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Tayeb Salih

Tayeb Salih Books

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“She glanced at the knife with what seemed to me like longing. "Here's my breast bared to you," she said. "Plunge the knife in." I looked at her naked body which, though within my grasp, I did not possess. Sitting on the side of the bed, I bowed my head meekly. She placed her hand on my cheek and said in a tone that was not devoid of gentleness: "My sweet, you're not the kind of man that kills." I experienced a feeling of ignominy, loneliness, and loss. Suddenly I remembered my mother. I saw her face clearly in my mind's eye and heard her saying to me "It's your life and you're free to do with it as you will." I remembered that the news of my mother's death had reached me nine months ago and had found me drunk and in the arms of a woman. I don't recollect now which woman it was; I do, though, recollect that I felt bo sadness – it was as thought the matter was of absolutely no concern to me. I remembered this and wept from deep within my heart. I wept so much I thought I would never stop. I felt Jean embraceing me and saying things I couln't make out, though her voice was repellent to me and sent a shudder through my body I pushed her violently from me. "I hate you," I shouted at her. "I swear I'll kill you one day." In the throes of my sorrow the expression in her eyes did not escape me. They shone brightly and gave me a strange look. Was it surprise? Was it fear? Was it desire? Then, in a voice of simulated tenderness, she said: "I too, my sweet, hate you. I shall hate you until death.”

DesireLonelinessSorrowHatred
Book:Season of Migration to the North
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“I had no brothers or sisters, so life was not difficult for my mother and me. When I think back, I see her clearly with her thin lips resolutely closed, with something on her face like a mask, I don't know – a thick mask, as though her face were the surface of the sea. Do you understand? It possessed not a single colour but a multitude, appearing and disappearing and intermingling. We had no relatives. She and I acted as relatives to each other. It was as if she were some stranger on the road with whom circumstances had chanced to bring me... I used to have – you may be surprised – a warm feeling of being free, that there was not a human being, by father or mother, to tie me down as a tent peg to particular spot, a particular domain... I was not like other children of my age: I wasn't wasn't affected by anything, I didn't cry when hit, wasn't glad if the teacher praised me in class, didn't suffer from the things the rest did. I was like something rounded, made of rubber: you throw it in the water and it doesn't get wet, you throw it on the ground and it bounces back.”

MotherFreedomMysteryMaskRootlessnessInscrutability
Book:Season of Migration to the North
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“My mind was like a sharp knife, cutting with cold effectiveness, I paid no attention to the astonishment of the teachers, the admiration or envy of my schoolmates... I was busy with this wonderful machine with which I had been endowed. I was cold as a field of ice, nothing in the world could shake me... After three years the headmaster – who was an Englishman – said to me, "This country hasn't got the scope for that brain of yours, so take yourself off..." This is a fact in my life: the way chance has placed in my path people who gave me a helping hand at every stage, people for whom I had no feelings of gratitude; I used to take their help as though it were some duty they were performing for me.”

TalentGeniusIntellectEntitlement Vs Gratitude
Book:Season of Migration to the North
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“The blood of the setting sun suddenly spilled out on the western horizon like that of millions of people who have died in some violent war that has broken out between Earth and Heaven. Suddenly the war ended in defeat and all-embracing darkness descended and pervaded all four corners of the globe, wiping out the sadness and shyness that was in her eyes.”

WarEarthHeavenSunBloodSunset
Book:Season of Migration to the North
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“I want to take my rightful share of life by force, I want to give lavishly, I want love to flow from my heart, to ripen and bear fruit. There are many horizons that must be visited, fruit that must be plucked, books read, and white pages in the scrolls of life to be inscribed with vivid sentences in a bold hand.”

WantGivingHeartBookHandsForceWhiteShareBearsMy HeartPagesFlowFruitSentencesHorizonVividCarpe DiemCarpe
Book:Season of Migration to the North
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“Everyone who is educated today wants to sit at a comfortable desk under a fan and live in an air-conditioned house surrounded by a garden, coming and going in an American car as wide as the street. If we do not tear out this disease by the roots we shall have with us a bourgeoisie that is in no way connected with the reality of our life.”

IfsWayWantLifeRealityTodayHouseEducationOur LivesAirFansStreetsCarTearsDiseaseComfortableExpectationsGardenRootsConnectedWideEducatedDesksBourgeoisieAccepting RealityAmerican Cars
Book:Season of Migration to the North
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