We worked so much, and I didn’t get to take advantage of anything. Not lunch, not the fridge on the terrace. Although they did serve us an incredible lunch. There was everything. A meat tagine with peas and artichokes, a chicken tagine with potatoes, salads of every kind, eggplants, peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes, fruit, Dannon yogurts. And after, on a separate table, there was dessert. It’s really a shame I wasn’t able to enjoy it.
To tell the truth, they made me dizzy with all their bullshit today. We started with screen tests. If you want to know what exactly they were testing, and what all those guys were doing with their machines, you’d have to ask them. Because I have no idea. All I know is that they told us the scene was just for practice, not the real thing.
I struggled at first. With all the ruckus they were making as we filmed, I couldn’t concentrate. At one point, they all started to yell as if they were bidding at a fish auction.
First one guy screams something. Then another guy, who’s sitting behind a tiny table as if he were being punished, says something else. Then some nutjob jumps up thrusting a long rod full of hair that looks like the brooms we use to clean the ceiling, rig ht in your face.
And next, the cameraman, followed by Horse Mouth, who says “Action” for you to begin.
And added to all of that is a pain in the ass who shows up with a black slate in his hands, who plants himself in front of the camera and then retreats, also yelling.
And so, numerous times, I started when I shouldn’t have. That bothered them. But they’re the ones making things complicated. Why not just say “Let’s go” and leave it at that?
On top of it, Horse Mouth kept bossing us around: do this, do that, like this, not like that. The thing that did my head in the most was how many times she yelled “Cut.” Sometimes, you haven’t even said bismillah* in your head when you hear Horse Mouth with her megaphone yelling for you to stop.
It doesn’t bother her, she doesn’t care. All day, she hides out behind her black box that looks like the Kaaba* and she does the director thing, staring at her screen. All you can see is her legs sticking out of the bottom. And since her ears are covered with enormous headphones, she talks loudly. If you’ve been smoking hash or drinking, you might confuse her with God, giving orders, always unseen.
And there’s a chick with her, a real brat!
The script girl, they call her. They hired her just to piss us off. That’s her entire job. She carries a notebook, she wears glasses, and she watches you. If you make a tiny little mistake or say something that’s not exactly like in the script, she comes and scolds you, like a schoolteacher. You should have seen what she did to the guy who was in charge of the decor…
But I think he deserved it. He’s a real cheapskate! He made them a shitty set: you’ve never seen anything so ordinary. The scene takes place in a bedroom. And that lazy asshole did the bare minimum. He set up a bed, a tiny shit-colored rug, and a table with an ashtray full of butts and beers. That’s it. And while we, the actors, took a break between two scenes, he, to justify his salary, would approach the bed and start to smooth the creases. Or he would pick up and move the ashtray. Is that what he calls work?
Anyway, other than him, it’s clear that these people are professionals. Everyone knows what they have to do. No one wastes time. The camera guy, you should see how his camera suits him. And the one who holds the sound broom, he’s enormous. And there’s one guy, a foreigner, also blond. Incredible. Of all of them, he’s the one who really impresses me. He’s very small, skinny, he looks like a baby goat. And with his minuscule arms, he moves those huge lights! They’re each twice his weight. He holds them by a large, heavy rod. I was so intrigued by him that I screwed up a scene.
While I was telling Kaïs Brahim to go fuck himself, I noticed that guy moving something and it distracted me. You could only see the bottom of his feet beneath a gigantic light. I found it incredible that someone so frail could carry something so big, so instead of insulting Kaïs Brahim as I was supposed to, I said to him, my eyes on the baby goat, “Repeat what you just said?” That’s a sentence that comes later in the script. Of course, that bitch Horse Mouth didn’t let it slide. And she said that we would take a break. Fine by me because then I was able to follow Maaizou.* That’s what I call the baby goat. I wanted to see the rod up close to know if it was plastic or iron. He handed me the rod. It was really iron.
