The beam of sunshine
leaking through the louvres was reflected on the opposite wall as a thin line
of light linking the sunlit world outside with the darkness inside. A
reflection accompanied by the calls for afternoon prayer out of Fez city
minarets, a heavy snoring in the near foreground, and a steady shuffle of
approaching feet. A sound that became more and more audible until it mingled
with the crackle of the window shutters slammed against the internal side of
the wall, pushing a tableau out of its nail to fall on a human head, covered by
a white blanket:
‘Oh!’ The sleeping young
man whimpered out. 'Can't you do anything right, Simou?'
‘Of course, I can’ Simou
said sarcastically, ‘if only you make room for free movement at this time of
morning!’
The sleeping body, under
the blanket, stretched out his arms and legs as far as he could, showing the
height and shape of a teenager. He reached out for the alarm clock and was
surprised by the time that the clock hands were pointing to:
‘Midday!’ He exclaimed.
‘I must have slept for ages!’
'The important thing is
to have slept with very few nightmares in your account!' Simou replied, still
busy spraying homemade fragrance in the air, tidying and cleaning up.
‘How can I dream of
nightmares while having experienced, in real-life battles, the heroism that
every noble living being dreams of?’
Then, he sat up,
stretched himself out lazily, and said with visible pride:
‘Will you believe me,
Simou, if I tell you that, for such a long time, I’ve been waiting for a night
like yesterday?’
‘Come on, Abdou.’ Simou
replied, carelessly. ‘You know that I always believe you!’
Abdou blinked with joy
and took his time to feel the story in his memory before telling it. Then, he
said:
‘I went to the police
station.’ Abdou said, hitting the pillow with his clenched fist, proudly. ‘I
did. I wanted to avenge myself for the humiliation they did to me, that day in
ladies’ presence. My reaction was strong.’
He kept quiet and looked
defiantly at Simou, inquiring:
‘Do you know what I
did?’
Simou feigned to be
listening while still busy doing the clean-up. Abdou raised his fists and tone:
'I shouted in their
faces: ''You dogs!'' Then, I climbed the little wall surrounding the station
and pissed on the heads of the officers who were there, down the gate.'
Abdou reached out for
the bottle of water on the chest of drawers but found it empty. The bottle was
shivering in his hands and he could not fix it in its place. He did not even
notice it fall and roll away under his bed. He shouted out:
‘That was enough for me.
That quenched my thirst for revenge!’
Then, he let himself
fall back again in bed with his arms set wide apart, saying with the conviction
of a faithful believer:
‘What’s important to me
is that the time has finally come and justice is ultimately done.’
He sat up again and
said:
‘Of course, they did
their best to abort my feeling of revenge by clubbing me, kicking me, slapping
me... But that didn’t work!’
He took a breath and,
with enthusiasm, he continued:
‘Feeling self-confident,
I went, straight to that burglar’s door, Flat-Nose’s. Believing in the cause
that motivates me, I knocked on his door and waited for him to step out with
his wild animal behind.’
He stopped and blinked
as if he remembered something he had long forgotten:
‘Poor man! He thought
that the sight of a tiger in a city would make me shiver to death. He probably
compared me to the people he’s used to ransacking their money and property.
However, his reckoning proved wrong as I, with all the nerve possible, used my
electro-shock weapon and sent the tiger lying motionless on the ground and the
battle was won twice.’
Abdou showed his fingers
to enumerate his opponent’s failures. Thumb, first:
‘One, because my rival
turned all at once powerless.’
Then, forefinger:
‘Two, because I redeemed
the whole city from a dangerous burglar…’
He kept quiet for a long
time. Then, he suggested:
‘Next time, I’ll take
you with me. I promise!’
‘Of course, you’ll do.’
Simou replied. ‘You’ll always need someone to help you get your pants up and
belt it for you. Someone to get you up from the floor and take you to your
bed…’
Abdou sneered but kept
quiet while Simou, seemingly busy, continued without turning around:
‘Tell me first: How did
you manage to come back home, yesterday?’
