Horses of God by Mahi Binebine

Author:Mahi Binebine [Norman, Lulu]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781935639541
Publisher: Tin House Books

11

GHIZLANE DID NOT appreciate my going to live with Nabil. I reckon she was jealous; she’d have liked to take his place. Yemma, too, was hurt by my decision to leave. She cried the day I broke the news. My brothers had left, one after the other, heading for the city or joining the army; three of them had gotten married and built their own homes in Chichane. There was only Said left to support her. Said was a lovely boy. A bit simple, it’s true, but he didn’t bother anyone. You barely noticed he was there; he was almost transparent. Never the least complaint out of him. To him, Yemma’s cooking was delicious even when she put far too much spice in it. We could gauge my mother’s mood by the amount of salt she used. An oversalted tagine meant we’d better watch out: it had been a bad day and the slightest misdemeanor would lead to a beating. Said did all the hardest jobs without ever making a fuss. Yemma wasn’t fair to him, she was always shouting at him because he got everything wrong. Sometimes she’d feel bad about it and, by way of an apology, she’d slip a few dirhams in his pocket. “Clear off! Go outside for a bit! I can’t have you under my feet all day.” Said would walk all round the shacks and come back a quarter of an hour later, sitting down next to my father to play checkers. The streets frightened him; he felt better at home with his transistor radio and his faded newspapers. He never tired of the mining stories my father endlessly regurgitated, which had different versions depending on how ill he felt. Said would follow the news with unswerving attention, as if the future of the planet depended on him. He commented on events, supplying his precious analysis, without realizing that Father was practically deaf and Yemma didn’t understand a thing about politics. But at least he’d talk about issues beyond the usual concerns: “The roof’s leaking,” “The water from the pump smells bad,” “The price of oil, sugar, or tea has gone up,” “The pirate stations have been scrambled . . .” Anyway, I was glad he’d stayed at home. I was sixteen and my shoulders were broader than Hamid’s. It was time I started fending for myself like other boys my age.

Nabil and I had decorated the shack as best we could, the way we’d dreamed about in the old days. My brother and Abu Zoubeir had given us a substantial sum of money to set ourselves up; a generous donation, which was deeply touching. It meant we could buy a straw mattress, a pillow, a woolen blanket, and a strong zinc sheet to reinforce the roof. We allowed ourselves one treat: a radio-cassette player, almost new, because the old one was well and truly dead. So we organized ourselves and shared the workload. Nabil was in charge of the cooking and I’d work as a mechanic.

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