A Twofold Tale
Aziz Lands on Al’ard

They say that there are two sides to every story. I shall tell you herewith a twofold tale where twins take their parts in worlds parallel; in the beginning one of two twins dies, on either side of the fold ’tis the other twin who lives. This is also a tale of the flipsides of a coin with two heads and two tails which spins over and over again to no end and which lands on both sides every time, a tale of mirror images and of the two sides of the mind which are like the two sides of a veil. This tale has thus two beginnings and of due course...two endings.

Aziz is flying through a tunnel. He crosses himself in the vortex going the opposite direction and suddenly finds himself on the ground.

“You alright Ali baby?”

“Ali baby?” Aziz throws Fatima Zahra a baffled look.

He’s puzzled at why his wife Scheherazade would call him Ali, and his head hurts. They’re in a busy street. Fatima Zahra’s quick-witted and realizes what must have happened when he fell off the bike and hit his head. As she holds out her hand, she takes a risk to see if she’s understood correctly.

“Quick, Aziz, let’s get going before the snatchers catch up to us, I’ll explain everything once we’re safe at home.”

He takes her hand, and she helps him up. As he comes face to face, he’s a bit startled. “You’ve changed your hair; you should keep it this way. I like your new perfume too.” Aziz doesn’t notice that she’s not his wife.

She sees his glasses laying on the ground and picks them up. Now she knows she was right and thinks “at last I’ll get to meet the famous Aziz Elbaz. I thought this moment would never come! I’ll have some explaining to do. Hope he won’t think I’ve gone crazy, but he’ll see that we’re not on Al’bassita and then he’ll believe me. I have to connect with Scheherazade quickly! Ali must be in her world right now!” Aziz, in Ali’s body, climbs on behind and she takes off. Her long black hair flows freely and caresses his face. She’s not wearing the veil nor is she wearing the mandatory riding helmet. About 1% of the riders wear a helmet so this is normal. The police have to make a living somehow, with a baksheesh of 10 or 20 dinars each offense they do. She’s riding a Spinner, one of the small two seated type, a fast little bike. They’re in an old walled city, and in the faint light of eventide, Aziz has started to notice that it’s strikingly similar to the one in his city, but not exactly the same. He flows with the breeze as the fragrance of her perfume and the closeness of their bodies stirs him. She’s soon going fast, dodging around in the thick traffic of other motorbikes, cycles, cars, people on foot everywhere, making quick entries into alleys and side streets, avoiding the main streets where the police make controls. As she drives, Fatima Zahra speaks very rapidly as if in a hurry...

“You’ll understand soon enough Aziz, when you see our modest home that is not your luxury villa. When you see the work of Ali Elbaz, yes, that’s right, your twin brother. In this world Aziz died 33 years ago, and Ali lived, so here in this world your name’s Ali Elbaz, not Aziz, in case someone asks you. Mine’s Fatima Zahra, not Scheherazade. I’m not your wife, but I know her well, even if we’ve never met face to face. We’ve been friends since we were 11, and until today, she’s the only other person I know who’s aware of our parallel worlds. This is the planet Al’ard, and your planet Al’bassita is its twin. Look at the clothes you’re wearing, are they yours? And the Lapis Lazuli ring, and the wedding ring?”

Too many questions are racing through Aziz’s mind. He’s wondering now what she meant by “before the snatchers catch up with us”, that one’s a real mystery.

She stops in a small street in the old walled city and leads him into a modest house. They go upstairs to the living quarters, downstairs is for receiving and entertaining, that’s the same in both worlds, but Aziz doesn’t know this house. Neither Ali nor Fatima Zahra have this address listed anywhere, it belongs to an old friend of Ali’s parents.

“Here, you’ll need these.” She hands him his glasses and he puts them on. In his world, he wears glasses too, so it seems perfectly normal.

“Thanks. It’s nice to see clearly.”

“Let me see your head” He sits down, and she examines. While she’s close up, he notices a small scar on the right side of her upper lip that he hadn’t seen when she helped him up. It’s an old one. It gives a little character to her lip that he finds seductive. It’s sure, this woman is not his wife Scheherazade. “Nice little bump you got there Ali baby, or Aziz I should say...This’ll take some getting used to, I’m so used to saying Ali baby.” she winks “I’ll get you some ice for it.”

Fatima Zahra slips into the bedroom and goes to her stash. Not much left. She takes just enough to make contact with her sister in Al’bassita. The effect will take about a half an hour.

