She loomed in the doorway. Wait a minute. We’ll open a bottle and drink it together. She smiled and disappeared.
We’ve really begun a game of love, I said to myself. The present situation here in the shack made me think of the morning long ago when the owner of the pear tree in Aïn Ketiout had shut me into his storeroom. But I also saw differences. At least I am free now to decide whether to stay or leave, even though leaving would mean breaking down the door.
I rose and stood on the divan, leaning out of the window and looking down at the sea below. The sky was cloudy and the water was rough. A few ships, both large and small, were going by. She came up and stood behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders.
What are you looking at? she murmured. I could feel the heat of her breath in my ear. Have I become her lover? Poverty and love go together. What a world!
I’m looking at the ocean. I’ve never been on a ship in my life, have you?
Who, me? Ask me instead if I’ve ever been outside Tangier. I’ve never been anywhere at all, either by land or water.
You’ve never been out of Tangier?
Never! Why would I? Where would I go? Who would I go with? I’ve got a feeling that if I should leave Tangier I’d never come back. Never! No, I’d never come back.
Why not?
I don’t know.
I turned to face her, and her eyes opened very wide, as if she were going to say: Isn’t that the right answer?
I could not go on looking at her, and I let my gaze drop. This girl was beginning to worry me. I looked at the door instead. Then she too turned towards the door, and said again: What are you looking at?
I’m looking at the door.
Why? What’s wrong with it?
Nothing.
What are you thinking about? You’re thinking of something.
I’m thinking of the door, I said.
What’s the matter with the door?
I don’t like to be locked in.
We sat down. She had put two glasses and a bottle of wine on the taifor.
It used to bother me to have somebody turn the key on me, but I’ve got used to it. She smiled.
I’m not used to it, I said. And I don’t want to get used to it, either. I might as well be in jail.
I was thinking that in the face of that locked door we were equally powerless, she and I. She’s Qaabil’s girl. And I’m his cargador, but one he still doesn’t trust. The idea came to me to go over and break down the door, but that would ruin everything: my friendship with el Kebdani, my affair with Sallafa, and the possibility of working for Qaabil and perhaps becoming as trusted a cargador as el Kebdani.
What are you thinking about? That’s enough thinking! Open the bottle.
I picked up the corkscrew.
I’ve got something to say to you, she went on.
I looked at her. What’s that?
Why don’t we leave Tangier? Run away together?
I looked harder at her. Where to?
Anywhere. Casablanca, for instance.
I thought of saying: What about your hair and eyebrows? But I was afraid of hurting her, so I said: And what would we do there?
Anything. All sorts of things.
I opened the bottle.
I’m not a skilled worker in anything, I said. And what would you do in a place like Casablanca?
I can do any kind of work, she declared.
I filled both glasses.
I could work as a maid with a French family, for instance. I have a friend named Fadila. She went to Casablanca. And in no time at all she found a job with a French family.
At this point I remembered what el Kebdani had told me the night before about how Sallafa became whenever she was separated from Bouchra. What about Bouchra? I asked her.
Oh, she’ll go with us too.
Is this girl out of her mind? I thought.
I see, I said brusquely.
She’s all right, objected Sallafa. What’s the matter with her? Don’t you think she’s all right?
I stared at her.
I didn’t say anything against her. I just asked you.
You don’t know her yet, she told me. When you get to know her, she’ll be just like your sister.
The way she is for you, I said to myself. I passed one of the glasses to her. She took it, and then held it out to my lips for me to drink from. At the same time, she directed the glass I held in my hands to her own lips. We drank slowly, our arms hooked. If I had broken down the door and gone out, I should not have had the pleasure of this moment. Never before had I drunk in this fashion with anyone. The expression in her half-closed eyes, plus a slight movement which she made towards me, said clearly that she wanted my lips. She began to give me, little by little, all the wine that was in her mouth. That also was something I had not experienced before. I am discovering all kinds of new things. This time it was I who led her into the bedroom.
We were already back in the sala when I heard the key turn in the lock. Farid el Atrache was singing: When will you return, love of my soul? Sallafa had been sitting pensively, listening, neither happy nor sad. I understand her only when she is laughing or quarrelling. It had been good in bed, better than yesterday, or so it seemed to me. Who knows what’s passing through her head at this minute? Perhaps she’s annoyed because I gave her no precise answer when she made her suggestion that we run away together to Casablanca. I watched el Kebdani come in, carrying a basket of food from the market. He seemed tired and depressed.
Ah, Qaabil! You’re back? I cried. He stared at me, and I began to stammer apologies.
I’m sorry. I was thinking of something else. What’s the news?
The news is bad. Terrible!
What? Kheir, insha’Allah!
He set the basket down in front of Sallafa.
Here. Qaabil says to fry all the fish.
She glared at him. Is this a time to be bringing back food for lunch? she demanded.
We were busy setting up a job.
I don’t care what you were busy doing. One of you could have brought the stuff back long ago.
Has something happened, or what? I asked el Kebdani.
It’s all clear now, he said. It was the Spaniards who engineered the riots. They hired the mob and brought it in from outside.
