“I see.”
“One day, I heard people talking about those Moroccan prostitutes who accompanied the French soldiers to the war in Indochina. I went to the prefecture and told them that I wanted to enlist for France, too.”
“You weren’t afraid?”
“Once you’ve lived in Bousbir, you’re not afraid of anything anymore . . . And I felt I was being called. I had to go farther, distance myself from Morocco. Somewhere else, another destiny awaited me. Another life.”
“And you hoped to achieve that dream by following the French soldiers to the war in Indochina?”
“It was the only solution I had.”
“But it must be hard, even so, to sleep with all these soldiers every day.”
“I never said it wasn’t.”
“And now?”
“Now I must continue my path. With or without you, I have to get to India. Nargis’s country.”
“Even if we manage to flee, the French army will catch us again. And our punishment will be terrible.”
“You don’t want to go with me. I get it . . . My story didn’t move you.”
“It’s a big risk, Zineb. I’m French. I would lose everything by fleeing with you. Absolutely everything.”
“But you said you were in love with me . . .”
“I am. I swear to you.”
“I don’t understand, Gabriel.”
“What?”
“Do you really love me, or you just love me like that first French guy, Charles?”
“Don’t compare me to him.”
“We have one life. Why give yours to the war? For what?”
“For France.”
“I’ve renounced Morocco.”
“And? . . .”
“You could renounce France.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Actually, it’s very simple. You come. Or you don’t come.”
“You’re being harsh, Zineb.”
“Don’t be a coward, Gabriel.”
“I love you, Zineb. Really. But . . .”
3
“I have a dream. I know in my gut that it’s real.”
“What exactly is this dream?”
“To become like Nargis. To become Nargis.”
“An Indian movie star.”
“No. An actress.”
“But you don’t know how to act.”
“How do you know? You think being a whore is my true nature, my true role in life?”
“I don’t understand, Zineb.”
“And yet it’s quite simple. Being a whore isn’t just taking your clothes off and opening your legs for men. You have to act out multiple roles, act them out perfectly in real life. Act and direct clients . . . I know everything about this profession . . . When I first saw Nargis in the movie Andaz, I understood all of it. I too can do what she does in front of the camera. Inhabit the film. The images. Be in the spotlight. Position myself as necessary in that light. Forget the others. Let another life penetrate me, come from me, from everything that is me. It seemed obvious to me . . . That’s all acting is . . . I have to go there, to India.”
“But why not try to become an actress in Morocco?”
“There’s no film industry in Morocco.”
“What about Egypt?”
“For me, it’s India. India or nothing. I want to be in that dream, in a country where no one will stop me, remind me of my past as a prostitute. Not the Moroccans, not the French. I want to go directly into the light, without an intermediary.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Don’t make fun.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Okay then, yes, I am. And all the better. Since delving into the images of the movie Andaz, I’ve gone crazy. I’ll admit it. But that’s the only thing that can really save me.”
“What is that movie about, Andaz?”
“A woman who loves two men.”
“I see. A liberated woman.”
“No, actually. One cannot be liberated when one is equally in love with two men. For me, in that movie, that’s not where liberty resides.”
“Where is it, then?”
“In Nargis’s acting. Her way of being an actress. She abandons herself. She abandons herself and she offers up all of her energy, all of her true colors. All of her secrets.”
“Do you know what that’s like?”
“Enough questions, Gabriel. Make a decision. Right now . . . Are you coming with me to India?”
“I have to give an answer right now?”
“Not a definitive answer, if you want . . . Just tell me that you’ll come with me . . . That we’ll go together . . .”
“I’ll go with you, Zineb.”
“Oh!”
“Are you surprised?”
“You really love me . . .”
“I don’t want to die in Indochina.”
“You want to live, like me. That’s great, Gabriel. I’m glad. I’m happy. I can sleep.”
“Sing first, Zineb. Sing.”
“I’ll sing ‘Uthaye Ja Unke Sitam’ for you, a song from Andaz. Nargis doesn’t sing it. She pretends. It’s Lata Mangeshkar who sings it.”
“Lata Mangeshkar . . . How do you know her name?”
“When you look, you find.”
“Go on, sing . . . Sing, Zineb . . .”
