Samira is the only one who’s continued to come every day.
“Get up, there’s someone here to see you.”
Fuck, she’s relentless! Samira enters and gestures for someone to come in.
Horse Mouth is behind her. What the hell are they doing together?
“Salaam alaykoum,” says Horse Mouth, walking toward me and extending her hand.
“Salaam,” I answer sitting up and glancing around me to see what state my room is in. “Welcome.”
To tell the truth, I don’t know whether to smile at her or not. I didn’t want to see her again, but now that she’s here, I can’t remember why.
“Is that how you welcome guests?” Samira says to me.
And she shows Horse Mouth the other mattress for her to sit on.
Since I’ve been sick, Samira has made herself at home here.
She mills about, goes to get a glass, sits next to me, jostling me a bit, and takes the bottle of wine to serve her.
Samira’s smile takes up as much space as her ass on the mattress.
“You’re dying to know what we’re doing together, aren’t you?”
And she laughs, shaking her head and bouncing her bangs. She’s just had her hair done. Normally I like her hair quite a bit but now, she looks like a soccer player. Like that guy Hadji. Short bangs in front and long hair in the back. He has dark hair at the top and light hair at the bottom too. She looks ridiculous. She turns to Horse Mouth. “I told you she’d look like an ass when she saw us together. So, will you explain now?”
Horse Mouth laughs. She takes a cigarette, lights it and explains to me, after taking a drag: “Since I couldn’t reach you, I went to the market to see if you were there. I’ve been going there for several days wondering whether I’d see you or not.”
Horse Mouth puts out her cigarette in the glass I use as an ashtray and says, “Since I really needed to talk to you before this Friday, I went to the market today. And I waited for Samira to be alone to speak to her.”
I don’t bother to ask how she recognized her.
I remember pointing out Samira to her at the market one day while we were driving in the car. Samira cuts her off. “It doesn’t matter how we met.”
And turning to Horse Mouth, she adds, “Go on, tell her why you’re here.”
Horse Mouth turns toward me. “Since I came back, I’ve been working on quite on a few things, but mostly I’ve been searching for actors. And now I have the cast for all the roles except the heroine.”
She continues, “And I’d like for you to do some tests in front of a camera for me. Because the more girls they send me, the more I imagine you in the role instead. I’m sure you’d be great on-screen and that you’d play the role better than anyone else.”
I’m stunned. It’s like someone just slapped me. Or threw a bucket of water over my head. Whaaaaa! What is she talking about?
Horse Mouth continues. “I can do the screen tests with you, it’s easy. We give you some lines, you learn them, you say them in front of the camera, and that’s it.”
“So, what do you think? Didn’t I do a good job bringing her here?” Samira asks, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth and throwing me a big wink.
THURSDAY THE 10TH
We’re in the taxi, Samira and I, driving to Jus de Bordeaux, the dairy not far from the medina heading toward Boulevard Zerktouni. If you’re hungry after a night out, there’s nothing better to fill the void. They make you anything you want. But now, I’m not hungry, even though I didn’t eat anything this morning.
I have a meeting with Horse Mouth in an office where they’ll film me. Samira won’t stop cracking jokes. She hasn’t shut up since we left the house.
“Do you have diarrhea of the mouth?” I say.
“Are you jealous because you’re constipated?” she fires back.
“We’re actresses. We’re on our way to act in a new film today,” she says to the driver, forcing her way into the casting.
“Mmm,” mutters the driver, eyeing us in the rear view.
I catch his look in the mirror. Asshole! You don’t think we’ve got the faces to act in films? I don’t have time to respond, and it’s for the best.
“It’s right up here,” I say, pointing to the sidewalk for him to stop.
There’s a Méditel office on the right. Horse Mouth told me to let her know when we got there. I call her phone and we wait in front of the office. The window is so shiny that we can see ourselves in it like a mirror. We’re looking sharp.
I have on my black djellaba, the nice one, not the one I wear for my quick errands. And my hair is loose. Simple but classy. Samira has on her satin leopard-print djellaba, and her hair is pinned up with a big gold barrette she just bought. Her bangs have grown out a bit and look better now.
We look good. Now we just have to see if I can manage to recite these shitty lines. Horse Mouth gave me a page to memorize. And even though she said it’s not a problem if I can’t memorize it, I practiced, practiced, practiced the text until I had it all in my head. But we’ll see how long it’ll stay there.
Horse Mouth is crossing the street. And she has her mane up in a ponytail again, like the other day. My stomach hurts. I should have eaten something before I left.
“Salaam,” she says.
And she greets Samira too: “I’m glad you came.”
Samira’s lips spread to her ears. She’s so happy, the wretched thing. We head down a small side street that intersects the avenue and we arrive in front of a building on the right. It looks like a normal building. Horse Mouth, without stopping, points at a plaque.
“It’s here.”
We pass in front of it rapidly and I don’t have the time to read what’s written on it because it’s in French. But I have time to see the design: it’s a jumping blue horse with stars circling behind it. I elbow Samira in the stomach, showing her the plaque as Horse Mouth passes in front of it, as if she were reflected in a mirror. Samira puts a finger in front of her mouth to tell me to keep quiet but she’s holding back a laugh too.