Ah, so what they said about el Merouani at the Café Chato was true, then.
Maybe. Who knows? All we know is that the Spanish started it.
I see! They used the anniversary as an excuse to start things, and then they used the Moroccans as pawns.
It looks that way.
That’s very bad.
We know dozens of people were killed, and yet only six or seven funeral processions have gone through the Zoco Chico on the way to the mosque.
And all the other bodies?
They must be hiding them so the public won’t see how many there are. Most of the ones who were killed are from out of town. That’s why it’s so easy for them to bury them in secret.
I thought for a moment. Then I said: Are they letting people walk freely around the city?
Yes, but there are guards everywhere. It’ll probably go on like this for several days. The soldiers are working hand-in-hand with the police. They search anybody they think looks suspicious, and take whoever they want to headquarters for a grilling.
Where’s Qaabil?
He went to his father’s house. Hasn’t Bouchra come back yet?
Not yet, Sallafa said. Why don’t you go and get her? She may be afraid to come back alone, with all the police and soldiers in the street. Go on, Kebdani, she coaxed.
I don’t know where her mother lives, he said.
In Dar el Baroud, near the Café Makina.
But I don’t know the house.
Ask anybody down there. There are always children playing in the street. They all know her.
Wait a while. She’ll be along. I tell you there’s nobody in the street to ask. In times like this nobody goes out unless he has to. And
as for children playing in the street, I didn’t catch sight of one anywhere all morning.
Khlass! she cried. Come on! Life has suddenly changed? It’s the end of the world? Just say you don’t want to go. That would be enough.
That’s not true, he began.
Don’t try to talk!
After a moment she went on, but as if speaking to herself: I know what I’m going to do. I swear, if you find me still around here you can spit on me. You can piss on me!
Everything’s all set, he told me. Expect to work tonight. There’ll be three other cargadores going with us, and we’ll be using two cars, one to hold the stuff and the other for the men. I’ll be bringing the stuff in from the ship in a rowboat. You’ll be on the shore with the other three, and you’ll carry it up from the beach to the car. You’ll need all your strength, because you’ve got to move fast the whole time. And you’ll need your nerve. The Customs men may be there on the shore somewhere, or stop us at the edge of town. If that happens, you’re to do whatever either Qaabil or his partner tells you. You’ll meet his partner. The secret police could come up while you’re emptying the stuff out of the car, once you get to town. I like to tell you right out. The job is dangerous. It’s a job where anything can happen. They may shoot at us. You understand that?
Yes. I understand.
Sometimes the leader is able to bribe them. But usually they can’t get together on the amount, and that’s when the trouble begins. That’s the point when things begin to get rough.
How rough?
I mean they shoot it out.
So Qaabil has a pistol, I thought. That’s something to know. I must be very careful with Sallafa. What was there to stop him from firing on us both if he found us in bed together?
Has Qaabil got a gun? I asked him.
Ah! That’s none of your business. I’m just telling you what may happen. It doesn’t matter one way or the other to you and me whether Qaabil and his partner have guns or not. You understand?
I was just asking.
I tell you things I couldn’t tell any other cargador, he said.
I know. And thanks.
He turned and called out: Where’s the sebsi, Sallafa?
She was in the kitchen. I don’t know, she shouted. Look for it.
She’s getting even with him, I thought. I suddenly remembered that we had smoked a little kif while we had been in the bedroom; nevertheless I pretended to look for the pipe along with him there in the sala. Then he went into the bedroom and called out: Here it is! I’ve found it!
I went and put on a record. It was Mohamed Abd el Wahab singing ‘When Afternoon Comes’.
10
I got into the car with the three other young cargadores and the old man who was driving. I was the youngest. In spite of the strong smell of wine that came from the driver, he drove carefully. The speedometer never showed more than seventy kilometres an hour, and on curves and inclines it dropped to forty or thirty. We got to Cape Spartel about two in the morning, and drew up behind a large black sedan that stood there.
The door of the other car opened, and a tall, powerful-looking man got out. I guessed that he was about forty-five years old. He came casually over to our car.
How’s the road? he asked the driver.
Fine. We didn’t see anybody.
We all got out, with the exception of the driver. From their conversation I understood that they were referring to the police and Customs men. And I realized that this tall man was Qaabil’s partner.
Now’s the time to be men, he told us. Then he put his hand on my shoulder and looked intently at me. What part of the Rif are you from? he said.
Beni Chiker. My name is Choukri.
I know the Chikriyine. The Riffians are tough.
He removed his hand. I know the Riffians, he said again.
I was with them in the Civil War in Spain. I hope you’re a real Riffian like the others.
I smiled.
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and held it out to each of us in turn. It’s a good beginning, I thought. He looks like a good man to deal with. Compared to him, Qaabil seems like a boy. He too may be a good man, but you sense his weakness. Whereas it would be easy to feel loyalty to this man.
Are you ready? he asked us, and we all said: Yes.
The path downward was hard to negotiate. We squeezed between trees, crashed through bushes, and clambered over boulders. Are we going to try to carry the stuff back up this same path? I wondered.
