When we got up to the road, the two drivers were there, one standing beside each car. They helped us pile the boxes into the back seat of the first car. Kandoussi got into the front of that car and Qaabil got in with us. We went ahead of Kandoussi, whose car followed always at the same distance, about a hundred metres behind. We drove so slowly that I decided this must have been arranged beforehand, perhaps as a way of protecting the merchandise. I doubt that any of the cargadores knew exactly where we were going. During the entire ride no one spoke a word. From time to time the cargador sitting to the right of me coughed and sniffed violently. We took the road past the animal cemetery by the river at Boubana. When we got to the crossroads by the Spanish Cemetery both cars stopped, and Qaabil got out. The driver of the other car came over.
Qaabil spoke to our driver. Take them wherever they want to go.
He handed me the key. Go to the shack, and don’t open up for anybody but el Kebdani.
The other driver got in and sat in Qaabil’s seat. Then we drove down the road towards Dradeb, leaving the other car still parked. The operation had certainly been very carefully planned. I was sure now that Kandoussi and Qaabil trusted absolutely no one. After our car is gone they’re going somewhere that only the two of them know about, to unload the stuff. Qaabil must have another key, otherwise he would have said something about my letting him in. He may work all night and not come back before morning.
We got to the hill at Dradeb. The driver smelled even more strongly of wine now than he had before. Where do you want to go, brothers? he asked.
Two of the cargadores wanted to be left in the Zoco de Fuera. I asked him to take me to the Place de la Casbah.
I know where to take you, he told me.
The one who had been coughing beside me also wanted to go to the Casbah. I looked at him, and he looked at me, but we said nothing.
The two cargadores got down in the Zoco de Fuera, as two policemen walked past. The car drove on through the arch of Bab el Fahs. The streets were empty. Another pair of policemen stood in front of an apartment house. My fear was that they might stop us and ask to see our papers. It was then that I realized how much colder the night was now than it had been earlier. We got out of the car in the Place de la Casbah, the last cargador and I, leaving the two drivers together.
I’m going down here towards Amrah, I said to the cargador. And you?
He coughed. I’m going down that way, too, to Oued el Ahardan. We passed under the arch and started down the hill. I did not dare bring up the subject of the work we had just done. After a silence he said: Is el Kebdani a friend of yours?
Yes.
He’s a good man. This is the first time you’ve worked like this?
Yes, it’s the first time.
And Qaabil, is he a friend of yours, too?
No, he’s a friend of el Kebdani’s. I met Qaabil through him. Are you a friend of Qaabil’s?
No, I only know Kandoussi. He’s a man with a lot of guts. And he’s serious. He knows what he’s doing. If he tells you he’s going to do something, he does it. All the cargadores want to work for him.
I feel the same way, I told him. I noticed how he treated us.
When we got part of the way down the hill, I stood still and pointed up the small street that led off to the left. I’m going up here to Qaabil’s shack, I said.
Yes, he said. So you live with Qaabil?
No. He just invited me to stay there. I haven’t got my own place to sleep yet. El Kebdani introduced me to him. I told you.
I know. See you.
B’slemah!
I heard only my own footsteps in the dark, silent street. Then there was a shrill scream from two cats nearby. One of them ran in front of me, the other pursuing it. He’s after her, I thought. But she wants to get away from him. I hoped Sallafa would not refuse me the delight of being with her at this early hour. To make love early in the morning before dawn! This will be the first time I shall have gone to bed with a woman at the hour of the fjer. A first experience.
I got to the shack, and stuck my ear to the door. Once again I heard the yelling of the cats, but from a distance. I slid the key carefully into the lock and opened the door.
There was a light in the bedroom. Is she still awake? I shut the door and turned the key, locking it. Then I gave the key an extra half-turn so that the door could not be unlocked from the outside. I tiptoed into the bedroom. A half bottle of wine sat on the taifor, and beside it the sebsi and the box of kif. She is lying on her right side with her knees drawn up. It’s sad to see a girl sleeping alone.
