It was at this hour that we used to go out into the vineyards to work. The old man complained without stopping, and the sound of his voice made my hands tighten on the reins. If it had not been for my attack on the beautiful boy in the field, I should still be there working. I remembered my mother’s face, my aunt’s face. I now understand why my aunt treated me with such tenderness. She had no children of her own. And I believe it was her husband who made her send me home in order to avoid possible trouble.
Look! said Boussouf. The ship’s coming into the harbour.
I’m looking, I said.
He stopped rowing, pulled one oar out of the water, and dropped the oarlock into a hole beside the plank where I sat. We began to row together.
The ship’s full of soldiers, he said.
As we drew near the side of the ship a Frenchman in uniform called down to us: Hé! Qu’est-ce que tu as là-dedans?
I signalled to him to wait a minute. Boussouf pulled out the coil of rope and got it ready to throw.
Catch it! I shouted.
Several hands reached out to grab the end of the rope, which was weighted with knots. Boussouf tossed up the coil with force, and a black soldier caught it.
Tie it tight! I called to him in French.
Come on. Climb up! cried several soldiers.
I started to climb up the rope, hand over hand.
That’s right! Keep it up! Bravo! Good! shouted the voices. A Senegalese soldier helped me onto the deck. Boussouf had tied the basket onto the tail end of the rope once I was aboard. I leaned over the railing and began to pull it up. Another black soldier approached me and said: What have you got for sale, brother?
Without turning my head towards him I answered: Swiss watches, shawls, Japanese handkerchiefs and cigarette-lighters.
It was a French soldier who helped me get the basket over the railing and onto the deck. Allez! Laisse voir ce que tu as là-dedans.
I took out the carton of watches, leaving everything else in the basket. Here are the watches, I told them.
How much is this one?
Five thousand francs.
It’s not a fake?
What do you mean? I don’t sell fake watches.
Three thousand.
Four thousand, I said.
No, no! I’ll give you three thousand.
Take it. It’s yours. I was thinking: If one of them buys something, they’ll all begin.
The watches were disappearing from my hands one after the other, and my pockets were filling up with banknotes. Suddenly a soldier appeared and planted himself in front of me. Give me back my money, he said.
If I do that, I thought, they’ll all start asking for their money back. I can’t.
Why? I asked him.
They say your watches are no good.
Listen, I told him. Whoever told you that didn’t have enough money to buy a watch, that’s all.
Are you going to give me back my money?
You picked out the watch yourself. Nobody made you buy it.
Dozens of pairs of eyes were staring doubtfully at me. I heard throats being cleared. The blond French soldier spoke: Mine’s all right. I’m going to keep mine.
I went quietly down to the steerage deck where the Jews were travelling. It smelled of mildew and vomit.
What have you got, boy? asked a Jewish woman in a tired voice.
Japanese shawls and handkerchiefs, I told her.
Several other women gathered around me. Let’s see what you’ve got in your basket, the first one said.
What a pretty colour that one is! a girl exclaimed to a woman who was probably her mother. How much is this?
A thousand francs.
Seven hundred.
I was thinking: I’ve got to sell everything fast and get out of here.
A pot-bellied old man with a pointed grey beard suddenly cried: It’s cheap material! Wash it once and the whole thing is gone. No more colour.
The woman beside him turned to him. What do you know about it? she cried. These things are for women.
I know the stuff, the old man said. The Hindus sell it wholesale all over Tangier.
It’s always hard to sell to old people, I kept telling myself. They always pride themselves on knowing everything.
The Jewish women around me went on buying, without paying any more attention to the old man. From time to time he cried at them: You’re crazy! You’re buying the worst quality! The lowest!
The shawls and scarves were disappearing, but the sharp smell of the vomit was still there in my nostrils. There was a sudden jolt and the boat stopped moving. I pocketed the money for the last handkerchief and began working my way through the shouting women. Bring more stuff! they were crying.
As I came up on deck a Senegalese soldier some distance away caught sight of me and began to call out: Hey, you! Wait for me there!