Abdou tilted his head,
flung his flat-mate with a critical look, and said:
‘Why can’t I come back
home all by myself? Do I look so powerless to your brown eyes?’
‘My brown eyes have
nothing to do with what happened to you, yesterday. I am enquiring about an
event. So, don’t answer me with another question!’
Abdou lowered his eyes,
changed the position of his head, freed his clasped hands, and took too much
time before echoing Simou's question:
‘What happened to me,
yesterday?’ Then, coming back to himself, he said: ‘I think I have just told
you.’
To encourage him, Simou
stopped his work, turned around, took his flat-mate from his shoulders, and
looked him straight in the eyes, shouting out:
‘Do you know where and
how I found you when I came back home after midnight, yesterday?’
He stopped to hear Abdou
say something but the latter kept quiet although he showed growing interest in
Simou’s speech:
'Yesterday, at one
o'clock in the morning, I climbed up the stairs and was surprised to find the
door of our flat wide open while the lights inside were all off. I tried to get
in and switch on the lights to see how everything in here was but I stumbled over
your body lying dead on the floor and I fell next to you. I was so scared to
hear you snoring like a slaughtered man that I yelled in panic.'
‘Do you mean that I was
lying on the floor?’ Abdou intervened.
'I don't mean anything.
I stumbled over your body and I fell, frightened. That's it!'
Simou noticed that he
was, once again, shivering all over. He got nearer to Abdou and sat down:
'At first, I thought it
was a murder crime committed in our flat. So, I started thinking right away of
all the probable causes, victims and convicts. However, on switching on the
lights, the victim was no other than you but the rest of the story remained
missing!'
Simou stopped, stood up,
walked to the corridor wall, took the mirror out of its nail, and brought it
along to Abdou's face, asking him to raise his chin a little and show his neck:
'Look at these scratches
on your neck. They have dried a little, now. Yesterday night, they were all
covered with blood. So, I had to dry it with cotton and alcohol, change the
scarf you had on for mine, and get you up to your bed'.
Simou reached out to
Abdou's neck to show him the scarf that was his. Abdou, at last, found the
words he had been seeking:
‘I think the core of
this story is to let me know that you are the one who has helped me into my
bed.’ He clapped his hands, saying: ‘Thank you very much, my dear!’
Simou, sarcastically,
retorted:
‘Not only did I get you
to your bed, I also rolled your pants up to your waist. You had your pants
rolled down to your ankles while you were snoring drunkenly, pillowing the cold
floor. Perhaps, you wanted to get rid of your trousers while trying to go to
bed but you were too drunk to do it all by yourself…’
Yielding, Abdou changed
the tone of his voice, frowned thoughtfully, and said:
‘What I experienced,
yesterday, was heroic and what you are reporting, right now, is humiliating.
The yesterday I still have throbbing in my veins stands at odds with the one
you’re telling me. However, I find what you told me kind of credible. The signs
of truth are still available but I am in such a dilemma: Shall I believe myself
and the thread of events I have lived or shall I trust the evidence showing the
counter life, proving to me how strange I have been to myself?’
Simou tapped him on his
shoulder, soothing:
‘Have a bath, first, and
change your clothes. We will have the time required to play back your heroic
adventures!’
Abdou stood up with
apparent difficulty, shuffling away to the bathroom with the mirror in one hand
and the towel in the other, and disappeared behind the door that he locked
nervously.
Simou turned the radio
on and pumped up the volume as he found a song that he loved so much, The
Beatles' Here Comes the Sun. He flung all the windows and doors open. He
stretched his arms out, threw his head back, closed his eyes, and accompanied
the song while swirling around.