Call me Kandoussi if you want to call me anything, said Qaabil’s partner.
I decided that this was probably not his real name. It might be only his business name. The path went on being difficult. Several times I stumbled into holes and scraped myself on the sharp rocks.
You’ve got to be very careful not to fall once you’ve got the stuff on your back, he said. What we’re carrying is fragile.
What could be in the cartons? I thought. Something breakable. What could that be?
When we reached the strip of beach at the bottom of the cliffs he pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and began to make signals with it in the direction of the water. The signals came back from the darkness out there.
We found Qaabil sitting alone on the sand. Beside him lay a pile of sacks and a coil of rope. Ah, you got here! he cried. Everything ready?
Everything’s perfect so far, replied Kandoussi.
Soon we heard the sound of a motor. More messages flashed from the water. Kandoussi sent back the same succession of flashes. The sea was rough. The motor came nearer.
Get ready, said Kandoussi.
The sound of the motor stopped.
After a quarter of an hour of silence, there were more signals, which Kandoussi answered.
The rowboat’s on the way, he said. Get down to the edge of the water.
Two of the cargadores took off their trousers and sandals. The rowboat hove into view, rising and falling with the movement of the waves. The two cargadores waded into the water and guided the craft inward, one on each side of it. Kandoussi ran down to the water, and they pulled the boat up onto the beach. There were nine cartons. We began to carry them to a spot not far from the edge of the water, where we stacked them on the sand. The cartons were not as big and heavy as I had expected. Whatever was in them must be very valuable. Watches, perhaps? Rapidly we emptied the boat.
Can you get back to the ship all right? Kandoussi was saying to el Kebdani. It’s not too rough?
It’s all right.
If you think there’s any danger, we’ll leave the boat beached here until the morning and take it back then.
No. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble.
Look out for those rocks.
I know, said el Kebdani. I know the whole place.
See you soon, I said to him.
Ah, Mohamed? B’slemah. I’ll see you back at the shack in an hour.
The two cargadores began to pull the rowboat back out into the water, with el Kebdani plying the oars. I watched him disappear into the darkness, riding up and down on the waves.
Working quickly, we put two cartons into each sack. When we had tied up the openings, Kandoussi came up to me and said: Can you carry two cartons, or is one enough for you?
I can carry three if you want, I said with great confidence.
Probably he doesn’t believe me. My body is very thin. But I had my pride. I was thinking: This is better than begging or stealing. And better too than letting an old man suck on me, or selling harira and fried fish to the Djebala in the Zoco de Fuera. Better than any of the work I’ve had. It’s an adventure, and I feel like a man. In any case, I am seventeen. I feel on this early morning that I am entering into a new phase of my life.
We loaded the sacks on our backs, and started up the same path we had come down. Kandoussi went first, and Qaabil, empty-handed, brought up the rear. Each one of us cargadores was carrying a sack with two cartons in it. Kandoussi carried the ninth carton, also wrapped in its sack.
It was not long before my load began to weigh more and more heavily on me. The pain hit my spine and the nape of my neck. I must have placed the sack in the wrong position when I took it onto my back. But now I did not dare stop and shift it for fear that Kandoussi would think I was tired, and we were still only about halfway up the path. If I show signs of weakness now, very likely he will not hire me the next time he needs a cargador. As for Qaabil, at the moment he seems as unnecessary to the scene as he is ineffective in his daily life. Should I even obey his orders if he gives them? Then I wondered why I should be thinking such things about him. Up to now he has treated me very well. I must try and get rid of these feelings. I must fight against them, even while my shoulders shoot pains in every direction and the bones at the back of my neck go on cracking. I was breathing heavily through my mouth, and my throat was getting dry. I suppose the trouble came from having smoked too much Virginia tobacco and kif. But Sallafa also had a part in my weakness. During the past day I had made love with her four times. And here I was, thinking of doing it again. Yes, I’m going to make love with her. There’s no doubt about that, if only everything goes well here and I manage to get to the shack before Qaabil and el Kebdani.
But the key? Will Qaabil give it to me when we’ve finished here, if for instance he finds that for some reason he has to stay on longer than he thought, or if he can’t get back until morning? The idea of getting into bed with Sallafa at this hour of the morning excites me, and that helps me forget the pain of the load on my shoulders and the burning shortness of breath. The money I was going to get for this work meant nothing compared with what I should find in the shack. Money was only for the world outside the shack. I wish Sallafa were with us now, just walking ahead of us without carrying anything. Am I myself beginning to fall in love with her? Merely to think of her makes my heart beat harder. Then I feel a wave of hostility towards her. I imagine myself insulting her, slapping her, trying to work up her temper. Maybe I like her better angry than calm, better sad than happy. Maybe she means more to me when she is being crazy than when she is sensible. I like the way she behaves when she is with Qaabil. Yes, I like to watch her fight with him. I can imagine myself in Qaabil’s place when she disappears, losing control like him and waiting desperately for her return. Thus at this point I learn a new truth about my feelings for Sallafa.
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