E-Book, Englisch, 192 Seiten
Hamed The Cinderellas of Muscat
1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-1-913043-46-9
Verlag: Banipal Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)
E-Book, Englisch, 192 Seiten
ISBN: 978-1-913043-46-9
Verlag: Banipal Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)
Huda Hamed is an Omani writer and journalist, born in Rustaq, Oman, in 1981. She has a degree in Arabic literature from Aleppo University, Syria, and has published five collections of short stories and four novels. Her debut novel was Al-Ashia' Laysat fi Amakiniha (2009, Things are Not in Their Place), which received the award of best novel in Oman for 2009, and was excerpted in Banipal 44, 2012. Her next, Allati Ta'udu al-Salalim (2014, Who Counts the Stairs), was published, in English translation by Nadine Sinno and William Taggart, as I Saw Her in My Dreams (Emerging Voices from the Middle East, Texas University Press) in 2023. Then came this book Sanderillat Masqat (2016, The Cinderellas of Muscat), and Assamina (2019, Our Names). The short story collections include Namima Maliha (2006, Salty Gossip), Laysa bil-dhabt kama Ureed (2009, Not exactly as I want), and Al-Isharah Bourtuqaliya al-Ann (2013, The Traffic Lights are Amber Now). Huda Hamed is currently editor-in-chief of Oman's quarterly cultural magazine Niswa, based in Muscat.
Weitere Infos & Material
Just then, the head chef took off his apron and walked out of the kitchen. This time, he wasn’t wearing the bright white shirt with the wide collar and red cravat. He was wearing a yellow T-shirt that revealed his chest and arm muscles, and a pair of grey jeans. He seemed taller than they had previously thought, and his hair, unusually for him, wasn’t under his regulation hair net, but was tied back with a ribbon, something that made him look ten years younger. In fact, the light wrinkles beneath his eyes couldn’t conceal the captivating green of his eyes, and his untrimmed, haphazard beard added some gravity and dignity to his unexpected departure.
He walked past the patrons, not sure if anyone would pay any attention to his absence that night, even though the manager was in no position to try and stop him when he laid his letter of resignation on his desk. But Rayya’s eye couldn’t ignore that unnatural scene. She yelled out as the Cinderellas were beginning their overlapping conversation and laughter, “Look! Someone ruining our night.”
And so it was that the Cinderellas grew silent, so they could observe this unforeseen problem.
Rabi’a said angrily: “Nothing like that can happen tonight. It’s our night.”
People would never have thought that a minor event like that could stir up all that turmoil.
Fathiyya said, “Hey, chef …”
At that the chef came to a halt and turned round, his face dark with grief. He walked over to them, stopping just outside the enormous ring of light encircling them.
“This the first time anyone’s done something like this,” Nawf said. “Everyone knows the rules for tonight. You can leave tomorrow or the day after, but there’s no need to do this tonight.”
He shrugged his shoulders helplessly: “There’s no reason for me to stay here any longer.”
Alya expressed some sympathy: “What makes you say something like that? Look at the people around you. They’re happy tonight, on our night. They’ve been waiting eagerly for it, to wash away their misery, their despair, their feelings of disgust.”
Rayya stood up in alarm: “Now I remember. This head chef is the only person on our nights who stays miserable. I don’t ever recall seeing this man happy on one of our nights.”
“My God,” Tahani whispered, “That means our magic doesn’t work on him!”
The hubbub of overlapping chatter returned among the Cinderellas. “Why don’t we invite him to our table?” Sara asked. They all shouted at her, talking over each other, “Are you crazy? We’ve never allowed that before.”
At that moment, the head chef made his indifference clear by turning his back on them and heading towards the exit. With a nervousness that was inappropriate for that night, Nawf said, “He’s miserable. Nothing makes him happy. I wish we could talk to him.”
At that, they all fell silent until Rayya raised her voice: “Hey, chef … Can you please join us? There’s an empty seat here.”
The head chef turned, surprised, and tried to find something appropriate to say, since an offer like that had never been made in the entire history of the Cinderellas. Even the stupefied customers there were struck with a frisson of surprise when lo and behold the head chef replied, “But how can I pass through this enormous ring of light?”
Rabi’a smiled: “You have only to walk towards it to find yourself inside it.”
But before the head chef had taken a single step, he took a deep breath and reverted to his feelings of despair, saying, “It won’t make me change my mind. But there’s no harm in joining you.”
And so he walked forward and found himself pulling up a chair next to the Cinderellas. He was suddenly detached from the world, secluded as he was with them and their perfumes, which could be the only reason for the fascination he was feeling.
