, while my kind stepmother was bedridden due to an illness, I stumbled upon her diary. She had forgotten it on the nightstand, even though she always kept it hidden in her jewelry box, locking it securely!
I was shocked by the wicked plans she had been hatching to make the day my mother would come home a dark and ominous one! What shocked me even more was that she didn't hesitate to injure herself more than once—once with a cut on her shoulder, another time on her hand—all to make my mother look like a demon in my eyes, in my father's eyes, and in everyone else's! I couldn't believe my eyes when I read how she slipped a pill into my father's food, the pill that caused him to suffer that sudden drop in blood pressure!
I found myself weeping bitterly, falling to my knees, as I read how, through her prestigious position, she had my mother lose her job as a teacher in the Ministry of Education, forcing her to work as a cleaner in a hospital
Përgatiti për botim Angela Kosta
