For Bread Alone by Choukri Mohamed; Bowles Paul;

Author:Choukri, Mohamed; Bowles, Paul;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Saqi

9

All morning Sallafa and I stayed at the shack. Qaabil and el Kebdani had gone without giving me any idea of their plans. Bouchra had decided to visit her mother, whom she had not seen in several days. I assumed that Qaabil and el Kebdani had gone to arrange for the passage of the contraband that we would be moving later.

Sallafa was cleaning the bedroom. I reclined in the sala smoking, uneasy in my mind. I called out to her: Have you got a glass of wine in there?

She loomed in the doorway. Wait a minute. We’ll open a bottle and drink it together. She smiled and disappeared.

We’ve really begun a game of love, I said to myself. The present situation here in the shack made me think of the morning long ago when the owner of the pear tree in Aïn Ketiout had shut me into his storeroom. But I also saw differences. At least I am free now to decide whether to stay or leave, even though leaving would mean breaking down the door.

I rose and stood on the divan, leaning out of the window and looking down at the sea below. The sky was cloudy and the water was rough. A few ships, both large and small, were going by. She came up and stood behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders.

What are you looking at? she murmured. I could feel the heat of her breath in my ear. Have I become her lover? Poverty and love go together. What a world!

I’m looking at the ocean. I’ve never been on a ship in my life, have you?

Who, me? Ask me instead if I’ve ever been outside Tangier. I’ve never been anywhere at all, either by land or water.

You’ve never been out of Tangier?

Never! Why would I? Where would I go? Who would I go with? I’ve got a feeling that if I should leave Tangier I’d never come back. Never! No, I’d never come back.

Why not?

I don’t know.

I turned to face her, and her eyes opened very wide, as if she were going to say: Isn’t that the right answer?

I could not go on looking at her, and I let my gaze drop. This girl was beginning to worry me. I looked at the door instead. Then she too turned towards the door, and said again: What are you looking at?

I’m looking at the door.

Why? What’s wrong with it?

Nothing.

What are you thinking about? You’re thinking of something.

I’m thinking of the door, I said.

What’s the matter with the door?

I don’t like to be locked in.

We sat down. She had put two glasses and a bottle of wine on the taifor.

It used to bother me to have somebody turn the key on me, but I’ve got used to it. She smiled.

I’m not used to it, I said. And I don’t want to get used to it, either. I might as well be in jail.

I was thinking that in the face of that locked door we were equally powerless, she and I.

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