“In any case, it certainly doesn’t mean we are run-of-the-mill Cinderellas looking for a prince,” said Rayya. “Even if your surprisingly handsome looks are apparent to us.”
He raised his hand to deny that was what he wanted: “Of course, I’m not a prince,” he said, “and it wouldn’t be right for me. I’m just a chef. The thing that brought the most joy to my soul was being a chef who knew the secrets of cooking and of master chefs. But now all I am is frustrated.”
“Frustrated?” shouted Sara. “Are you joking? No one can feel frustrated on our night. You’re crazy.”
He pressed his thumb and forefinger against his forehead, saying: “I’ve felt very frustrated before on a night just like this – the night my failure revealed itself.”
Nawf hurried to interject, “I would never have thought such words could be used on a night like this.”
Alya added, “What do you all think about us giving him a chance to talk?”
A frown appeared on Rayya’s face. “We don’t want to throw open the doors to frustrated people like him,” she said. “I wish he would just leave.”
Fathiyya crossed her arms and declared, “His departure tonight will cause big confusion. Tomorrow or the day after, people will talk, and that’s not something we’re accustomed to. What if we let him speak, Rayya?”
The head chef sensed there was a lot of deliberation taking place not far from where he was sitting, before Tahani surprised him by saying: “OK, chef, we’ll give you some of our time. Speak, and tell us why you’re frustrated.”
The head chef interlaced his fingers. “All right. I haven’t prepared a speech. But in fact I am frustrated because of you, all of you.”
“Because of us?” they shouted, this time in chorus.
“My whole life,” he went on, “I only wanted to be an outstanding chef. Ever since I was a little boy, I’ve lived in the kitchen. It was the laboratory for the first experiments in my life. I would practice and practice, with a zeal none of you can imagine. The first books I ever got in my life were about cooking. The first trip I ever took was to participate in a cooking contest. And the first kiss I ever had was near the kitchen, when a girl, a friend of my mother’s, asked me if we could eat some of the dessert I had made for her. We each took hold of one side of the dessert, and we didn’t stop eating it until my lips met hers and the fresh cream melted between us.
“After years of experience and studying and working in various kitchens around the world, I ended up here, in a restaurant people for a long time have been calling ‘Chef Ramon’s Restaurant’. That has been enough to give my life meaning. In the morning, I chop all the fresh food and I can feel people’s affection for me. But you have stolen everything from me. Even the name of the restaurant – it’s now ‘The Cinderellas’ Restaurant’, instead of ‘Chef Ramon’s’.
“Most of all, I can no longer forgive myself. The rule I’ve followed about measurements has been shattered. How long will it take me to believe that cooking is not about measuring cups and standard amounts! I’m certain that the tales about a chef having a ‘personal touch’ are a big lie. But on the other hand, I see people fall into a charmed state of pleasure thanks to the aromas of your dishes.”
A loud laugh burst out of Fathiyya: “Can this nonsense be the reason why you’re so unhappy?”
Chef Ramon took a deep breath: “You think this is nonsense? It’s driving me to pack my bags and leave Muscat.”
He was about to stand up when Sara, sitting next to him, took him by the hand: “Maybe you won’t do that tonight.”
“Actually, I’ll do it right now,” he replied with determination, getting up.
Rayya interjected, with her usual dignified bearing: “Chef Ramon, please tell us … what will dissuade you from taking this decision?”
Ramon withdrew his hand from Sara’s, and said: “Absolutely nothing. Deep down inside, I am defeated, and I shouldn’t lay any blame at your feet.”
Rayya repeated her question: “If we tell you our secret, would you mind not ruining tonight by leaving?”
The request led to a long moment of silence. People outside the ring of light seemed to be quivering with a curiosity deep inside them, too.
Chef Ramon sat down and took a big gulp from the glass of water directly in front of him. “In any case,” he said, “my plane leaves tomorrow at dawn so I think I have enough time to listen.”
The Cinderellas seemed extremely nervous, as they could scarcely know for sure what Rayya might say right then. But Rayya didn’t say a thing. She continued to think, while Chef Ramon hastened to add, “Ma’am, I know what you might tell me. People talked about it quite a bit, and I can summarize it for you in a nutshell: I don’t believe at all in jinn.”
At this the Cinderellas collectively burst out into hysterical laughter. The table shook a little, and Chef Ramon noticed that the way the spoons and forks were moving was not natural. Ramon couldn’t believe his eyes when, right after the laughter, the water glasses levitated a few centimetres off the table without a single...