He probably wants me to take back the watch I sold him, I thought. I hurried through the crowd to the other end of the deck.
There was a circle of soldiers around Rami. That drunken brute, who practically never gets out of his bed, must be selling them watches for half the price I charged. I went over to him.
You’re the same old pimp, aren’t you? I said.
Who do you think you’re talking to?
You. Who did you think I was talking to?
Wait till we’re in town. I’ll show you, he said.
I’ll spit up your ass-hole, I told him.
I could see Boussouf rowing rapidly towards the ship. I waited until he was below, and tossed the basket into the rowboat. Then I began to climb down the rope, letting myself slide as I went. The rope took the skin off the palms of my hands. As I went, the taut end of the rope above me was suddenly cut, and I fell the rest of the way, landing in the middle of the rowboat.
Pftu! cried Boussouf. This is no way to earn money. You want to break the boat?
That Senegalese son of a whore must have cut the rope, I said.
To hell with this fucking work, he went on angrily.
Row hard, I told him. They may throw things at us. It wouldn’t be the first time. I know those soldiers, the sons of whores!
Look out! shouted Boussouf. He and I both ducked as a beer bottle came down at us.
Take one of the floorboards and ward them off, he told me.
I did what he suggested.
The black man was screaming insults after us, and squeezing an invisible neck between his two hands. It was as if I could feel him strangling me. Then two bottles came at once, and I parried them with the floorboard.
Ow! My hand! Inaal dinhoum! I threw the board far from the rowboat, and began to lick and suck my wound. It was a wound that pleased me. Not for a long time had I so enjoyed watching my blood run out. And the mixture of salt and sweet is pleasant in my mouth. But I began to feel painful pricklings in the spot on my hip where I had landed. Boussouf stopped rowing. We were far enough away from the ship now. He stood up, seized his crotch, and waved it wildly at those standing by the rail.
What’s that for? I said. Who’s interested in what you’re doing now? The current’s against us.
We began to row together.
After a moment he said: But what did you do to them?
Nothing. It’s all Rami’s fault.
And what did he do?
He always sells his watches at half price. The next time I see him in town I’m going to piss on him.
You didn’t talk about the war in Algeria?
Of course not. Are you crazy?
And with the Jews?
No, no. Nothing. What would I tell them? Should I tell the French and Senegalese soldiers not to go to Algeria and fight? Or tell the Jews not to emigrate to Palestine?
The tide and the current were very strong, and the wind was coming up. Suddenly Boussouf’s oar cracked in half. Only the handle remained.
Now we’re in trouble, I said.
Pfu! All this for your three thousand francs! he cried.
It’s not my fault.
The waves had begun to spill into the boat.
Listen, I said. You take care of bailing it out. I’ll tie the other oar at the stern and try to steer.
The current is taking us towards El Menar. We’ll hit the rocks there unless we’re lucky.
We’ll take care of that when we get near the shore, I said.
My whole life depends on this boat, Boussouf declared.
The current’s not going to take us any farther than Villa Harris, I told him.
You’re trying to tell me what the current will do around here? You don’t know anything about it. But tell me this. How much are you going to pay me if my boat gets smashed up?
We’ll try not to let that happen, I said.
I want to know now. How much are you going to give me?
I’ll give you twice as much as we agreed on.
What? Six thousand francs?
That’s right.
And for six thousand francs –
The boat tipped violently, and he fell over backwards. Quickly I brought the oar-handle down on his left shoulder, and then on his right one.
You damned coward! he roared.
Shut up, or I’ll throw you in.
You’ll see later.
I cupped my groin in my hand and shook the mass at him.
You’ll suck this for me! I cried.
He lay back on the seat-board of the prow, without trying to get up again. I busied myself taking off my belt, and started to attach it to the oarlock at the stern. At that moment he came at me with the oar-handle. I ducked, and the oar slipped out of his hands onto the floor of the boat. We grappled, and I kneed him in the groin. Then I pushed him backwards.