Even though it was a bit of a mess today, these people know what they’re doing. I hadn’t understood this morning what the giant guy was director of, and I thought that maybe he was even Horse Mouth’s boss, but that’s not it at all. In fact, here, they say director like we say maallem.* It means that you’re a professional of your trade. That you’re the most gifted and you know the most things. And given how skilled these people are, they’re almost all maallem of something.
If you had been with me today your mouth would have been hanging open in astonishment. It was really something, after all.
SATURDAY THE 30TH
Ten more days of filming and then it’s over. It’s four in the morning and I can’t get up. Never in my life have I had to wake up so early.
Samira is lucky. She could saw through the entire Maâmora* Forest she snores so much. Her arm—which hangs over the bed—is perpetually at risk of knocking over the coffee machine they brought me when they saw that I was fundamentally incompatible with their schedule. You should see the bed room now! It’s as if I’ve always lived here.
The fridge is about to burst. Inside there are Dannon yogurts, bread, Siviana,* mortadella, Laughing Cow, and pineapple juice. And desserts of all kinds and all colors. During filming, I always tell them to set some aside so that I can take them home with me in the afternoon.
Today is not like the other days. We’re going to film in a special location. Next to the market. My market. In the street that leads to Alpha 55.*
“Jmiaa? Knock knock! Jmiaa?”
“Out?” I answer, walking toward the door and speaking softly so as not to wake up Samira.
Now, they don’t say anything to me when she stays with me, but after our first night together here, they did everything in their power to get rid of her. I understand why, because when Samira showed up, she brought trouble with her.
The first day, the assholes from the hotel wouldn’t let her go up. She entered the lobby and instead of continuing on her way, that idiot stood there with her mouth open, gawking at the decor. She was especially amazed by the horse, she said. While she was swallowing flies, one of the mountains that guards the entryway approached her and asked her where she was going.
That’s how it always is. No matter where you go. If the guard dogs at the door don’t know you or if you don’t bribe them, they give you trouble. That’s how it is at the nightclub, at the police station, at the schools, everywhere.
Samira told him that she had a meeting with someone. The guy told her that only the guests were permitted to enter. Samira insisted. He repeated what he had already said. And then I don’t know exactly what Samira answered. But it didn’t go over so well with the guy, who grabbed her by the arm. Right when she was about to cause a scene and start yelling, Horse Mouth arrived. He got lucky, that guy. If Samira had let loose on him, I don’t care how big he is, he would still be hiding out in a hole somewhere. Samira was very pleased by the room; we settled in, we had a few glasses of wine, and she left.
The next day, she came back. We had another few glasses, and then, since we were feeling good, we decided to go out. Shooting didn’t start until 11 the next day. We got in a taxi and left for the coast. We said that we’d have some fun, have a few glasses, and head back.
The only thing I went back to was that asshole Bouchaïb. We had only just arrived in one of those clubs on the coast when I saw him. He was at a table covered in bottles. Saïd and Belaïd, the inseparable balls that follow him like a shadow, were sitting and laughing and around them wa
s a gaggle of girls, subpar whores. I elbowed Samira’s stomach, nodding at the table with my chin. I wanted to leave but she dragged me inside. Before I could react, I found myself at the bar.
We sat down. A pole hid us from their view. I decided that as soon as I had an opportunity to leave, I would.
Then, Belaïd saw us. He got up to go to the bathroom. After that, it was inevitable. Less than five minutes after he had returned to his spot, that bear Bouchaïb and his fat stomach came over. He had blown up even more, and with his new mustache he looked like a police chief. He insisted that we go sit with them. That shithead Samira wanted to party and drink for free. And I followed her, like an idiot.
When we arrived at his table, he shooed away the girls who were sitting with them like you would dust off a rug. With their death glares, they spit in our faces. Bouchaïb acted like everything was normal between us. He sat me next to him and shifted his arm behind my back, placing his hand on the top of my thigh. We drank more than we should have. The problem was that with filming, I hadn’t been drinking much. And so again, the inevitable happened.
