by Paul Bowles
LARBI AND HIS FATHER
A RICH DJIBLI FARMER HAD TWO sons, Larbi and Abdeltif. The youths were very different from one another. Larbi had a bad temper, while Abdeltif was gentle as a taleb in the mosque. His father was very fond of him and spent much time with him, whereas he paid no attention to Larbi.
Larbi, who was eighteen, had four friends with whom he passed his days, smoking kif and eating majoun. Their life was like an endless feast. They took turns paying for the food and the kif. The others always had money, but often Larbi did not. His father would not allow him near the farm where the animals were kept, because he had no confidence in him. He let him eat and sleep in the house, and that was all.
One night when it was his turn to pay for the party, Larbi had neither money nor kif. He needed to buy everything, but he had nothing with which to buy it. He went to Mohammed’s house and said to his friends: It’s my turn and I haven’t a guirch.
It doesn’t matter, Larbi, they said. We’re your friends and we know you. Don’t even think about it. Here’s the money. Here’s the kif. You’re our brother.
We’re more than brothers, said Larbi. I know your kif is my kif, and your money is my money, and your mahal is my mahal if I want to stay in it. But I’ve got to have my own money in my pocket, and my own kif. When you invite me I want to invite you. The world is wrong. For every man who has money there are a hundred who have nothing. It shouldn’t be that way.
You’re right, Larbi. It shouldn’t be that way, but that’s the way it is.
Why can’t the one who has it give some to the other hundred now and then?
Yes, why can’t he? they said.
I’m thinking about my father, said Larbi. Allah forgive me. I’m going to tell you what I think of him. He’s got thousands of acres of land, and I don’t know how many sheep and cows he’s got, or how many tons of wheat and fodder stored up. And the people who work for him work without pay, only for their food and a place to sleep so the rain won’t wet them. And why doesn’t he give them something more? Because he thinks there’s no difference between them and his animals. He keeps them alive and uses them until they die. I’m going out for a while. I’ll be back.
I’ll go with you, said Mohammed. The two went out. It was dark, and the wind was blowing a fine rain over them. They walked up the valley, all the way to the tchar, and as they went, Larbi told Mohammed what he was going to do. When they got to the land owned by Larbi’s father they went through the gate to a corral. Mohammed stayed outside the corral while Larbi went in and drove out the sheep. There were about three hundred of them in there. They took them to Mohammed’s farm. The others came out then and helped them, and the five youths drove the flock all night. Getting them across the rivers was the most difficult part of the trip.
By morning all five of them were drenched with rain and smeared with mud, but they had the sheep at the souk in the city. Larbi immediately set to work selling them. The animals were unusually big and strong, and he was selling them at a low price. Soon he had got rid of them all.
Then he said to his friends: Now let’s go back to the tchar. We’ll look for a big taxi and have it take us back and wait while we wash and change our clothes. Then we’ll come back here.
They found a taxi and drove up to their village, where they bathed and put on clean clothes. After that they returned to the city.
As they walked through the streets of the Medina, they came to a narrow alley where a woman stood. The four friends were timid country youths, but Larbi had no shame. He went up to the woman and said: Msalkheir, lalla.
Msalkheir, my son.
Do you live around here, lalla?
Yes, my son. This is my house right here.
Then Larbi said: You don’t know a woman named Habiba, do you?
Yes, I know her. She used to live here in my house with me.
Larbi knew no one named Habiba. He wanted to talk with the woman.
She lived here a while, and then she moved out, she said. Was she your girlfriend?
Larbi could not say no, and so he said yes.
Well, there’s better than that around here, the woman told him.
Where do you see them? he asked her. I don’t see them.
The woman turned and opened the door. Come in. All five of the youths followed her inside. There were women sitting in all the rooms. Immediately Larbi saw a beautiful one, and spoke to her.
I don’t want to do anything here, he told her. Can you come with me? You and four others?
Where? said the girl.
Out to the country.
She looked at him. All right, she said. I’ll go. But I don’t know about the others.
However, the others were willing to go, too. Larbi gave a little money to the woman who had let them in, and they all went out into the alley.
The women began to say that they needed drinks. Larbi bought some bottles of whiskey, a carton of cigarettes, and a large amount of food. Then they went to the taxi-stand. They needed two taxis to get them out to the mountains. It was a dusty drive.
Larbi paid the extra taxi and sent it away. Then he told the other driver to come back in two days to pick up the women. They opened the gate to Mohammed’s orchard. Mohammed lived alone; there was no one else there. When the women went into the cabin they were surprised. It looks like nothing from the outside, and inside it’s wonderful!
We’re country people, said Larbi. Our houses are clean, the air we breathe is clean, and the water we drink is clean. The city’s dirty, the air and the water and the life they make you live there.
That’s true, said the women.