Simou sang so
passionately that Abdou, in the bathroom, joined him unintentionally. At times,
he kept pace with the musical band. At other times, he found himself either
late or ahead of the band and he had to hum the tune to make up for the lag. On
Abdou’s coming out of the bathroom humming to himself, the duo sounded a
harmonious choir.
‘I’m ready!’ Abdou
shouted, drying his hair with a towel, showing a clean-shaven chin and new
bruises on his face.
‘So, let’s go!’
The air, in the
stairway, was so stale that they had to press their noses close with their
thumbs and forefingers the way they usually did when using the stairs as the
neighbours, on all the floors of the building, never opened their doors to air
the place and refresh it.
Outside, Simou felt the
air so fresh and breathed out deeply, took a chair, dragged a table, leaned
with his left elbow on the table, and raised his right hand to the waiter to
order two cups of cappuccino and two slices of cake, the way he usually did in
Café Chourouq.
He looked up and found
the sun barely peeping under the massive grey clouds crawling along from every
corner towards Fez city, dangling heavily over the buildings around, darkening
their mirror-like windows and turning the place into a shady huge tent.
The waiter appeared with
the orders on his tray. He cleaned the table one more time, put the first
cappuccino next to a thick slice of cake then the second cup with the second
slice before retreating, wishing his two customers good health, the way Moroccan
waiters usually did.
Simou sipped at his
coffee and asked:
‘At what time were you
in the bar, yesterday?’
Abdou raised his arm to
have a look at his watch but remained motionless. Simou noticed the immobility
on his countenance and asked:
‘What's the matter,
man?’
‘The watch on my wrist
isn’t mine!’
‘When have you noticed
for the first time that it is not yours?’
‘Right now!’
‘What kind of watch were
you wearing, yesterday?’
'A Swiss watch with an
original golden band.'
'Did you make an
exchange with someone else? I mean: did you give someone your watch and get his
in return?'
‘An exchange? Never!’
Simou got nearer and
asked Abdou:
‘Do you have any change
in your pocket?’
Abdou searched in his
pocket and picked up a few coins:
‘These are all that
remained from the bill I paid, yesterday, in the bar.’
‘At what time were you
in the bar?’
‘From sunset to
midnight!’
‘Can you show me the way
to the bar, please?’
‘Sure!’ Abdou said,
leading the way.
On coming to Saada
Bar, Simou glanced at Abdou’s countenance and noticed his abrupt
frown. He led the way up to the bar only
to see an unusual movement in the corridor: bouncers turning away with their
faces to the wall, waiters withdrawing with their trays in hand, servants
running upstairs where nobody showed from the open windows, barmen standing
bewildered with their mouths agape…
Simou went right away
towards the boss who burst out:
‘Please, sir. Will you
have the kindness not to bring that customer to my bar again?’
‘Why, boss?’ Simou
asked.
‘He is an utter
troublemaker!’
‘Can you make it
clearer, boss?’
'Yesterday, he made such
a mess! He got drunk and climbed up a table, rolled down his trousers, and
pissed over the other customers at the adjoining tables, shouting that he is
avenging himself for the humiliation Fassi people had been treating him with during
his stay here, in Fez!'
‘Have you left him do
that kind of thing to your customers?’ Simou asked.
‘Surely not, sir! The
chief waiter in the bar, along with the bouncers, couldn’t put up with the
crisis and declared war on him!’
‘So, they quarrelled!’
'That was a fierce
quarrel with all the people in the bar, customers and servants, pounding him
while I stood by the door praying to God to help him survive those deadly
knocks that seemed at some moments never-ending!'
‘So, you did nothing to
stop it!’
'I couldn't allow myself
to get into such trouble but I did help at the end by collecting the coins
scattered on the ground that were possibly his. I even slid into his pocket a
plastic black belt watch that everybody believed to be his. Then, I took him
right to the address written on his identity card, using my car but he insisted
on stopping by the door of another house to settle another quarrel!'
'Can you tell me where
that place is, boss?' asked Simou, very politely. 'We want to go there?'