I went back into the sala and turned on the light. Two blankets and two pillows had been tossed onto the couch. Now I understood. A pillow and a blanket for me, and the same thing for el Kebdani. I took off my jacket and trousers, remaining in my underwear. There was a sound from the bedroom. When I went in to look, she had changed her position. She was still lying with her knees bent, but now she was facing in the other direction. I sat down on the edge of the bed and put my hand on her shoulder, hesitant to awaken her. It would be better to get into the bed behind her, and then run my hands over her until she wakes up and feels me there beside her. I climbed slowly into the bed.
Then she said very clearly: Your feet are like ice. Get them away from me.
What’s the matter? Are you angry with me?
She did not reply. My right hand began to touch her body here and there. It’s like an orchard, I thought. There are apples and oranges up here, and pears and peaches back here. And here between her thighs are persimmons. When my hand arrived there, she pushed it away with force.
Don’t touch me, she said. It’s the wrong time of the month. Go to sleep.
You mean you’ve got blood? I said incredulously.
Yes. Of course I have. What do you think?
I remembered Monique in her bathroom, sitting on the bidet, washing the blood from between her legs. So now Sallafa is the way Monique was.
I understand, I said. How long does it last?
Oh, at least three days.
So the hope of making love early in the morning is gone, I thought. I may have the chance again some time, and I may not. Who knows what will happen between us in the next few days? My sex is standing alone in the region of the peaches. When it tried to walk a little back and forth, she moved suddenly and lay on her back, saying: Haven’t you any shame at all? That’s something I won’t do with you.
Just a little walk, that’s all.
What are you talking about? she cried. Are you crazy, or what?
I’m going to follow this through to the end, I said to myself.
Why not? I asked her.
Because that’s something you don’t do with women. It’s a sin. Don’t you know that?
A sin?
Of course. A sin.
I lay on my back now, as she was doing, and looked at the place where the blanket pointed upward, where my sex stood alone. The pressure of the blanket hurt a little, and I arranged it so it would lie back on my belly. How to make it rest? It’s stubborn. This was the first time I had been made aware of how extremely stubborn it was. I took hold of her hand and held it for a moment. Then I brought the hand up and placed it on my sex. She said nothing. At the touch of her hand, the sex grew even more eager. I waited for her to play with it as she had done the first night. But her hand merely remained holding it tightly. When I placed my hand over hers and pushed it back and forth, she pulled away from me.
Leave me alone. Can’t you just go to sleep? Her voice was plaintive.
This time it was my own hand instead of hers that moved back and forth. I started to give it a workout and a rubdown.
What are you doing?
Without looking at her I said: Just let me alone. I’ve got to satisfy it or it won’t ever lie down.
You’re going to get me filthy, she said. Go into the other room and do whatever it is you want to do.
I got out of bed, imagining that I was about to seize Asiya by t
he tank, and walked into the other room holding my sex in my hand so it would not get cold. But I had to use both hands to cover myself with the two blankets. I quickly gave it back the warmth of my hand, so it would not weaken.
About nine o’clock in the morning we had breakfast together in the sala. We did not speak. She looked pale, sad and dreamy. I too felt tired and depressed as a result of the imaginary rape. Is it not a kind of insanity to conjure up the image of a woman and then proceed to rape her? And I do not even know whether the girl is still living. It would have been better to have stayed there in bed, warmed by Sallafa’s body, feeling her alive and moving beside me. I could have touched her and smelled her. Asiya was only a great void in my imagination, and I had worked myself into a frenzy of excitement over this nothingness.
Neither el Kebdani nor Qaabil arrived. Could something have happened to el Kebdani? It was normal enough for Qaabil not to have appeared, but I was worried that el Kebdani might have fallen into the hands of the Customs men. He is the best friend I have found so far in this city.