Three of the men sat down with the women. Mohammed and Larbi brought the taifor, and made a fire of logs in the courtyard. Then they took one of Mohammed’s biggest sheep and slaughtered it. Quickly they pulled off the skin. Three of the women set to work washing the inside organs. Then they put them together to cook over the fire. They cut the flesh and threw it into a big cauldron. After that everyone went inside and sat down. Khemou, Larbi’s friend, opened a bottle of whiskey, and Larbi brought five glasses.
Aren’t you boys going to drink?
It’s a sin, and we can’t, Larbi said. Up here we don’t know anything about alcohol. We never see it. And we can’t drink it because it’s forbidden. We only bought it for you. But don’t misunderstand me.
Oh, no! they said. We’ll drink it.
We’ve got our own things, Larbi told her. He brought out a big dish of majoun. The men took out their mottouis and began to smoke kif and drink many glasses of tea, while the women poured themselves whiskey.
After the women had drunk a bottle of whiskey they were happy. Mokhtar got up and unpacked a large guinbri with eight strings. Mohammed brought a bendir from the other room. When they had tuned up, they began to play together.
Soon Larbi went to the courtyard to look at the meat. It was cooked. He heaped it all on a huge platter.
He broke the bread, and they started to eat. When they had finished off all the meat, Larbi brought the cauldron of entrails that was stewing on the fire. Each woman picked a piece of liver, and Larbi and his friends ate the rest.
After they had finished eating and drunk tea and eaten more majoun, they resumed the music, and Khemou sang a mouwal. When she sat down afterward, Larbi was delighted. I’d like to have a wife like you, he told her. You could sing for me every day.
That’s easy, she said. Tomorrow if you like.
Larbi said no more about it. They had not brought the whores to the country to marry them.
The next day was very hot, and the sun burned like fire. Larbi opened the door and stepped outside. It’s summer! he cried. What a day!
They went into the orchard and washed at the well. Then they drank at the spring. Below the orchard there was a stream that ran all year. The forest began on the other side, and behind it were the mountains, with sheer cliffs of rock. The five friends stood there drying themselves and looking out over the countryside. The wo
men were in the house getting breakfast.
When Larbi had eaten and smoked a little kif he told the others: I’m going home for a while. I’ll be back.
Don’t be long.
I’ll walk it in no time, he said. And he climbed up the valley to his tchar.
When he got home his mother met him at the door. Where have you been all this time? she cried. Larbi!
I was staying at a friend’s house, yimma.
I’m afraid for you, she said.
I’m not a woman, yimma. Why should you worry about me?
No, my son. What you’re doing is not good.
What am I doing?
You’re smoking kif and eating majoun. And you’re sleeping away from home.
Nothing’s going to happen to me.
And now what do you want?
I only came to change my clothes. He went into his room and put on fresh clothing. And he rolled up two big sheepskins and two blankets, and started to go out.
Where are you taking those things? said his mother.
I’m taking them with me. They’re to sleep on and cover up with.
His father suddenly appeared at the door. Where have you been?
At my friend’s house.
Your friend’s house. I see. And what were you doing there with your friends?
Larbi said: What do men do, Baba?
What do you mean, what do men do? What do they do?
When you were my age, what did you do?
Son, I was working with a plow, and taking care of the sheep, and milking the cows, and studying the Koran in the mosque, and praying.
And I’m not doing anything wrong either, said Larbi. What am I doing? I smoke kif and eat majoun. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?
You can stand there and look at me and tell me you smoke kif and eat majoun? Whoever told his father such a thing?
But Baba, all those old ideas you have in your head are finished. That’s not the way it is today in the world. It’s a different time now. The things that used to be true aren’t true anymore. That’s all finished.
His father opened his mouth wide and cried: Don’t come anymore to this house!
I was born in it and I grew up in it, and I’ll come when I want to come.
There was silence. Then his father said: Where are you going with those sheepskins and those blankets?
I’ll bring them back, said Larbi.
You’re not taking anything out of this house! Put them down!
I’ve got to take them from here, Baba, because I can’t get them from anywhere else. You’re rich. You’ve got cows and sheep. And you’ve got twenty men working for you, and you only give them their feed, the same as you do with your livestock. They work in the dirt and feed and milk the animals, and take everything to market. And when they finish working, you feed them so they can work again.
That’s not your business. What you need is to be put to work yourself.
I don’t work, Baba, and I’m not going to. And when I feel like coming home I’ll come home and take what I want and go out again. Excuse me, Baba. And Larbi stepped in front of his father and went out through the door, carrying with him his bundle.
In Mohammed’s orchard everyone was sitting under the trees. Am I late? he said.
No! they cried. Come on and eat!
They spent the afternoon hunting for hares across the valley. That night they sat again in the room they had made under the trees. There was a full moon. They brought the pot of stew to the taifor, broke the bread, said Bismillah, and began to eat.
The women stayed again that night, and did not go back to the city until the following day. As they left, Larbi said to Khemou: I’ll be down to see you in two days.
Ouakha, she said.
After they had driven off, Larbi told his friends: I’m going to the tchar for a while. He set off up the valley.
