Hussein Dey Horizons
"Malika repairs watches in Hussein Dey. When Swiss horologist Kurt arrives studying traditional timekeeping, she shows him that some things tick beyond mechanisms. 'El waqt ma yetqasemch' (الوقت ما يتقسمش) - Time isn't divided."
Hussein Dey moved to its own time. Malika measured it differently.
"Watch repair specialist?" Kurt confirmed.
"Machi repair." Not repair. "Raf'qa."
Companionship.
Her shop held clocks from Ottoman to modern—each ticking its own truth.
"You use traditional methods?"
"El waqt ma y'arefch method."
"Time doesn't know method?"
"El waqt y'aref bass el waqt."
She was substantial—fingers precise despite thickness, eyes that read microseconds.
"How do you calibrate?"
"Ma ncalibrich."
"Every watch needs calibration."
"El waqt ma yetqasemch."
Days watching taught him. Kurt saw her coax watches back—not through tools but through listening.
"That shouldn't work."
"El sa'a qaltli wach yhtaj."
"The watch told you?"
"Koul sa'a tehki."
"What do watches say?"
"Yqoulou el waqt elli fat, el waqt elli yji, el waqt elli hna."
Night brought stopped watches—timepieces that measured nothing, waiting.
"Hadi weqfet mnin?"
"Mn el istiklal." Since independence.
"Sixty years?"
"El waqt ystenna."
"Malika..."
"El sa'a qaltli."
"The watch told you?"
"Tqoul your time stopped too."
She kissed him between ticks.
"Hada..."
"El waqt el jadid."
She undressed in timeless space, her curves eternal.
"Mein Gott," he breathed.
"El waqt," she said. "Ana el waqt."
He studied her like studying movements—finding rhythm, understanding beats.
"Kurt," she moaned.
"Hna." He found her escapement. "El haraka."
She ticked beneath him, pleasure mechanical and organic.
"Dkhol," she gasped. "El sa'a."
He entered her time, and understood what horology meant.
"El waqt ma yetqasemch," she cried.
"N'aref tawa."
Their rhythm was clockwork—regular, building, releasing.
"Qrib," she warned.
"M'aya." He ticked into her. "El waqt ma yetqasemch."
They chimed together, pleasure timed. Kurt held her through the unwinding.
"El research?" she asked.
"Different time."
"Wach hada?"
"Your time. Mine. Together."
His papers transformed horology—mechanical time versus lived time, precision versus meaning.
"El approach?" Swiss asked.
"El waqt ma yetqasemch."
Now he repairs beside her, learning what factories miss.
"El horologist w el sa'atiya," they say.
"El waqt jab'na," Malika smiles.
"El waqt ykhallina," Kurt adds.
Some time tells itself.