In Praise of Three Spotted Hyenas—A Novel—(Part Two)
The three spotted hyenas are not much to look at. In fact, they are quite hideous: dirty, uncouth, degenerate. They are also pathologically monolingual. And if Allāt is the devil incarnate: a jejune brunette, a femme-bête qui aime faire la bête, a connasse who looks like a Gorgon; al-Uzzā is an hypochondriaque to boot, a mediocre actress who uses her migraine to seek pity during departmental meetings, a kind of virgin iron pants without the virginity, a fausse bourgeoise; in fine, a vulgar hypocrite who resembles an Egyptian vulture, especially when she walks or laughs. As to Manāt, all that can be said about her is that she is a cold-blooded brown-haired monster, a frigid nun with lips like Marilyn Monroe’s and eyes like Caligula’s; in sum, an Al Capone in a skirt. None of the three spotted hyenas is be trusted, of course. After all, how can one depend on spotted hyenas for honor, civility or decency or sense for that matter.
À suivre…