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The Holy Prostitute

BY SALWA YEHIA AL-ERYANI

This is not an opinion, but rather a tragic fact. She is a very beautiful, innocent, fascinating, pure and charming lady. A woman can be an innocent virgin, a fertile land, a clean personality, a blessed creativity, a scented breeze of heaven, a magical smile, a spell of endless love, a gift of loyalty, a flying witch spreading in the space pinches of precious dreams coming true, a stream of dear lives and a long queue of martyrs. And at the same time she can be viewed, considered as a prostitute! This can occur when she is surrounded by wolfish, wild males instead of loving, protective and caring males.

When anyone sees her long thick eye lashes, he admires her beauty which is unique because it belongs to no other female except her. Even if the population were 25 million, not two of them would disagree about how gorgeous she is. Is she a victim? She definitely is! She is burdened by her men, they are a sin! What is the difference between her and any other respected, educated woman on this earth? However, there is a huge gap between her and all the others. Her men were wolves who hid desires to snatch and snap. The rest of the women were pampered by men who always offered, patted, cared and clapped. She was to her followers a merely vanishing desire and the rest of the women were loved for their souls and valuable existence. Her males adore her shining locks of hair, her pink cheeks, her mouth, her eyes and even her beautiful chin. They never felt in her the “human” inside. They all made all their efforts to win her. They wanted to touch the tip of her naked toes. As soon as they got what they wanted from her, they would leave without even waving or saying bye-bye. They leave her and never remember her again. They leave her and what kills her most is the fact that no one has ever asked her who she was or what her name was. Every time a man visits her green chest, he leaves her paler and weaker. All men pack up and leave. None of them stay. They all deposit, or run away and no one pays! Shame on them! They call themselves men. That is a mock I say!! They never pat on her back. They never apologize. They never thank her. Each man when he enters her room sips a little of her youth. They drank even her running tears. They blocked their ears. They hated hearing any screams of fear. They wanted to gain and stuff inside their sacs some of her belongings. Lady, these are you men. They are selfish and dead. She wasn’t strong enough to fight for her wealth, youth and beauty. In every masculine face she searched deep inside the features for a true love. She heard of other women whom their males sacrifice…but for her it was a word she doesn’t have the definition for. Life is a number of rounds. She has never been a boxer to defend herself, and she will never be. Can’t these men of hers understand how much she strives for their support, why can’t they even see? She wants them to give her and not take. She loses, they gain. They leave with pleasure, she writhes in pain. Why doesn’t anyone in all this population love her?

I knocked her door. I heard her sniffing. Her breathing was continuous sighs which sounded like a storm. I then heard her say: ”Hey, nobody is here! Go away. I’m exhausted!”   Her response split my heart with a lancet. Sympathy poured in my soul towards her. You feel sorry only for someone you love. I said, “Allow me to enter. I won’t harm you. I just want to speak with you.” She opened the door just enough space for me to squeeze myself in. She was behind the door. I longed to see her, face to face, and examine her beauty. However, I was terrified when I saw her. My palm automatically slapped my cheek and I mumbled:” Oh, my God!” She bit her lip feeling ashamed. She reminded me of all those gorgeous movie stars and how depressed they feel when they start to get old. She isn’t old though, but I know she was consumed badly. I sat down in a dark corner. She glued her back to the wall and her nails were scratching it. I came closer to her and said, ”I won’t touch you. I will never hurt you. I feel sorry for you.” She slid her back down the wall and sat on the floor. I came closer to her. I asked her, “Those men are thieves, since when were thieves kind to those who they robbed? Why didn’t you take your precautions? Why did you let go? Why didn’t you resist that filthy gang?” Again she sniffed. I heard her reply very weakly,” I had and still have no weapons. I had no guards. I had no father, no brothers, not even sons. I was only a single, armless woman, how can I face claws and canines?” Her answer sealed my mouth. Actually she is right. It is men who build, who cultivate, who can be soldiers and defenders. It is men, who she unfortunately lacks for, and that is because she has no one but wolves tracking when to attack! It is men who make a desert become a garden. It is men who make an obstacle disappear. It is men who implement plans. It is men, and she is guilty because her men made her become a prostitute. It is men whom her share of them was thieves and wolves and rascals.

I felt her injury bleeding in me. I, myself, had no support to provide her, no hand to hand her and nothing whatsoever to help her out. So, I turned around intending to leave. She yelled, “Everyone leaves me without even asking me what my name is!” I smiled and replied, “I know your name my dear. You are Yemen! A piece of heaven but your men are roosters and made you become a hen …….
 

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