‘Yes, of course. It is
in Residence Layla in the far south of the city.’
‘Residence Layla!’ Simou
exclaimed, looking, first, at his friend; then, back to the boss. ‘But that is
the area where we live?’
'I remember having heard
him say that he has to settle a conflict with someone there. A burglar who uses
probably a tiger in his nightly attacks on people in public streets and takes
away their money and property…'
Simou thanked the boss
for his cooperation, dragged Abdou by his arm, and left. Still, the boss
followed them outside the bar, begging Simou to dissuade his friend from coming
to his bar again.
Once safe, Simou asked
Abdou:
‘Can you show me where
that burglar lives?’
‘Of course, he lives all
alone in his house in our area. When he travels, his sister assumes his
integral responsibilities.’
‘Where can he go in such
weather?’
'Nobody can predict the
destination of a burglar. He's such a dangerous criminal, the most dangerous of
all. Everybody knows his terrible specialty. He uses a tiger, at night, to stop
people, frighten them, and empty their pockets.'
Simou interrupted him:
‘Can we go, right now,
and see how things go there?’
‘Of course.’ said Abdou,
jumping up. ‘It's just a quarter of an hour away!’
Abdou knew the city map
well. He got his friend to the desired address in no time but he hesitated to
ring the bell next to the door frame. He refused even to knock on the door and
Simou had to do the job. A tall, white girl opened the door and recognized
Abdou all at once. Simou noticed her astonishment and asked her:
‘Hello, do you know each
other?’
'Absolutely not but I
know him by his constant presence in the area: passing by, knocking at our
door, and pretending to ask about something or someone when he is sober in the
daytime. At night, he shifts from character to character, from sobriety into drunkenness,
from gallantry into impudence, from asking questions into confessing his
love...'
Simou asked Abdou,
pointing to the girl with his forefinger:
‘Is this the girl you
met on this doorstep, yesterday?’
Abdou shook his head:
‘No. I met a man.’
Abdou stopped to make it
clearer:
‘He was a well-built
young man, quite robust and tough, with the chain around his wrist, dragging a
tiger and provoking it to attack me!’
The young lady,
surprised, intervened:
‘But he didn’t even see
my kitten, Tiger. He just heard me shouting: “Tiger, come here”!’
Simou, startled,
addressed himself to Abdou:
‘Have you seen a real
tiger, Abdou, or have you just heard someone calling out Tiger?’
Abdou, embarrassed,
confirmed:
‘A tiger is a tiger and
I’ve seen it running around here, roaring and waking all the nearby people who
rushed to their balconies at midnight to see the wild thing! I’ve even
been bitten on my arm!’
He rolled up his right
sleeve and showed a bite that Simou bet was less than a tiger's jaws could
hold.
The girl easily
recognized the brown, crescent trace on the man's arm:
‘That's my bite, man. I
bit you to keep you off me. I did it when you wouldn't leave me alone!’
‘Have you bitten me?’
‘Of course, I did. I
would’ve even devoured you if you hadn't taken to your heels!’
Abdou and Simou looked
at each other for a long time and walked away, Simou leading the way and Abdou
following him without exchanging a word.
At home, Abdou was busy
doing the packing while Simou was busy ironing the crumpled clothes he had
thrown in a heap on his bed. Abdou’s luggage was ready to pick up but the heap
of clothes on the bed showed that Simou’s work needed much more time and patience.
Abdou got it in time and broke the ice, addressing himself to his flat-mate:
'Simou, Be my best
friend and join me in my new journey towards a newer world. Let's go away from
here to some other place where people can be less cruel and less stony. I can't
spend one more day, here. Anything I build, here, is reversed. Anything I pile
up is stolen from me. Anything I pump with life and energy is emptied. People
here love to break your heart, pull down your achievements, and sneer at your
victories. I won't spend one more night here and I won't leave without a friend
by my side.'
