I think I still loved him. Or else, since I was still a bit of an idiot, I thought it might pass. I had hope. Despite our arguments and our brawls, I still forgave him. How did we arrive at what came next, at such a loss? I can’t tell you. We advanced along our path until we found ourselves here, and that’s that.
* * *
—
One night, we were at the house, about to eat dinner: Hamid, a friend of his, and me. He often brought friends to the house. I made them food, they drank one or two bottles of wine, and they went to the bar. We usually fought when he got back. I said nothing about the cigarettes, nothing about the hashish, nothing about the alcohol, but it pissed me off when he brought his friends over. I felt unwanted when they were there.
That night, I had prepared a tagine with potatoes and tomatoes. He and his friend were sitting on the mattress, and they were passing the white plastic cup they were using as an ashtray back and forth, smoking cigarettes and waiting for me to serve them dinner. They were listening to chikhate* on the VCR that I’d brought from my parents’ house.
After dinner, Hamid got up and left, saying, “I’m going to buy cigarettes and wine at the guerrab.* I won’t be long.”
I was brooding in the bedroom when I noticed his friend’s feet behind me.
“Do you need something?” I asked him, trying to mask my irritation.
I had barely finished my sentence when suddenly I couldn’t move. He had jumped on me, clasping his hand in front of my mouth and grabbing me from behind. On one side, I was trapped by the wall; on the other by his leg that he had wrapped around mine. He was pressed up against me and he was rubbing his rod against my ass, trying to lower his pants with his free hand.
I struggled, but he was strong as an ox. I tried to scream. He smothered me. My neck was twisted, and I couldn’t move anymore without getting an electric shock. I thought of the neighbors, if they came and saw this spectacle. His hand lifted my dress. I thought of my husband, who would come back and find me in this position. He yanked down my underwear.
I bit him, contorting myself like a worm and calling for Hamid. He squeezed his hand over my mouth even harder and whispered into my ear: “Hamid? Don’t tell me he didn’t warn you?”
What he said stunned me. It was a sharp blow. I stopped moving until he finished. He pulled his pants back up and went to sit and smoke a cigarette with his orange lighter, his zipper still open. He smoked, taking his time, before getting up to leave. It wasn’t until he left that I noticed the bottle and the pack of cigarettes on the table were still full. Hamid had had no reason to go out and buy more.
When Hamid came back, he headed to the armoire, as if nothing had happened. He didn’t ask me why his friend was no longer there. He came back empty-handed, and his eyes didn’t meet mine.
That night went by in slow motion. Hamid and I fought until morning. He tried to stop the fight but I kept reentering the fray. I didn’t let him rest for a second. After, he too was like a madman.
We swung at each other, but our blows were muffled. We smacked against the walls. From time to time, we found ourselves on the bed, trying to catch our breath before getting up once more to really lay into each other. Gritting my teeth, I asked him to tell me why he’d done it. And I cried with rage. And the more the tears flowed the more I detested him. And I detested myself for making a spectacle of myself in front of him. I pictured my mother telling me that he wasn’t the man for me, I thought of the other neighborhood girls who hadn’t fought for him, who had let me take him, I thought of my insistence on being with him…
After a moment, I had only one idea in my head: for him to be inside me. The grimace of disgust on his face when I told him to do it made my blood boil: “I’m the disgusting one? You gave me to that other piece of shit and I’m the one who’s disgusting? Okay, now, you’re going to fuck me. You’re going to fuck me and you’re going to put it where your friend just was.”
I was unleashed and I couldn’t even breathe, so badly did it hurt when the air entered my lungs. The more he rejected me the more I threw myself at him, shoving my breasts in his face. I grabbed them, I squeezed them. I thrust them under his nose:
“Here, look, this is what your friend did. Yeah, the one who was just here, the one who fucked me.”
He tried to pull on my wrists to remove my hands from my breasts. In the moment I felt nothing but I was pressing them so hard that night that the next day, I found the violet trace of my fingers diagonally across my chest.
What did me in, what made me give up the fight, was when, grabbing at his crotch to crush his balls, I felt that he was hard. Despite everything, he had a boner. And that was that. I had no more desire to struggle.
As soon as he felt me drained of my strength, he wanted me. He tore off what remained of my dress and he got on top of me, calling me all kinds of names and ripping out my hair.
I didn’t move again until morning.
* * *
—
At dawn, he went out. My arm turned on the television and I stayed sitting in front of it, without moving, watching the film of the previous night play out in my mind. I didn’t eat, didn’t go to the bathroom, didn’t change my clothes.
When he came home to change and go back out again, my stare remained glued to the television. I had turned it off but my eyes didn’t move. In the reflection of the screen, I saw him—while changing—drop money out of the pocket of his jacket. My money. A small stack, which he gathered and counted in front of the armoire. He took a two thousand rial note from the four in the stack. He placed it on the table without saying anything to me and he went out. I didn’t move, didn’t look at him.