“Here I go:
“Uthaye ja unke sitam aur jiye jaa
Yunhi muskuraye ja, aansoo piye ja
Uthaye ja unke sitam aur jiye jaa
Yunhi muskuraye ja, aansoo piye ja
Uthaye ja unke sitam
Yehi hain mohabbat ka dastoor aye dil
Dastoor aye dil
Woh ghum de tujhe tu duaye diye ja
Uthaye ja unke sitam
Kabhi woh nazar jo samayi thi dil me
Samayi thi dil me
Usi ek nazar ka sahara liye ja
Uthaye ja unke sitam
Sataye zamana o, sitam dhaye duniya
Sitam dhaye duniya
Magar kisi ki tammana kiye ja
Uthaye ja unke sitam aur jiye jaa
Yunhi muskuraye ja, aansoo piye ja
Uthaye ja unke sitam.”
“It’s sad.”
“Yes, very sad, Gabriel.”
“You want to go to India so you can sing this kind of song?”
“Going to India, answering that call, will mean finally starting my life. My real life. Everything that has preceded that moment will have been only a step or two. Nothing more.”
“And once I’m over there with you, what will I do?”
“You are my love. You will be my man. We will live together.”
“We’ll be in your dream only.”
“My dream, yes, but you will discover yours, too . . . Soon . . . Along the way . . .”
“Where did you learn to talk like that?”
“Are you saying that I speak well?”
“Yes.”
“The first French guy, Charles, didn’t take me with him to Paris. He abandoned me. He didn’t know, but I would watch him when he welcomed people to his house. He put himself center stage and, without shutting up the others, he would start to talk. To shine. To become someone else . . . I kind of stole that talent from him . . .”
“I get the impression you’re not real, Zineb.”
“You’re not real, either, Gabriel . . . Being a soldier, that’s not real . . .”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You don’t seem to be affected by what you’ve seen, what you do . . . The horror . . . All the dead . . .”
“When are we going to India?”
“Come into my arms, Gabriel.”
“Here I am . . . Where are
we now, Zineb?”
“On the boat.”
“And am I still in your arms?”
“Still.”
“Can I close my eyes?”
“Yes. Yes, Gabriel. I’ll wake you up when we’re there. In five days.”
“Will you go by the same name in India?”
“No.”
“I’m not surprised. You’ve thought of everything. Even of all the ways to make me fall madly in love with you. That way you’ll be able to do with me what you like.”
“It’s for your own good, Gabriel . . . Sleep . . . Sleep . . .”
“I’m drifting. I’m getting sleepy . . . Sleepy . . . more and more . . .”
“Sleep, my little Gabriel.”
“What will your name be in India?”
“Zahira.”
“Zahira . . . Why?”
“It sounds good.”
“Yes. Zahira . . . That’s beautiful . . .”
“A beautiful name for an actress in India.”
“It sounds Arab.”
“Nargis is an Arab name, too. It’s her stage name. Her real name is Fatima Rashid. She’s Muslim.”
“Like you, Zineb.”
“Like me, Gabriel.”
About the Author
Born in Rabat, Morocco in 1973, ABDELLAH TAÏA has written many novels, including Salvation Army, which he also made into an award-winning film, and Infidels (Seven Stories 2016), translated by Alison L. Strayer. He lives in Paris.
About the Translator
Translator EMMA RAMADAN is based in Providence, Rhode Island, where she co-owns Riffraff Bookstore and Bar. She’s the recipient of an NEA fellowship, a Fulbright grant, and the 2018 Albertine Prize for Anne Garréta’s Not One Day. Her other translations include Anne Garréta’s Sphinx, Virginie Despentes’s Pretty Things, Ahmed Bouanani’s The Shutters, and Marcus Malte’s The Boy.
About the Publisher
SEVEN STORIES PRESS is an independent book publisher based in New York City. We publish works of the imagination by such writers as Nelson Algren, Russell Banks, Octavia E. Butler, Ani DiFranco, Assia Djebar, Ariel Dorfman, Coco Fusco, Barry Gifford, Martha Long, Luis Negrón, Hwang Sok-yong, Lee Stringer, and Kurt Vonnegut, to name a few, together with political titles by voices of conscience, including Subhankar Banerjee, the Boston Women’s Health Collective, Noam Chomsky, Angela Y. Davis, Human Rights Watch, Derrick Jensen, Ralph Nader, Loretta Napoleoni, Gary Null, Greg Palast, Project Censored, Barbara Seaman, Alice Walker, Gary Webb, and Howard Zinn, among many others. Seven Stories Press believes publishers have a special responsibility to defend free speech and human rights, and to celebrate the gifts of the human imagination, wherever we can. In 2012 we launched Triangle Square books for young readers with strong social justice and narrative components, telling personal stories of courage and commitment. For additional information, visit www.sevenstories.com.
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