Track Changes. Sayed Kashua
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Let It Be Morning
Dancing Arabs
Second Person Singular
Native
TRACK CHANGES
SAYED KASHUA
TRANSLATED FROM THE HEBREW
BY MITCH GINSBURG
Copyright © 2020 by Sayed Kashua
Cover artwork by Olaf Hajek
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Scanning, uploading, and electronic distribution of this book or the facilitation of such without the permission of the publisher is prohibited. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. Any member of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use, or anthology, should send inquiries to Grove Atlantic, 154 West 14th Street, New York, NY 10011 or [email protected].
FIRST EDITION
Published simultaneously in CanadaPrinted in the United States of America
First Grove Atlantic edition: January 2020
This book is set in 12-point Cochin LT
by Alpha Design & Composition of Pittsfield, NH
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is available for this title.
ISBN 978-0-8021-4789-9
eISBN 978-0-8021-4790-5
Grove Press
an imprint of Grove Atlantic
154 West 14th Street
New York, NY 10011
Distributed by Publishers Group West
groveatlantic.com
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Table of Contents
Also by Sayed Kashua
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter One
Postscript/Arabic Chapter
In the living room of a grad school dorm, I sat at a computer and stared at an old Sony tape player. It was the kind we used to call an executive recorder, and it was top-of-the-line when I bought it twenty years ago. I was so impressed with the name of the thing back then that I felt sure that my future—in management’s top tier—was guaranteed. The recorder takes standard-size cassettes and has an external mic, three black buttons, and one red one for recording. I opened it gingerly with two fingers, making sure the tape was not tangled, and pulled out the ninety-minute Maxell cassette, B-side up. It was new, the plastic wrapping torn off just two months ago. I had known, already then, that I couldn’t afford to take any chances, that it had to be a new cassette. Judging by the amount of magnetic tape spooled around the two white wheels, I had about sixty minutes of recording. I flipped the cassette, so that the A-side was up, peering at me through the clear deck window, and hit Rewind. The click of the black button, which popped up and stood even with the rest, informed me that I’d reached the beginning of the story.
For some reason this story starts at a bar in Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport.
The bartender was pretty, and I was unable to guess where she was from. Not too dark, not too white. She must have been one of those people who can check