When he came back, it was the next day. Or the day after that. Or who knows what day it was? And who cares anyway?
That same day repeated on a loop, blurry like a haze; with the television that went off or on now and then. And the water and bread that my fingers brought to my mouth.
Still today, despite the years that have passed, sometimes I return to that moment in my mind. When that happens, I stay in my bedroom and do nothing.
* * *
—
The second time it happened was a few days later. He took me by surprise. That son of a bitch didn’t leave me the time to realize what was going on. If I’d been able to reflect, emerge from my coma, or if I’d had even half of the capacities that I have now, I would never have let him come near me again.
That night, he had just come home.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked.
I didn’t respond.
“I’m talking to you, what are we having for dinner?” he repeated in an irritated tone.
“I don’t know what we’re eating,” I said, turning to look at him for the first time since the incident.
“If you don’t know what we’re eating, who does know then?” he answered, grimacing and turning toward the door, as if to leave again.
Then, suddenly, he turned back toward me, as if he had changed into someone else.
“You know what, let’s stop all of this.”
He approached me. He reached his arms toward me and he said, “That’s enough. Come here.”
He was calm.
“Come,” he repeated.
He brought me toward him, grabbing me by the forearms. I pushed him away, hitting him.
He said again: “Come.”
I scratched him. He continued: “Come.”
That back-and-forth lasted for a moment. Then his calm won me over. He brought me to him and I said nothing. His arms were rough but his torso was warm.
“Listen, let’s stop all this. All of it, it was nothing.”
“…”
“Trust me, it’ll pass.”
“…”
“I told you, things like that, they happen all the time.”
“…”
/> “You don’t know because you don’t know anything about life yet. But it’s nothing.”
“…(Nothing at all? Trust you?)”
“Listen, we can get out of the shit we’re in.”
“…(It’ll pass? And if it had happened to you, would it still pass then too?)”
“We can make a bunch of money quickly and move on to something else.”
“…(Get out of this shit? Is there worse shit than what you’ve dragged me into?)”
“I’ve come up with the perfect plan. I just need a few things. I don’t need much. And you know, I have no one I can count on other than you.”
“…(And from the start, did you talk to me in the street so you could one day do this to me?)”
“I have no one else I can rely on besides you.”
“…(I have a family, I have brothers, I don’t need anyone.)”
“Anyway, you know, it’ll go quickly. I just need a bit of money to buy the merchandise, and then it’ll be over.”
“…(I don’t need you.)”
“Listen, I know another guy, Abdenbi, he has contacts in China. You give him an order, he buys the stuff, and he delivers it to you when it arrives…”
“…(And if I wanted to, I would show you and your crappy plans how you make money.)”
“You choose the merchandise yourself…”
“…(You haven’t seen what I’m capable of yet.)”
“You don’t end up stuck with a bundle of some things that sell and some that don’t. From the beginning, you know what you’re getting. If I ask you for anything again after this plan, cut off this tongue talking to you.”
“…(Cut off this tongue talking to me? You really don’t know me at all. It’s not your tongue I’m going to cut off.)”
“And you can find buyers before even placing the order. Not all of them, but a portion of them. Or else you can strike up an agreement with the store owners, for them to sell the merchandise in advance.”
“…(And now, we do what? You told your mother that you had become a billionaire, and I, I do what? I go to Mouy and tell her everything?)”
“There are plenty in Derb Omar. I’ll go to them, we’ll partner up, and I’ll pl ace the order afterward.”
“…(Or else I tell her stories about China?)”
“I’ve given it a lot of thought and I know it’s going to work. I’m thinking I’ll buy sandals, buckets, soap dishes, little stools, plastic mats, towels.”
“…(First off, you’d be better off keeping that big mouth of yours shut. How do you know what sells and what doesn’t sell?)”
“Only utensils for the hammam. Everyone goes to the hammam. Women, men, children. Everyone.”
“…(If not for me, you’d still be up shit creek.)”
“There isn’t anyone who doesn’t go to the bath.”
“…(Yes, you’ve really given it some thought, it’s obvious.)”
“Look at me, it’s going to work. I just need some money to get started. Afterward, you and I will forget all of this and we’ll move on.”
“…(And that bad luck that follows you everywhere, have you thought about that bad luck?)”
“I won’t be had like the last time. You can’t imagine how much that destroyed me, because I don’t tell you what’s going on inside me. This time, you’ll take care of everything. You’ll keep the money. And you’ll come with me to put it in the importer’s hands.”
“…”
“Listen, the plan is solid. You don’t have to be afraid of anything. And look at me, you’re all I have. You know that? Don’t you know that?”
“…”
“I’ll do everything I can for us to be well-off and for you to live better than you did in your parents’ house. This is just a rough patch. I know what I’m doing. I swear to you that this plan will work.”