On coming to the door,
he turned around with one foot on the doorstep and the other inside. He said
nothing. He kept looking at his flatmate. He prolonged his look as much as he
could. Then, he turned away, picked up his bag, and strolled away, leaving the
door wide open behind him.
Simou kept ironing his
crumpled clothes piled up on his bed while counting Abdou’s steps getting
further and further then nearer and nearer again but with a different strength
in their sound and a quick speed in their rhythm until they stopped on the doorstep,
a few yards behind his back.
The bell rang but Simou did not turn
back. He just said:
‘I know you will never go away all
by yourself!’
The answer came from a voice quite
alien to his ear:
‘Police, please!’
Simou stopped ironing.
He did not turn around. He seemed mummified although he could still hear the
officer ask:
‘Where’s the other young man?’
‘He left a few minutes
ago, officer.’ Simou said.
‘So, he ran away! But he
can’t escape my grip. I will show him what it means to piss on the people who
are there for his security.’ The officer glanced around. ‘Where did he go?’
‘I don’t know, officer. He may be
leaving the city by this time.’
The officer, surprised, shouted his
orders to his men:
‘You will divide into
two groups: you will go to the railway station and you to the coach station.
Your mission is to bring the man before the first vehicle or train leaves the
city!’
The policemen rushed
away and Simou hustled to the door and slammed it. Feeling safe, he sighed
deeply and let his back rest against the inner part of the door with his eyes
wide open, staring at nothing. Yellow prevailed on his countenance. Small beads
of cold sweat shone on his forehead and grew bigger and bigger when his back
started to feel the scratch of wild claws going up and down the outer part of
the door behind his back. His knees failed to keep him upright and his back
slid down against the inner part of the door until he found himself crouching
on the floor.
A tiger’s roar crossed
the wood of the door into Simou’s eardrum and another human roar resounded in
his veins and bones:
‘Open the door, you coward!’ the
voice shouted, furiously, outside.
The wild animal’s claws
on the outer part of the door alternated with the wild human bangs that shook
the whole flat:
‘Who told you that battles are won
in one single round?’
Then, kicks grew more and more
violent:
‘Get out, you coward, and face your
destiny!’ the man roared, outside.
The building sounded
strangely uninhabited with that wild roar echoing throughout its stairwell. The
tiger’s fury outside turned intolerable while Simou prayed convulsively for
some extraordinary hand to get him up on his feet. All he needed was a once-in-a-lifetime
miracle to help him move along to the lonely window and jump from the seventh
floor down to the roof of some slow-driven truck that would drive him away to
somewhere safer.
Nothing inside Simou's
flat seemed to be worth the care he usually gave it from morning to evening.
Nothing but the lonely window before him deserved his attention. Unusually
broad, the window seemed, this time, to show no trace of the earth and earthlings.
He felt a strong urge to believe himself to be living in a dream. Only in
dreams, can one attend such fantastic scenes.
The open window seemed
very much broader than its everyday size. It looked rather like a broad canvas,
showing, at first, only one colour: that of the blue sky. Then, there was the
blue sky as a background leaving the foreground for a couple of fluffy, white
clouds floating along sleepily. Then,
there appeared a small flock of seagulls hovering around silently against the
white and blue background in the window-canvas.
The seagulls floated
around clockwise and anticlockwise. They drew circles and spirals in the air.
At times, Simou believed them to be enjoying themselves after a fruitful
session of fishing. At other times, he believed them to be meditating his case
out of the broad window. He could even feel them sneering at the poor, helpless
man that he became, believing himself to be a biped while he could not even
creep away and save his life.
For the first time in
all his life, he had this exceptional chance to have a look at wild seagulls
from such a close distance and he loved that. For the first time, he loved
seagulls since Fez is not a coastal city and such a spectacle was unusual. For
the first time, he loved flying and, for the first time, he got to know the
importance of having a couple of wings fluttering on his back.
