Season Of Migration To The North - Plot & Excerpts
Everything happened as it always did: the raucous whistle and the small boats from the opposite shore, the sycamore trees and the bustle on the quay of the landing-stage. Except for one great difference: I stepped ashore and Mahjoub shook me by the hand, avoiding me with his eyes; this time he was the only one who had come to meet me. He was embarrassed, as though feeling guilty about something or as though he were putting the responsibility on to me. Hardly had I shaken hands with him than I said, ‘How did you let this happen?’ ‘What has happened has happened,’ said Mahjoub, fixing the saddle of the tall black donkey which belonged to my uncle Abdul Karim. "The two boys are well and are at my place.’ I had not thought of the boys during the whole of that ghastly journey. I had been thinking of her. Again I said to Mahjoub: ‘What happened?’ He was still avoiding looking at me. He remained silent, adjusting the sheepskin cover on the saddle and tightening the girth round his donkey’s belly.
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