“…”
“Look at me. We’ll collect what we need to get going and after we’ll do two or three more import operations like these with our capital and we’ll start back from zero.”
“…(You’re lucky that I’m not one of those sluts. One of those who take you, suck you dry, and then ditch you.)”
“And then, we’ll go back to Berrechid. I thought we could open a café-restaurant. And work there together.”
“…(Suck you dry. Pussies like you, that’s what you deserve.)”
“I didn’t tell you but I was there the day before yesterday. I found a place.”
“…(Yes, you need a slut that’ll take you and leave you. Like the piece of shit you are.)”
“I’ll take care of the supplies and the cash register.”
“…(Yeah, that’s right. You’ll man the cash register. The woman who lets you man the cash register is crazy, out of her mind. The woman who lets you man the cash register is an idiot.)”
“With your cooking skills, you’ll blow away the competition. No other restaurant in Berrechid will have any customers left.”
“…(People like you shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a cash register. People like you, all you should have access to is the mop. You won’t get past me. Or else, at most, I’ll let you serve.)”
“And we’ll be near our families. Your mother will be happy. And proud.”
“…(Did you think you’d be at the cash register posing in front of customers? Dressed in a suit, with your hair slicked back?)”
“So, what do you say?”
“…(No one will touch the cash register apart from me. And if you think I’m going to cook for your customers, you’re dreaming.)”
“Are you listening to me?”
“…(Before the opening, I’ll hire girls, my cousins on my father’s side, I’ll teach them what they need to know in the kitchen, and I’ll move on to more serious matters.)”
“I told you: after, we’ll move on to something else. And we’ll never speak of this again.”
“…(And you, loser, I promise you, you’ll never go anywhere near the money.)”
“Talk to me, please, don’t be like this. Jmiaa…”
“And if you get scammed by the guy you have to pay in advance?”
* * *
—
And that’s when it all started. I can’t tell you why I said yes. The only thing I can say is that in that state, I wouldn’t have known how to tell my toes from my fingers. He brought back one of his friends, who did his business and took off again. When Hamid returned, he was holding a shoebox that he put in the armoire with some bills inside. After that night, it happened several more times and every time in the same way. He went out. One of his “friends” arrived. We did the deed. His “friend” left and Hamid came back with bills that he put in the box.
Soon we moved because the neighbor started asking questions. We rented a room in a house where the owner didn’t live on-site. We couldn’t have found a better situation: she was in Sweden and returned only once a year.
It was in that house that I started to drink and smoke. And wear makeup. And sew myself djellabas that clung to my ass. And provoke Hamid’s jealousy every chance I had.
Because that fucking box never filled. We never had enough money to buy the merchandise. And each time I asked him for an update, he had some new excuse.
It was also during that time that I stopped using soap down below. One day as we were arguing because the box had emptied once more, I made a vow. I vowed that Hamid would never dip his disgusting cock in anything but a disgusting pussy. That that was all he deserved. And all the others too. I never said it to him. And I never said it to anyone else.
After that, I started to do whatever I wanted. Just to provoke him. I let the grocer straddle me almost right under his nose. I let the grocer’s employee have me when he came to change the bottle of gas. The watchman on the street. Everyone. Everyone with a stick betwe
en his legs could have me. And the more it annoyed that asshole, the happier it made me.
I finally asked him to stop bringing people to the house and instead to take me to the bar with him. I pushed and harassed him until he said yes. Once we had reached that stage, it was over between us. At the bar, I would wriggle myself in front of everything that moved, before his eyes and with a smile on my face. People thought he was my pimp. And really, what else was he? My husband? It had been a long time since anyone other than our families believed that.
* * *
—
We lived for a long time this way. Our days were similar. I got up late. I spent the afternoon at the house watching television while he went off who knows where. When night fell, I got dressed and opened a bottle, which I sat in front of with my cigarettes. I started to get fat. I stopped cooking for myself but I blew up like a balloon. When he came back, we went out without speaking. We took a taxi and went to the bars. Eventually, he stopped coming with me. When I returned, I would put the money in the box and that was that.
Our routine was interrupted for a few months when I became pregnant with my daughter. But in total, we spent eight years like that. The will of God is unfathomable: while I’d never had a problem protecting myself, depending on the demands of my clients, it wasn’t until I decided to start taking the pill that I became pregnant. I was twenty-six.
That pussy Hamid, when I told him that I was going to have a baby, wanted to run for his life. But I didn’t give him the chance. I told him that I would go to the station and tell the police everything. And so he stayed. In any event, all his suspicions are bullshit. With the hair my daughter has, her father couldn’t be anyone else.
A few days after my daughter was born, I handed her over to my mother. I couldn’t take care of her, and Hamid couldn’t stand that she was always crying for no reason. I didn’t like when she suckled my breast, I didn’t like changing her diapers. I couldn’t even kiss her, can you imagine?
Straight from the Horse's Mouth Page 7