A Twofold Tale
Ali Lands on Al’bassita

“Get your ass up! We’re bringing you in!”

As Ali’s regaining consciousness, two riot police in full gear jerk him to his feet and push him towards the police van, another blow of a blackjack slams into his back as they push him in the van, already loaded with protestors. “Head hurts. What in the Hell???? This some kinda déjà vu?” The last thing he knew he’d just fallen off the backseat of the Spinner when Fatima Zahra swerved to dodge the shot of a Snatchers’ stunner. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and had blacked out when he hit the ground. He remembers flying through a vortex where he crossed paths with himself before coming to and hearing the police. He hurts all over, he’s been beaten to a pulp. This has already happened to him before, but everything is a bit different. As the van speeds away, sirens blazing, he tries to fathom what’s happening. “The snatchers must have hit us, but what happened to Fatima Zahra? I hope she got away.” This seems logical but he has an uncomfortable feeling that something is amiss. One of the protestors in the van smiles at him “Don’t worry, when they find out who you are you’ll be out in no time. And with excuses please! I can imagine the headlines now: ‘Aziz Elbaz beaten by riot police!’ It’ll be good for the cause anyway. You can probably sue them if you can’t play your next concert!”

Ali’s keen, and his mind is racing “Aziz? My twin brother? This is too much. He died 33 years ago! And what’s this about playing a concert?” He smiles back and doesn’t say a word. “I wish I knew what happened to my love.” The thought of not ever seeing Fatima Zahra again hurt a lot worse than his bruises. He wipes some blood off his face with his left hand and is taken aback by the roughness of his fingertips. “Oh My God! This aren’t my fingers; these are the fingers of a guitarist! And this rock, I could never afford it!” He just now realizes that he’s never seen the clothes he’s wearing, even though they’re just black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. He discovers a pair of glasses in a soft case tucked into his left inner chest pocket. He tries them on, and the prescription is correct. He checks the ID in the wallet in the right chest pocket. “I’m in Aziz’s body!”

Arriving at the police station, all of the protesters are herded in, then they’re lined up to take their belongings before putting them in cells. When Ali’s turn comes at the desk, they have him empty his pockets. The officer takes his wallet and opens it up for the ID. He looks at Ali in surprise “It’s really you! I didn’t recognize you with blood all over your face!” then he yells out to the other officers “Hey guys! You won’t believe it! It’s Aziz Elbaz! We’ll need the royal suite! Look at the rock on his finger!” His cynical laugh peals throughout the station and everyone stares at them in disbelief. He turns back to Ali “Well, my boy, you got yourself into this one. What were you doing in the demonstration anyway? You shoulda’ been home in your villa like a good little boy. There ain’t no royal suite in this here hotel.” Ali doesn’t answer. He has no idea what’s going on. “Better just keep my mouth shut for the moment. If the government here is as fascist as the one at home things could get bad.” He watches as his things go into a sac and then into a box after listing the contents. He’s taken to an overcrowded cell. The men and women are separated into different cells on opposite wings of the station. “How about a song for us Aziz!” shouts one of the men, and all the others start chanting in unison “A song! A song! A song!”

Ali reflects, he doesn’t know the songs that Aziz is famous for singing…so he decides to sing a song he wrote for the resistance movement in his world. He doesn’t yet know what the demonstration was about on this planet, but the lyrics are vague enough to encompass any protest. It’s based on an old Blues tune, and even if he’s not a professional, he can sing well enough. When he starts to sing, he’s surprised at the vocal quality of his voice, fine-tuned by years of daily practice.

“You may be high, you may be low, you may be rich child, you may be poor.

Come along, get ready, you gotta move.

In the sky above and down here below,

Somethin’s a happenin’ and you oughta know.

Come along, get ready, we gotta move.”

He urges his fellow cellmates to join in and they all sing with him, repeating each stanza after him in unison. They do three more verses, and when they all finish a huge cheer goes up for him. The police show up and bang their nightsticks on the bars, ordering everyone to shut up.