She returns with the ice wrapped in a long headscarf, and he puts it on the back of his head, tying the ends in front to hold it in place. On the table next to him is a paperback with the title “Nizam Mahfoud - The Power Behind the Throne” and the author’s name “Ali Elbaz” on the cover. There’s a large full-length portrait of Fatima Zahra on the wall facing him, an oil painting on a wood panel. “Nice work” he thinks. She’s wearing a black evening gown and she’s stunning. It’s signed Ali Elbaz, ’20. If the years are the same, it was done three years ago. For the moment he takes it for granted that the time is the same, it seems logical.

She notices him admiring the portrait and smiles “Ali promised that it would be the last portrait he would ever paint.”

“I’m not a painter, although I’ve done some painting, and I know a bit on the subject...I’m a musician, singer, actor, and producer.”

“Yes, I know all that Aziz, I’ve been to Al’bassita a few times, who doesn’t know of Aziz Elbaz? Scheherazade’s got it made! We never dared speaking to you or Ali about the parallel worlds, but now it’s good we’re here. You’d both be lost without us.”

“Do you have any instruments around? I love playing and singing, it’ll do me some good.” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“You’re not in any shape to play anything for the moment.”

“Hell if I’m not, I’ve played in worse condition!”

She goes rummaging around and comes up with a lute after a few minutes. “This has been hanging around since our last party, someone forgot it and never came back for it. It doesn’t belong to anyone I know, checked with everyone and it’s just lost I guess., now it’s yours as long as you’re here Aziz my boy. Guess we’ll have to do with it as we can ’till Ali gets back in town, if he ever does. At least I’ll get to hear Aziz Elbaz play for me, hey, my own private concert!”

Aziz has music in his head as usual as he tunes up the lute. As Ali’s fingers aren’t callused, it hurts as if he was a beginner. While he’s tuning the instrument Fatima Zahra makes tea and brings it back on a platter with cakes, dates, figs, almonds, walnuts, some other dried fruit, msemen, and honey. He starts playing one of his own compositions, improvising as always. His head still hurts but the playing helps him to collect his wits. Meanwhile he’s still pondering...

“Fatima Zahra, what did you mean about the snatchers?”

“I see how you could be confused. They don’t exist in your world, not yet anyway. They’re a new special armed force, they’re big trouble, and they’re always after us. It’s because we don’t correspond to what the new government calls “correct and upright citizens”, it’s the same for most of our close friends. Artists, writers, people of adverse beliefs to theirs, anyone who doesn’t fit in their mold. We’ve gotten organized now, we’ve formed a sort of resistance group. Sounds like old history books about fascists, doesn’t it? Ali and I are both in the media by the way. He’s an investigative journalist and I’m the CEO of an online news site. The book next to you is about the new regime, and it’s been banned. Anyway, the snatchers always hit you from a drone with a stunner, then it only takes a few minutes for them to arrive and snatch you after they stun you. When you get snatched no one ever sees you again. We’ve lost lots of friends since the force was created a couple of years ago. We don’t know if they’re alive somewhere or dead. The snatchers shot at us back there with their drone and missed. I swerved to avoid the stunner and that’s when you fell off the bike and hit your head. We managed to get away safely again this time. Apparently, they don’t know where we live as we’re not listed anywhere, but once in the open they localize us when the drones pass overhead, only in the daytime though. We’re safe outside at night, so we try to avoid the daylight and we live at night for the most part. We haven’t been able to figure out how they do it. We had stopped using our phones for a moment at first ’cause we thought that it was their means of tracking but they kept finding us anyway so we went back to using them...I wonder what would have happened to my Ali baby on your side of the tale had you gotten snatched here? I never thought about that ’till now. I have to connect with Scheherazade quickly; Ali will be in your body now on Al’bassita. Your music is wonderful by the way Aziz my boy, but that’s not news.”

Aziz has continued to play softly while listening to her incredible story. “When am I going to wake up? This is turning into a nightmare. Head hurts, fingertips hurt, Ali’s fingers are so soft.” He puts down the lute and she pours the tea.

“Are these your own cakes? They’re delicious.”

“Aren’t they! Doesn’t Scheherazade make you cakes?” she winks.

They drink their tea and Aziz follows Fatima Zahra to the bedroom. She motions to the bathroom “I’m sure you’ll want a shower, there’s everything you need.” When he comes out with a towel wrapped around his waist, she’s laid out a jabador on the bed. “Hey, that’s what I wear to bed too!” he smiles.

She goes to shower and when she comes out, he’s in bed.

“Aziz, I have to tell you something. I have a big appetite, and even if your mind isn’t Ali, your body is.”

Without a word he lets desire take the helm, and he can’t resist softly nibbling the little scar on her lip.

Playtime is over for the moment, Aziz is fast asleep and Fatima Zahra’s head rests on Ali’s chest, as usual. She hears a ringing in her ear, it’s her sister calling. A half hour later they connect and update each other about what’s happening in their respective worlds.

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