Arazeel Rains
This is absolute hell, shouted Hajj Salem, the foreman, as he glanced over the half wall, that ran round the roof, and out along the road.
I looked at the heavy black smoke rising from the little old concrete mixer we had placed on the roof of the house, then the first floor, in the midst of sand, cement and heaps of gravel. Its sound was deafening.
The concrete-filled metal bowls were moving from hand to hand along a human conveyor belt consisting of 15 workers from the mixer to the wooden template of the second floor slab.
The workers' clothes were soaked in their sweat. They ran whenever they could to drink some water from the cool box.
I looked at the sky; the clouds were gathering like something was boiling.
Me: I've never seen anything like that before, heavy clouds in the middle of July! It must be more than 50° C. You are right, we are in hell.
Hajj Salem: Baghdad’s summer is hot and dry but now it’s humid most of the summer days. It rarely rains and then only for a few minutes in a small area, not on a big city like Baghdad. I’m 70 years old now but I never saw such weather. Yes, it's some kind of hell but that’s not what I meant. I was talking about the unofficial curfew imposed on this neighbourhood by the terrorists. Thank God we are not living here.
Me: Don’t worry. They may hear the sound of the mixer but they won't find it. They’re not smart enough to realise that we put our mixer on the first floor. They will keep searching the roads. Besides, I hired someone just to watch the road and warn us in case of danger.
Hajj Salem turned towards me, then looked upward. His lips were very pale.
Me: Do you know why that is happening? I mean the changing weather.
Him: Why?
Me, pointing at the mixer's heavy smoke: Because of the exhaust gases released from the cars, machines, factories and so on.
Him: You are an engineer and you may read such scientific things. You know I can’t read, but even so, I don’t think so. I think God is angry with mankind. We are being punished for our evil. I mean people like those terrorists, for example.
I thought he wasn’t wrong at all; the barbarity is the same whether it's against the human soul or nature. They are both God's creatures.
The watchman jumped suddenly onto the roof and stopped the mixer's engine.
A car is hovering: he whispered.
We gathered together and peeked out. The car was moving slowly. It stopped awhile then left.
Me: Like I told you, they are pure idiots.
Him: I think we are too because we took work in such a dangerous place. Death by hunger at home is better than looking into their ugly faces. He spat towards them.
I looked up; the sky was totally covered with thick clouds.
Me: Give your workers the order to mix manually. The slab is almost finished. I will raise their wages.
Not long after, a dust storm hit us. Hajj was on the slab template rendering the concrete surface. He reared his dusty head, looked at me and said: We were missing that. By the way, did you read about the reason behind these dust storms which started recently to be the essential feature of summer?
Me: The same reason. It’s the greatest danger facing the globe now.
Him: Well, give me life today and take it tomorrow. If you get me home alive, I will change the gas filter on my mixer, I promise.
The yellow, dust-filled raindrops started to fall after the workers finished pouring the slab. Their muddy faces were still able to smile, to laugh.
Him, looking at his soiled shirt: A long time ago, before any of you had been born, when life was simple, people were kind, taking care of each other. The summer rain was lovely, spraying the soil and refreshing the people. We used to call it The Arazeel Rains. But now we only deserve mud on our heads. The summer rain only suits this concrete slab, to cure it. My dear son, don’t talk about the insects and forget the camels; don’t mention my mixer and forget the weapons factories, the high chimneys, or the rich people who only care for their pockets.
The watchman suddenly jumped up again.
Shush, he said. They've come back.
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