It’s the night of the summer solstice, and Scheherazade is walking the streets with Aziz. There’s a demonstration to protest censoring and the suppression of free speech happening. The couple gets separated when the riot police show up and people are running everywhere. They start beating people at random and she witnesses Aziz being pummeled and then being shoved into the police van. She has no idea that he’s switched places with Ali, and the only way she knows to switch with Fatima Zahra is with the mushrooms, so she can’t imagine that a knock on the head could have done it. What’s particular about this knock on the head is that it happened at the exact same time as Ali’s in the other world, down to the trillionth of a second. It was time for their destinies to intertwine.

Once out of danger of being picked up by the police, who have invaded the whole area around the protest march, Scheherazade searches and calls a number straight away. Mr. Yasser Tabet, the Minister of Culture. Even if the new regime has undermined most of his power, he still wields enough influence to get Aziz out of jail in no time.

“Al Salam Alaykoum.”

“Wa Alaykoum Salam Si Yasser, it’s Scheherazade Bellali. The police have arrested Aziz!”

“Calm down my dear, we’ll take care of this. What was he arrested for? Is it serious?”

“We were downtown. There was a demonstration against the recent abusive censoring of the media and entertainment. The riot police showed up and started beating people. Aziz got beaten up and was taken to jail. He really took a licking. His head was bleeding badly. We need to get him to a clinic!”

“What a mess. Don’t worry. I’ll get him out. It’s the least I can do for the son of my old friend Abdelkader. It’ll only take a phone call to the Ministry of the Interior. Where are you now my dear?”

“I’m with friends, we’re in the Café Al Moustakbal in the administrative quarter.”

“Sit tight, I’ll call you right back as soon as I’ve arranged his release.”

“Thank you so much Si Yasser.”

“No need to thank me Scheherazade.”

As she speaks with Yasser Tabet, Scheherazade hears a ringing in her ear. It’s her sister calling, but it’ll have to wait, because she doesn’t have any mushrooms with her.

An officer comes to the cell where Ali is being held. “Aziz Elbaz, come with me, you’re free.” He opens the door and Ali follows him. A cheer resounds boisterously from the cell. “Aziz! Aziz! Aziz! Aziz Elbaz!” They give him back his possessions, including his phone, and he signs an affidavit saying that he’s received everything that they’d taken. Yasser Tabet himself is standing in the reception area of the station to receive him with Scheherazade by his side and a black limousine is waiting outside.

“Al Salam Alaykoum Si Aziz.”

“My love! Are you alright?” S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Ali recognizes the likeness of Fatima Zahra’s face but doesn’t know either of the two people standing in front of him, so he has to wing it without using any names. “I’m fine darling, Alaykoum Salam my friend.”

“It’s fortunate for you that you have friends, or you wouldn’t be walking free right now my dear boy. Come on along, let’s get you to a doctor.”

“Oh, my poor baby Aziz! They really worked you over! And we have a concert tomorrow evening!”

As they step out the door of the police station they’re met with the flashes of cameras. Someone in the station has tipped off the reporters. They scramble into the limousine and the chauffeur takes them to a private clinic just a few minutes’ drive away.

After a thorough examination they are reassured that he doesn’t have any serious damage, like a concussion or a brain hemorrhage, Mr. Tabet drops them off at their Villa.

As soon as Ali is sleeping, Scheherazade nibbles a bit of mushroom to signal to Fatima Zahra that she can talk. She waits about a half an hour until Fatima Zahra responds.

“Raza, it’s happened. Aziz is here with me in Ali’s body! I can’t explain it, it happened when Ali fell off the spinner and bumped his head, so my Ali must be with you!”

“Aziz took a beating by the riot police, his head was all bloody, he’s bruised everywhere. He’s OK though. He’s sleeping. He didn’t say anything, he acted like everything was normal. I didn’t think for a second it could be Ali.”

“Hey girl, put yourself in his place! Would you say anything? As soon as he wakes up, you’ll have to explain everything to him. I already explained everything to Aziz. You know what? That must have shaken him up. He got beat up by the riot police two years ago at a free speech demonstration. Raza?”

“Yeah Fati?”

“How much magic shrooms you got?”

“Just a bit.”

“Yeah, me too. Not enough for a switch cause they’re old and dry. So…”

“So, the guys are stuck where they are until we can get some fresh ones, and the harvest time is four months away.”

“Don’t worry Raza. We’ll have to keep in touch. I made love to him, you know, it’s alright, you’re not mad, are you? I still love my Ali, I’m sure he’ll understand, it was his body, after all.”

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