Status Updates From ثلاث نساء قديرات

It made him [Djibril, Rudy’s son] look so much like Fanta whenever she dropped er mask of indifference and revealed what she commonly elt-anxiety and incomprehension—-about her husband and their ife in France…

Is the buzzard real?

Turning his head gingerly he looked at the calm, watchful buzzard perched at the top of one of the trees.

Frozen with terror he forgot to embrace Djibril. His arms hung stiffly and awkwardly down his sides.

He simply didn't wish to be good at the job.

It had seemed to him that his stubbornness was a bulwark against the complete disintegration of the erudition acquired in his former life: those arcane, those subtle bits of knowledge that he'd not had the strength, courage, or desire to cultivate and sustain and that were gradually losing their preciseness and substance.

Oh, dear, forsaken Rudy Descas — somehow reminds me of a contemporary Meursault …

It was at that point, perhaps, as he was offering Madame Menotti reassurances in the middle of the night, that he, for the first time-certainly never before so acutely and painfullythat he got the full measure of his world's collapse.