I grabbed the oar-handle, and he began to yell: No! No! His eyes looked as though they would pop out of his head, and his face had turned very pale.
Sit still, or you go into the water, I told him.
The oar I had been trying to fix to the stern was now floating far behind us. Keeping the oar-handle in one hand, I began to scoop out the water with an oil can. The boat was turning round and round as it went along on the current. After a moment I tossed the can at him.
It’s your turn now.
He took the can and set to work silently bailing out the water. I thought of Naima. Perhaps she is still asleep. She’s up there dreaming while I’m here fighting with this bear. I don’t know why I keep her with me. It’s not love, that’s certain. It may be just habit. Perhaps it’s merely her indifference. She has no blisters on her palms, no beer bottle has hit her hand, she does not know the sweet salt taste of her blood in her mouth. When she wakes up she will wash and go downstairs in her nightgown to talk with the night-watchman or the proprietor. If one of the clients of the hotel invites her into his room I think she is not likely to refuse. She once said: The only excuse for love is marriage. I replied: I’m afraid marriage would mean the end of love. What keeps us together is the fact that neither of us belongs completely to the other. Thus there is always that element of uncertainty between us.
We were drifting nearer to the beach at Villa Harris. The waves rise and crash before rolling onto the shore. The water is full of sand. Fishermen have often assured me that sharks never go near cloudy water. We got ready to jump out. I was the first overboard. I swam underwater for as long as I could hold my breath. Then I raised my head above the water and turned. Boussouf was coming close behind me. The waves would raise me very high, and then let me drop straight down, into what seemed like an abyss. I’m carrying my death on my shoulders now, I thought. Once I had gone to visit my friend Manolo in the hospital, and he had cried out: Oh, my God! Take me out of this suffering! He had tried to commit suicide, because he had a fatal disease of the lungs. But the nuns in the hospital had managed to keep him alive.
I swallowed some water, and for an instant began to dog-paddle, as if I were swimming in a well. I got my breath back, and explored the bottom to see how deep it was. My feet touched the sand, and I stood up. A wave pounded over me. I swallowed more water. Then I ran up onto the beach.
Stand up! I yelled to Boussouf. It’s shallow! I did not know whether he had heard me or not. He kept swimming until he had landed on the beach. The boat was grounded a good way down the shore.
Boussouf stood up, looked first at the boat and then at me, frowning. He’s looking at me now as if I were a lamb he was getting ready to roast. If I let myself be afraid of him, it’ll be the end of me. If he beats me up he’ll take everything I’ve got on me. He’ll go off and leave me here naked.
He came nearer, and I backed up. Let’s go and see how the boat is, I said.
He began to walk along the beach, a few steps ahead of me. The boat was touching the sand and moving with the waves. We worked a while trying to pull it further up onto the sand. It was hard work.
When we had finished, he stood looking down at it. There must be some broken places, he said.
Where? I don’t see any.
I know! he cried. I know my boat!
What’s the matter now? I said.
This is going to cost you ten thousand francs!
Why should it cost ten thousand francs?
Are you going to pay me or not?
No, I’m not. I told you I’d give you six thousand.
All right!
His fist hit the left side of my face, and bright lights exploded in my eyes. I backed up a few steps so as not to fall. Then he attacked like a bull. If I let him get hold of me, he’s going to break my ribs, I thought, jumping out of his way, so that his attack ended in a clumsy swinging at the air. It had suddenly begun to rain, and it rained harder each second.
Come here, you son of a whore! he bellowed. Do you think you’re going to catch me off my guard now? Like you did in the boat? Come on!
I kept ducking his lunges, and he continued to follow me along, shouting and gesticulating. I mustn’t waste my energy, I thought. I’ve got to let him be the one to do the attacking.
He had begun to laugh and make gestures to entice me nearer to him, so that we would fight hand to hand. You’re a coward! he yelled. But who’s going to help you now?
I did not answer.
