The Lemon by Mohammed Mrabet

Author:Mohammed Mrabet
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-06-10T16:00:00+00:00

20

Before Abdeslam went to El Fqih’s house that afternoon he washed the dishes and pots that El Fqih had sent with the food. Then he put them into the basket the boy had brought them in.

The tolba were already there sitting on the floor when he arrived carrying the basket. He kissed El Fqih’s hand and went to sit with them. They chanted one by one. Abdeslam’s turn came, and he chanted a surah about sin. When he had finished, the chief taleb said to him : May you die open-eyed and without fear! Fve never heard a small boy chant like that.

After they had all finished chanting, together they said : Allah akbar! three times, and tnen : Salaam aleikoum! three times. El Fqih sent for henna, and they rubbed it on Abdeslam’s right hand. A few minutes later they brought water and soap and washed it off, but the colour remained on his skin.

El Fqih sat down by Abdeslam and began to talk to him. That house you’re living in is no place for you, he

told him. I’ve seen the women who go in there. They’re vicious women. They can do you great harm.

Abdeslam saw that El Fqih wanted to interfere with his life. He frowned and said : I get very nervous when I hear people talking about other people behind their backs.

You’re right, my son, and may Allah forgive me, said El Fqih. I’m sorry I mentioned the women. You seem like a bright boy. Haven’t you got a father?

I have a whole family, said Abdeslam.

Then what are you doing in that house? Tell me that, at least.

I’m there because in that house I don’t have to study French! Abdeslam cried.

El Fqih did not seem to understand, and Abdeslam decided that this was the moment for him to leave. He excused himself and went back to the mahal.

In his room he sat down on the bed with his pipe and kif on the taifor in front of him and began to smoke seriously, one pipe after another. As he smoked, he was thinking that he had had enough of living with Bachir. He’s spent his whole life in the port, carrying sacks of cement, he said to himself. He can’t read, or even talk, because he doesn’t know anything. What right has he got to tell me I’ve got to sleep with him in his bed? I haven’t done anything to him.

While he was sitting there he heard the door open. Bachir had come in.

So you’re here? said Bachir.

Abdeslam stood up. Yes, I’m here. Please, can I speak to you a minute? Just a few words.

What about?

I pay my rent here and I help you with a lot of things in the house. I don’t understand why you talk to me the way you do.

What’s this about? What have I said?

You know what you said last night. About making me sleep in your bed even if you had to beat me up.

I see. And you don’t like the idea of being beaten up?

No.

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