Description
"I still think about Mahbube. The car door is open. With the wheel cross in hand, I set about unscrewing the wheel. A group of women in triangular headscarves walk past me, howling in lamentation. Some who are not howling and wailing stare at me in amazement. I step on the wheel spider with my foot to make it turn and loosen the nuts. My back hurts. Some young guys are leaning against trees and laughing up their sleeves. One says: I'll give you my number. Call if you need help.
Another says: If you promise to take me home, I'll screw it off you.
I hit the next punch so hard that my back hurts even more. And that the jack falls out from under the car. Only now does it occur to me that I should have loosened the nuts first. The laughter of the young guys now draws the attention of the few who hadn't noticed me before. For a moment I have the feeling that I am not in a cemetery but at a performance. A performance for which the spirit of my father, who is buried not far from here, also sticks his head out of the grave and watches me. The day I became a taxi driver, my mother said: Within four years you will regret it. When no man gets involved with you."
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