Bouchaïb let his hand rummage around in places I didn’t want it to go. I felt an electric shock run through me. As soon as he started to knead under my djellaba, I went into a fit of rage. I couldn’t stand for him to touch me there, as if it were his. And at that moment, chaos broke loose.
It went from an ordinary, chill scene to a racket like you’ve never seen before. Glass broke, tables were overturned. Samira lost it, Belaïd took off. Bouchaïb bit his lip and his fist crashed down onto my face. My nails dug into his cheek. Hands pulling. Hair. Screams, noise, spitting, blood. And then all of it mixed together. They threw all of us out onto the sidewalk. After that, the night passed quickly. From the sidewalk to the van, from the van to the police station, from the police station to the cell. From the cell to Samira’s, and then the muezzin calling the dawn prayer. And through it all, no trace of Chaïba. Chaïba had gone on his way. Chaïba had kept going without looking back at the muck he’d left in his wake. Chaïba had given me a peace offering by inviting me to his table. Chaïba gets what he wants. Where he wants it. Chaïba had lent me money when I was sick. All that meat, those thighs, that bounty overflowing from my chest, it all belongs to him.
But when things went south, Chaïba took off. He bribed the uniforms and returned to Hajar or to who knows what slob to dump his load. He bribed them and calmly stumbled to his car. He gave them enough so that they wouldn’t keep us too late into the night but not enough for them to leave us alone entirely. Fucking asshole!
If he sees my face again, I swear to you, my name isn’t Jmiaa.
* * *
—
After the fog of dawn, the first thing I remember is Horse Mouth and her teeth bent over me in Samira’s room. Fuck, that was another incredible mess. It was four in the afternoon or something. It was way past the time I was supposed to be on set. Now it was time to shut up. To listen and nod yes. She was so dramatic. She didn’t scream or anything. No. She was speaking softly but her entire body was tense, as if another person was about to come out of her. And a vein that had always remained calmly in the middle of her forehead had popped out. When she was done, she told me that we would see each other back at the hotel, and she showed herself out. I said nothing. I wasn’t there. My head was spinning, heavy. It had been a long time since I’d been in such a state. It had been a long time since I’d found myself face-to-face with the black screen of the television. And the reflection of Hamid counting his bills while my stomach jumped into my chest.
I was afraid. And I didn’t answer Horse Mouth. All I could do was prop myself on my elbows and glance at my face in the mirror. By a stroke of luck, the only visible trace was the kohl that had run down to my mouth. You should have seen the fuss I made to Samira when she woke up. I had been going about my business and she had dragged me into that shitty mess. I had just started on set. And I had sworn that I would no longer do anything with that asshole. Fortunately we had left all our energy in the cell, otherwise I swear she and I would have ended up swinging at each other.
In the end, like everything else, it passed. Samira and I calmed down. And Horse Mouth let it go. But it was difficult to make up for that shitty night.
The next day, when I returned to the set, no one could stand me. These people, when they can’t stand you, they don’t sulk or insult you or any of the things that normal people do. They just look at you sideways and don’t speak to you, that’s all.
That day, they all twisted their necks looking in the other direction when I passed. Horse Mouth said that because of me, all of filming had stopped, and they had lost money. They’re so full of themselves, you can’t even imagine.
I’m going to tell you something—because I’ve lived it now: all that structure turns you into an asshole.
“Knock knock. Jmiaa? Are you awake?” says the voice, in Arabic this time, from behind the door.
Even though I can’t see him, I know he has his mouth pressed up against the wood as if it were glued to my tits. It’s Maaizou, the baby goat. He’s become infatuated with me, the poor guy. Every morning, he comes to wake me up. I think he’s afraid I won’t show up or that I’ll have disappeared into the night again. Or maybe someone asked him to do it, I don’t know. He’s started to learn Arabic. He knows how to say all the words he needs to say: “Are you awake?” “Are you hungry?” “Do you need anything?” And he speaks it well, for a foreigner.