Is it Sallafa’s bleeding that worries her now? I feel sorry for women. Sometimes they get raped. Sometimes they have to bear children. And blood runs from them for several days each month. Perhaps she is thinking about Bouchra, who still has not come back. It could be. El Kebdani was right about Sallafa and Bouchra; Bouchra is the point where Sallafa’s strange sadness begins. I wonder what will happen if Bouchra stays away much longer. I am certain it is not Qaabil who preoccupies her thoughts, and I feel a sudden surge of warmth towards her. It would be good to ask her forgiveness, but I do not dare. I turned and looked at her: she was totally immersed in her reverie. I liked to see her in this sad state. Never before had I seen her give in to her melancholy in this way. She has let something go inside her, and now it is lost. Perhaps she is thinking that it is lost for ever, or she may be trying to devise a way of getting it back. It would be better to go out and leave her to herself. The world is sad and decayed.
I stood up.
I’m going out to see what it looks like in the town. I haven’t seen it since the day of the trouble.
She glanced up at me for an instant, surprised. Then she bowed her head, as if she could not bear to be separated from her obsession. She remained staring into emptiness while I stood there in front of her.
After a moment she raised her head and focused her eyes on mine. Did Qaabil pay you for your work last night? she asked me.
No. He hasn’t paid me yet.
Wait a minute. She got up and went into the bedroom. Until now I had not seen her behave in this serious, adult manner. Today she looks like Bouchra. It was unusual for her to have mentioned Qaabil’s name and not have followed it up with an insult. She will say of him: I know that pimp. I understand that rotten mind.
Surely she has a surprise for me, I thought. What can it be? As I waited I grew more impatient. She came out carrying three watches in one hand and two hundred-peseta notes in the other. I stared at the pretty blue foulard she had just wound around her head. Now she looked like an ancient Egyptian queen whose picture I had once cut out of a magazine. I went on looking at her in astonishment.
Here. Take these things. Sell the watches and keep the money you get for them. But don’t mention it to anybody. And when you sell the watches be sure Qaabil doesn’t find out about it. Smuggling’s not regular work, and it doesn’t go on long.
Her way of speaking amazed me. The words I meant to say flew off before I could say them. I took the watches and the banknotes, and stored them in various pockets of my jacket and trousers. I looked at the key in the door, and said: Are you going to lock the door from the inside?
Yes.
I opened the door and went out. After a few steps I turned around. She was standing in the doorway sobbing and wiping her eyes. I stopped walking. The feeling came over me that she was saying goodbye to me. I would have sworn that she was taking leave of me for the last time. I may never see her again. The girl in Aïn Ketiout, Asiya, Fatima, did I ever see any of them again once they had gone? I started to walk again. It was impossible to go back. My eyes filled with tears. I could not stop them from forming. I was certain that she still stood in the doorway watching me as I walked away. The force that keeps me from turning around and going back must be the same force that makes her remain standing in the doorway, unable to come after me. I am leaving the shack for good. A part of my life is ending, and another part will begin. Perhaps I shall never see any of them from the shack again.
11
I was sitting with Laila Bouwala in her room. Sometimes Lalla Zehor, the proprietor of the house, served us herself. Ever since I had left the shack, I had been spending my time drinking. There is a continuous babble of girls’ voices coming up from downstairs. During the past two nights I have slept with three of the girls. The only one of those whom I like is Rachida, who squirms in bed like a snake. Tonight here I am with Laila Bouwala. Hamid Zailachi told me that sometimes she wets her bed. He says it happened once when he was spending the night with her. I’m going to stay in her bed all night and see if she does it with me.
She poured what was left of the wine into the two glasses. Are we going to have another bottle, or will this be enough?
Without reflecting, I said: We’ll order another. And another, and another, until we’re drunk.
She got up and went to the door. She pulled the curtain aside and pushed the door, which was ajar. Then she called into the corridor: Lalla Zehor! Agi! She let go of the curtain and turned back to me.
What’s the matter with you? she said. You look sad. Has something happened? Or don’t you like being with me?