“It’s on the sixth floor,” says Horse Mouth, leading us to the elevator.
We’re packed in like sardines. Under that white light, I can see Samira’s blackheads. The elevator stops at an open apartment. We pass in front of a desk where there’s a woman seated in front of a computer, behind a counter. We can hardly see her. She doesn’t lift her eyes when we pass and she doesn’t greet us. We continue down a hallway.
To our left are several closed doors and an area that looks like a kitchen where we see an old woman. I think she’s preparing some tea.
Samira and I walk side by side. We bump into each other because the hallway is narrow and we’re looking around us. Everything is yellow here. The walls, the tiles on the floor. Everything.
Horse Mouth walks quickly. We haven’t seen anybody else apart from the cleaning lady and the mute sitting at the entrance.
The hallway ends in a room, which we enter. Inside is a woman sitting behind a desk no longer than my forearm. She has a ton of photos and papers in front of her. She lifts her head toward us and stands up, extending her hand.
“Salaam. Jmiaa?”
Samira gestures in my direction to show that I’m Jmiaa. I reach out my hand. She says, “Lamia. I’m the casting director. I’m the one who meets with the actors for the film.”
“Salaam,” I answer, extending my hand.
She motions to the room next door, allowing me to enter ahead of her.
I think I’ve forgotten my lines.
The walls are white. There’s a camera in the middle and three chairs. That’s all. It looks like a hospital.
I’ve forgotten my lines, I’m sure of it.
Behind the chairs, there’s a large window with a balcony that overlooks the building opposite. Horse Mouth and Samira f
ollow us.
“Okay, we’re going to start off nice and easy. For now, we won’t use the text I gave you,” explains Horse Mouth. “First, you’ll stand here, you’ll look at the camera. You’ll say your last name, your first name, your age, turn to the right, turn to the left, and then look right at the camera and smile. Stand here.”
Horse Mouth shows me a spot not far from the wall. She sits in a chair that she grabs from the corner of the room, and the girl named Lamia stands next to the camera.
“My real name, my real age, right?” I specify, running my hand through my hair to flatten it.
She says yes. Easy. “Bent Larbi Jmiaa, thirty-five years old.”
And I turn right and left and straight ahead. I think I did okay.
Horse Mouth gets up, she walks toward me and says, “Now, we’re going to do a simple scene. You’ll pretend you’ve just received a call from your mother and you can’t hear her. You’re busy walking in the street, your phone rings and it’s your mother. But you can’t really hear what she’s saying.”
“And the text that I memorized?”
“Forget about the text for now.”
Today is my lucky day.
“So you’re walking, the telephone rings and it’s your mother, okay?”
“Mouy?” I repeat, behind her.
“Yes, your mother?!” she responds, as if she were asking me a question.
I have no desire to talk to Mouy. Not even if it’s pretend.
“You know what, pretend you’re talking to your sister,” continues Horse Mouth. “Even if you don’t have one. Or like you’re talking to Samira, but you can’t hear her.”
I told you I got lucky today.
“Okay,” I answer. “And what do I say to her?”
“Whatever you want. Say what you would in real life.”
And she adds: “Okay, let’s start?”
With no text to memorize, this will be easy. I just pose in front of the camera and that’s all.
Horse Mouth signals to me with her hand that I can start talking. A red button lights up on the side of the camera.
“Hello, Samira? Where are you?” I say, annunciating well and looking straight at the camera.
I flash an impeccable smile, I tuck my bag under my shoulder and continue. “No, I can’t talk to you right now. Later.”
I walk a bit to the right, as if I were in the street. “No, I can’t really hear you. There’s too much noise.”
I put my finger in the other ear and look toward the sky. I make sure my little finger is raised, separated from the others. They do that in films when there’s a girl from a well-to-do family and she’s talking on the phone. Half turn!
Horse Mouth is chewing her hair. Samira suppresses a laugh. What does that asshole have to giggle about? I’ll deal with her later.
I wait a bit, as if someone were answering me on the other end of the telephone. “No, later. I can’t talk to you right now,” I continue, looking at the camera and posing appropriately.
Samira is bothering me. All I can see now is her and her smile. She’s sitting with her butt cheeks spilling over the sides of the chair, her ankles crossed beneath her djellaba, and she’s hiding her crooked teeth with her big pudgy hammam-masseuse fingers. What a jackass!
Horse Mouth is sitting in silence. She’s looking at me.
I have to pay attention to my hands. I have a tendency to use them a bit too much when I speak. “Hello, Samira? Yes, I can hear you. I’m a bit busy right now. Can I call you back later when I’m free?”
“Pffft!”
That bitch Samira!
“What the fuck are you laughing about?” I ask her, turning to look at her and flinging my right hand off to the side. I want to slap her.
“Oh, fuck off. You’ve never talked to me like that!”
And she imitates me acting overly ingratiating, like a whore, hand in her ear as if she were holding a phone: “Hello, Samira? No, I can’t talk to you rig ht now. I’m busy.”