Today is his lucky day. Even though I have to be up before dawn and even though I’m struggling, I am indeed up.
“It’s fine, you can go, I’m awake.”
Next to me, he’s like a kid. I surpass him in height, in breadth, in width, in everything. His head is barely bigger than one of my breasts. He doesn’t care. As soon as he has a free moment, he flocks to me.
He wants me to teach him Arabic, he said. My ass that’s what he wants! But that’s not my problem. I don’t do anything with him. They told me I couldn’t work during filming. So I’m not working.
Fine by me. Maaizou spoils me and I give him nothing in return. Nothing, not even a blow job. And Samira benefits from it too. Every day, he brings us something. I have so many perfumes I’m sick of them. I think he might be a bit of a dope.
“It’s fine. We’ll see each other on set,” I say to him.
I speak to him slowly. And I add gestures so that he’ll understand. He leaves, saying goodbye in Arabic. Despite everything, he’s actually pretty sharp. He’s a quick learner.
* * *
—
You should see the faces of the people around me. Their mouths are all hanging open. All of them. And since it’s Saturday, everyone is here. It must be two in the afternoon. The day’s been hot. And long. We’ve been shooting since six in the morning and we still have about two hours left to go.
I’m standing next to a store they’ve made to look like a jewelry store. It’s the store that belongs to that bitch who normally sells clothing. Next to the bakery. Kaïs Brahim and I are waiting for the crew to tell us to start. I’m having a hard time concentrating.
I’ve started to get used to the circus and all the lines I can’t remember. But today, it’s too much for me.
First off, they’ve blocked the street. No one can come in, no one can leave. They put up barriers to stop the cars so that we can film without interruption. I’m not used to seeing the street like this. Normally, it’s like a souk, and now, even though they’ve retained some of the chaos, I’m thrown off by the order they’ve imposed. And the cops, there are too many of them. Everywhere you look, there they are. Two days ago, some crazy guy blew himself up in a café in Marrakech. The guy got up one morning, put a bomb in his bag, walked into a café and boom! That’s what his deranged brain told him to do. Who knows why. It was in that super famous square, Jemaa el-Fnaa. I’ve never been before but they show it on TV a
ll the time. There are snake charmers, fortune-tellers, orange-juice sellers, snails, all sorts of things. An insane amount of tourists have gone there. Since that day, the Dutch haven’t shut up about it. Maaizou said they’re afraid of being blown up too.
And so, at noon, they completely surrounded the restaurant they rented out for lunch. No one went in, no one went out without being searched. But nothing happened. Even though I’m starting to get used to it, I still don’t like for there to be so many cops around.
Today—serves them right—they’re going to suffer. Because my supporters make the apaches of Raja* look like babies. All the people I know and even some I don’t know are here.
They’re all behind the barrier. There’s Bachir the grocer, Fouzia, Rabia, Mina the elderly woman, that whore Hajar and her girlfriend, Najia the hairdresser. There’s Okraïcha the second-floor neighbor, who stopped to see what was going on. There’s the blind bat Robio, who is selling socks today. They were all wondering where I’d disappeared to, and now, here I am, before their eyes, starring in a film. Even Hamid came to see.
We reconciled this morning. When I arrived at dawn, he had just finished his night shift at the garage. He waved to me from afar. I had just stepped out of wardrobe. I let him come in to say hello. He asked me to forgive him for not having come to see me after the accident. He said that our friendship went too far back for anything to tarnish it. I told him it was okay, that there was no problem, that God knew how to forgive everything. Between us, you know what? I gave in. Because I can’t afford to waste time being angry with idiots like him now.
Houcine is also here, next to the market. Hiding under his baseball cap. He must be dying to know what on earth I’m doing here. First the accident, then my disappearance since I moved to the hotel, and now this. I’ll call him when I’m done filming to explain it to him. But honestly, he can go fuck himself. All that matters is that I get him his money, right?
Straight from the Horse's Mouth Page 16