I looked at her and smiled. I’m not sad. I’m just thinking of something.
Thinking of what? She sat down smiling and lighted a cigarette, which she then put between my lips. This made me think of Sallafa. I studied Laila’s figure. It is fuller and better than Sallafa’s. She has long, smooth black hair. I intend to spread it over me like a blanket. I continued to run my eyes over her body.
Why are you staring at me that way? Don’t you like the way I look?
I told you I was thinking of something.
Well, stop thinking about it now. It makes you look sad.
Lalla Zehor spoke outside the door: Here I am.
Come in, Lalla Zehor, Laila told her.
She walked into the room, bringing a strong wave of perfume with her. I’m here, she said.
Bring us another bottle, said Laila.
I’m going to sleep here with Laila, I told Lalla Zehor. How much is she?
Just give me sixty pesetas, and it’ll be all right, she said. Nobody else would get her under a hundred.
I handed her the sixty pesetas, and twenty for the new bottle. A girl was calling up the stairs: Lalla Zehor!
I’m coming, she answered. And turning to us: What a loud voice that Rachida has! I’ll send the bottle up by her, or else by Alioua Larossia.
There was the sound of footsteps, and then came two knocks on the door.
Who is it? cried Lalla Zehor.
I recognized the voice. It’s me. Can I come in?
Lalla Zehor raised the curtain, and Kandoussi walked in.
We’re in luck, Lalla Zehor cried. So it’s you? I feel better just looking at you. Where have you been all this time? You haven’t been back to see us in I don’t know how long.
I was surprised to see Kandoussi.
So this is where you’ve been hiding out, he said to me. I’ve been looking everywhere, trying to find you. Come on. Get up.
But Si Kandoussi, aren’t you going to sit down with us?
Lalla Zehor was always hospitable. At least have something to drink.
You’ll have to excuse me, he said. I can’t tonight. Some other time, insha’Allah.
I stood up.
Will you be back? Lalla Zehor asked me.
Of course I’ll be back, I said immediately. Haven’t I already paid you for the night with Laila?
/> If the door’s locked, just knock, she said.
Now Laila spoke up. What time are you coming back? I looked at Kandoussi, and he answered for me: He’ll be back whenever he wants to come back. If he’s late, go to bed. But by yourself, and not with some other client.
Laila smiled. Lalla Zehor said to Kandoussi: Don’t worry about your friend. I haven’t got seven faces. Just the same face for everyone.
Kandoussi and I went downstairs, leaving Lalla Zehor with Laila. On the way down I asked him: Where’s el Kebdani?
This is not the place to talk, he said. I’ll tell you all about it when we get outside.
Going through the alleys of Bencharqi we ran into a good many drunks. From time to time Kandoussi stopped to shake someone’s hand. He seemed to know great numbers of people, and they all looked glad to see him and treated him with a special respect. We said nothing to one another as we walked along. He spoke when we got to the Zoco Chico.
What café do you want to sit in? The Fuentes? The Central? The Española?
Wherever you like.
We went into the Café Central. Before we sat down we ordered a cognac and a gin. We chose a free corner. Then he said: But where have you been? I looked everywhere.
Here in Tangier. Where did you think?
I mean, where do you sleep?
I found a place in the Casbah, in Derb ben Abbou.
Is it the house next to the school?
Exactly. That’s it.
You’re living in a nest of thieves and whores, you know.
But they asked for papers at all the other hotels. And I’ve got nothing.
Fine. We’ll talk about that later, he said.
The waiter came up and poured our drinks for us. After he had gone away, Kandoussi resumed talking.
Poor Kebdani. He’s dead.
My eyes and mouth opened wide. Dead? I repeated weakly.
Yes, he said. He’s dead. Allah irhamou. May Allah see to it that we all die as Moslems.
I emptied my glass and called the waiter. Then I lit a cigarette. Kandoussi drank what was in his glass.
For Bread Alone Page 11