At home, he kissed his mother’s head and sat down, with his brother Abdeltif beside him. Soon his father came in with two other men of his family. Larbi got up and kissed his father’s hand. Then he sat down.
Now where have you been, son?
With my friends.
Your friends, yes. They’re the ones who are going to leave you naked and begging in the street.
If you gave me money I wouldn’t go on the way I am now. I’d get married and have my own sons.
It’s the kif in your head that’s making you talk, said his father.
It’s just the opposite! cried Larbi. Kif makes you see the truth. And besides that, it makes you feel like not getting into trouble.
Words like that don’t even get into my ears, his father said. Go and say them to other ears that are full of kif like yours.
The two men sitting there agreed. Why don’t you listen to your father? He’s an old man. Do as he tells you, as the book says.
Larbi paid no attention to them. I’m going to ask you something, Baba. I want to go and live in the city. I’d like you to help me with a little money so I can start a business.
His father burst out laughing. That’s a bright idea! I give you money so you can live in the city! He laughed some more. Then he said: Not a guirch from me. If you want to go to the city, go on.
Larbi got up and went into his room. He opened a big chest and took out some money, put on his djellaba, and walked back through the other room. Good-bye, he said, and before anyone else could say anything he went out.
He was in a bad mood as he walked back down to Mohammed’s farm. When he got there he went inside and sat in a corner by himself. There he smoked kif until he fell asleep. No one wanted to disturb him, and so he stayed that way until morning.
Come and have breakfast, said Mokhtar.
Larbi stood up. I’m going to the city, he said.
What for? they said. Don’t go.
Good-bye. He went out and walked along the road. At eight o’clock in the evening he got to the town. He walked directly to the house where he had met Khemou, and knocked on the door.
The woman let him in. Khemou was there, and so were two of the other women who had been to the country. Khemou seemed surprised to see him.
Come out for a walk with me, Larbi urged her. We can’t talk here.
Wait while I get my djellaba.
A minute later they stepped out together into the alley. They started to walk up towards the market, but they had not gone very far before a man waving a bottle staggered out of an alley and blocked their way. He seized Khemou’s arm and cried: Where are you going? As she wrenched herself free, Larbi pushed the man’s chest. He swung the bottle at Larbi’s head, but Larbi ducked and knocked him down. The man’s head hit the pavement in such a way that the blow killed him.
People began to gather. Larbi turned to Khemou: The police will be here now, he said. Go out to Mohammed’s farm and tell him what’s happened. He handed her some banknotes. Here. You need money. You sleep with men to make money. Take this and don’t go with anybody. When my father hears he’ll know what to do to get me out of it.
The Spanish police arrived and took Larbi with them to the comisaria. He stayed there two days. Then they put him into Malabata Prison. They did not give him a trial, but they promised him one in a year or two.
Khemou took a taxi straight to Mohammed’s farm. She told the story to Larbi’s friends, and returned to the city. Then all four of the youths hurried up to the village and gave the news to Larbi’s father and mother. In a few minutes the entire tchar knew what had happened.
The following day Larbi’s father and a good many neighbors set out on horseback to the city. They went to Malabata Prison and saw Larbi.
What does this mean? demanded his father.
This is what you wanted to happen, Larbi told him.
His father went out and found a lawyer, and paid him half his fee. You’ll get the other half when my son is free, he said.
I want to hear the whole story from your son, the lawyer told him.
He went to the police and got th
e report on Larbi’s case. You didn’t tell me your son was married, he said.
He’s not.
He told them he hit the man to protect his wife. You must go with Khemou and make out marriage papers. Have the notary date the marriage a year ago. It’s the only way I can do anything for you.
Larbi’s father and the four friends went to the brothel where Khemou worked. They took her with them to the courtyard of the notaries and had the papers made out as the lawyer had instructed.
When the lawyer had studied the false papers, he said: Everything will be all right. I’ll do the work. You can go home.
Three months went by. The lawyer was still working on the case. Finally he got it to the court, and Larbi stood before the judge, and so did Khemou.
The lawyer spoke for a while. Soon he said: Larbi, will you tell what happened?
Larbi said he had been walking in the street with his wife when a drunken man had attacked them. He had pushed the man and the man had fallen and hit his head.
When he had finished the story he sat down, and the lawyer went on talking for a long time. At the end, the judge gave Larbi a ten years suspended sentence. You may go home, he said.
Larbi was overjoyed. He ran to kiss his father’s hand, and he kissed his mother and shook hands with his friends. And he and Khemou walked out of the court together with his family. They all returned to the tchar.
Larbi’s father and mother disliked Khemou and always spoke of her as the dirty woman. Now that she was married she had given up alcohol, but she still liked cigarettes. One day his father came into the house and caught sight of Khemou with a cigarette between her fingers. He walked over to her saying: Allah! Allah! Allah! How shameless!
Is something the matter? said Khemou.
You don’t know what’s the matter?
No, she said.
You really don’t know?
How could I know? What is it? What’s the matter?
And even though I’m in front of you, you go right on smoking? Have you no sense of shame at all?