The Expelled by Mois Benarroch Page B

you?”
    “It's just a way to connect with you.” The woman’s voice came back.
    “Oh, very well, I love making connections.”
    “So where are you from?” a slightly nervous man’s voice.
    “Where do you think I'm from, Gramática of course.”
    “And where is that?”
    “In Mesopotamia.”
    “Aha...”
    “Are you married?”
    “Like everyone else.”
    “Does this mean yes or no?”
    “That means: divorced. Or do you live on another planet?”
    “Alright, let's talk about the bus.”
    “Why did you get on that bus?”
    “Looking for love, a date in the Mediterranean. Romantic, right?”
    “With whom?”
    “With a certain Abdel Rahman el Rantisi.”
    “Where?”
    “At Al Andalus beach. At the restaurant with that same name. I think he will be gone by now, because we set a date seven years ago on a trip with my husband, when I saw him in an espadrilles shoe store in Malaga, I told him I was married, he said that changes, and we set a date for seven years later.”
    “It seems a little weird, doesn't it?”
    “Yes, but I believe weirder things have happened.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like the horse on the bus.”
    “The what?”
    “Did nobody tell you about it? There was a horse on the bus, in the front. Well, it was more like a pony, let's say it was a pony, because it took two seats. And nobody said anything since I went up in London I thought that was weird and bad luck too.”
    “Are you superstitious?” A woman's voice, coughing a little.
    “Well, a little bit, like everybody. But don't you tell me that a horse on a bus is not a little strange.”
    “Yes, very strange.”
    “And who killed the passenger who was next to you?”
    “Well, not next to me... He was in front of me sitting with my boyfriend because we couldn't find a place together, we asked him to change places, but he refused because my seat wasn't comfortable. We didn't insist. He was right.”
    “And who killed him?”
    “I don't know, I was asleep, but I think it was the horse. It was a white horse. We ate it.”
    “What?”
    “On the second day, we ate it, the front people received the best parts, but it wasn't bad, we were hungry.”
    “And the owner didn't put up a fight?”
    “The owner...? The horse itself put up a fight. It stood up against us. But we shot it. That's how it is with horses. We made a bonfire and we put it in the fire, it was full of trees, olive trees, which gave it a better flavor, according to a French butcher who knew a lot about horse meat, for me it was the first time I ate horse meat. In Gramática, we were not used to eating that meat.”
    “And were there Jews on the bus?”
    “Sure, there was a whole mix, Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Jews, and even some said that the horse was Jewish. I know very little about horse religions. And besides he was a white horse.”
    “Didn't you say black?” Woman's voice.
    “She said white.” Man's voice.
    “She said black.” Woman's voice.
    “I'm telling you she said white.” Man's voice.
    “Why does it matter?”
    “We are the ones who ask here.”
    “Alright, keep fighting then.”
    “White.”
    “Black.”
    “White.”
    “Black.”
    “White.”
    “Black.”
    “White.”
    “Black.”
    “White.”
    “Black.”
    “White.”
    “Black.”
    “White.”
    “Black.”
    “White.”
    “Black.”
    “And was the horse that good?”
    “Scrumptious.”
    “And you, Mrs. Gramática, do you really think that the horse killed Cash?”
    “Yes. After that trip, I believe anything.”
    “What else do you believe?”
    “I believe that Red Riding Hood ate the wolf, that the world is rectangular, that God exists, that my lover is waiting for me at Al Andalus, that buses have wings, that the Messiah has returned, that the world is logical, that I have seven children, that frogs are carnations and that King Arthur was gay.”
    “Anything else?”
    “That's not enough? For someone who, just a few days ago, didn't believe in