Suddenly he sprang forward and grabbed my hips. I seized his neck between my hands. Then I brought my right knee fast up to his face. He raised his head. I began to pummel his face. Suddenly he yelled and bent down. Then he fell over, holding his foot with both hands. The blood ran not only from his nose, but also from the under part of his foot. Then I saw something that glistened. It was a broken bottle buried in the sand, like an artichoke. The cut was very deep. I have no idea why it made me happy to see the blood being absorbed by the sand in the pouring rain. It made me feel that the rain itself was the sky bleeding. I thought of the sheep whose throat they had cut, back in the Rif, when they had filled a bowl with its blood and made my mother drink it. I counted out 6,000 francs in wet bills, folded them, and tossed them onto the sand beside Boussouf. Then I turned and walked away. Behind me I heard him crying: Come back here, you son of a whore! Come back here and I’ll spit up your ass!
As I got to the highway, I saw the bus from El Menar coming. I began to wave, and it stopped. The rear door opened. I got in and handed a wet 1,000-franc bill to the conductor.
What’s the matter? he said. What happened to you?
No. Everything’s all right, I said.
The passengers turned to stare at me as I went forward along the aisle. There were only seven or eight of them. I looked out of the window towards the beach. There he is, only now limping towards the rowboat.
After I got off the bus in the Zoco de Fuera I noticed many people staring at me. Two women walking under one tiny umbrella behind me were discussing me. One turned to the other. That poor boy, she said. And the other replied: Yes. What do you suppose could have happened to him?
They don’t know anything, I thought. All they know is how to be sorry for people and say hard luck.
At the hotel I found
the watchman in the sala, joking with the cleaning woman as she scrubbed the floor. She dropped her rag, and they both turned to ask me what had happened to me.
I’m all right, I said, and I went upstairs. The door of my room was open. My things were not in their regular places. The whore who’s the daughter of a whore has played a good hand. Everything of any value is gone: my transistor, my alarm clock, five wrist-watches and a dozen cigarette-lighters.
I went downstairs to the sala. You didn’t see Naima when she went out, did you? I asked.
No. Why, is something wrong?
No, nothing, I said. But I think she’s gone for good, and without telling me goodbye.
But nothing happened?
I shook my head. Nothing’s happened. Then I went back upstairs to change my clothes. At least she left my clothes behind. Now she’ll probably begin a new life with another lover somewhere, just as she did with Hamid Zailachi and others long before that. Only a filthy whore like her could have done this. And yet, maybe it is just as well. Now I am forced to find a new pattern in my life, this one being finished.
That afternoon I went to the Café Moh. I had an Egyptian movie magazine with me, full of photographs of Arab actors and singers. I was in the habit of buying three or four of these publications each week, to look at the pictures of film stars wearing Oriental costumes. Sometimes I masturbated in front of the sexier dancing girls. Hamid Zailachi’s brother Abdelmalek would read me the captions when he felt in the mood. He had left his studies in Tetuan and come to Tangier, where he did nothing but smoke kif, eat majoun, drink wine, and look for whores and occasional boys. All the other men I knew in the café were illiterate. One of them could write his name, but with great difficulty. We all considered Abdelmalek the most important habitué of the café. He reads the Arabic periodicals to us in a strong, clear voice. If an article deals with the politics of an Arab country, the owner of the café shuts off the radio, and everyone listens intently. Sometimes he would stand up, lay aside the magazine or newspaper, and launch into a speech, merely to show off his learning. I noticed that he constantly quoted the Koran and the Hadith. Often one of us would interrupt him and ask for a clearer explanation. These were occasions for him to hold his knowledge over our heads, and he would make his explanation still more obscure. While he spoke, someone would hand him a pipe of kif. He would stop talking for a moment while he smoked, reach down to the table from where he stood and take a few sips of tea, and then continue from where he had left off. When he finished speaking, most of the men would congratulate him on his performance, and the owner of the café would hand him another glass of tea and some bread and butter. Some nights I invited him to eat with me in one of the restaurants. Afterwards we would go to a bar in the Zoco Chico to get drunk, or go and spend the night together with two whores in a brothel. I was very proud to appear in public with him.
For Bread Alone Page 14