She speaks softly, drawing out each word and pouting her dick-sucking lips as if there were a guy holding her from behind. Asshole!
I yell, “What are you bitching about? And who do you think you are, opening your big mouth?”
I’ll show her, talking to me like that. I walk toward her. She gets up too. I’m standing firm on my legs. She is too, but if she thinks she’s going to scare me, she’s wrong. If she says another word, I’ll wreck her face.
“Incredible! That’s exactly what we need.” Horse Mouth jumps up, placing one hand on my chest and the other on Samira’s. Where did she come from? She’s suddenly between us and turns toward the girl who’s working the camera.
“Play that back for me.”
And to me she says, “That’s exactly how you should do it. Launch into it without thinking. You see what you did with Samira just now? That’s what you have to do.”
And she turns toward Samira, laughing, “It’s a good thing you came.”
What does she mean, that’s how I have to do it? What does that cunt want? For me and Samira to argue? That’s what she wants?
Horse Mouth is behind the camera. She’s watching on a small screen, like a television, that’s popped out of the side of the camera.
“Come and see,” she says, waving me and Samira over.
On the screen, Samira and I are about to break into a fight. We look like witches and there’s nothing all that unusual about the spectacle. We shout.
“You see, it’s incredible! Look.”
Incredible? How is that incredible? Samira is standing, I’m opposite her. Our fists on our hips. And I have a tuft of hair coming out of my head like an antenna.
“Are you crazy?” I say to Horse Mouth. “You think you’re going to film me like that? Are you trying to make a fool of me?”
And I say to Samira, laughing, “This chick is really crazy.”
“All right, you know what? Let’s go for a cigarette,” says Horse Mouth, opening the door to the outside.
* * *
—
We’re on the balcony. If they hadn’t insisted, I would have taken off just now. She wants to film me with my hair sticking straight up, is she crazy?
“Here.”
The old woman who was in the kitchen holds out a tray with cups of tea for me to take. Her face is all wrinkled, and she’s wearing a white blouse.
I take a cup.
I remain standing. There are only three tiny chairs on the balcony. You can’t fit half your thigh on them they’re so small. And they’re low too.
So I remain standing. Horse Mouth takes a cup and says to the old woman, bowing as if she were greeting the king, “God bless you, Mouy Mina.”
The woman smiles, mouth gaping. A toothless king. And she goes back inside.
“It has to be like real life. It’s a film, but it has to be like real life. For people to believe it. For them to think it really happened.”
“You want to make a fool of me? You want me to be on the television looking like that? That’s not okay.”
Samira agrees with me. She says nothing but she agrees, it’s obvious. At least there’s someone here who understands.
“Don’t worry, there won’t be any scenes like that in the film. And there won’t be a scene where you look ugly or where you don’t like how you look,” Horse Mouth responds. “What I wanted to say earlier, when you were talking to Samira, is that it was real. On the camera, it was real and that was obvious, do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
“Of course it was real. I almost ripped out her hair.”
Samira is silent. She’s already finished her cigarette and she has her arms crossed in front of her chest.
“What I mean to say is that it was true. What happens on the screen when you’re yourself is something special. Listen, t
here are loads of actresses. There are good ones, and there are average ones. There are pretty ones, ugly ones, fat ones, you get the idea, there are loads of actresses. And each one, when she’s chosen for a film, is hired either because the director wants to film her and not someone else, or because she has something that the others don’t. You, you’re both. I want you to act in my film. You have a power that radiates from you that…that fills the room. That fills the screen.”
Samira nods her head from top to bottom. She thinks I should do it.
“There will be makeup, they’ll dress you. It’ll be a good thing, you’ll see. Anyway, I told you, the film won’t be shown in Morocco. It’ll only be shown abroad, where people understand that it’s a film and that you have to play the role the way things happen in real life.”
She stops talking and we keep puffing on our cigarettes. There are clouds starting to cover the sky. We stay like that for a little while. I put out my cigarette in the ashtray on the ground and I start walking back into the room. “Come on, let’s go.”
I open my bag. The other three look at me. I take out my mirror and my lipstick, I put it on, taking my time. I fix my hair. I walk toward the center of the room and I say, glancing over my shoulder, “What are you waiting for? An official invitation?”
Lamia gets behind the camera, Horse Mouth sits to the side and Samira plops down like a dope on the chair in the back.
I begin. “Hello, Samira? Listen, I can’t talk to you rig ht now,” I yell, plugging my ear where there’s no phone.
Frowning, standing at a slant, my right side angled toward the camera, I add, “I’ll call you back later! Huh? I’ll call you back later. Why? I can’t hear you. Hello? Pffft.”
I try to hear Samira’s response in the telephone but the fucking signal is shitty. I continue, “I told you I’ll call you back later. Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Go on, go fuck yourself. Bye.”
And I hang up. I look at Horse Mouth. All her teeth are showing. I think I’ve done a good job. “Incredible!” she says. “That was very good. Let’s do a final test with the real script.”
Straight from the Horse's Mouth Page 13