“Will he succeed, even so?”
Si Sabir was open in his opinion, and everyone must have heard it. Perhaps that came to Si l-Habib’s mind as we were talking about Qobb, and he wanted to dispel all those doubts about his stupidity. He added,
“He is intelligent. Anyone associated with him realizes that.”
The image of Qobb’s eyes appeared to me, brown and shining with a penetrating gleam like the eyes of a cat in the dark. But his eyes were always moving, lost and seeking permanent stability in the midst of chaotic, tumultuous movement.
“Are you helping him leave?”
He did not like to talk about himself. He shrugged: “Friends…” Then he added musingly, as I was still thinking about Qobb’s intelligence: “Can you discover a forest the first time you walk through it?”
I finished my tea, and Si l-Habib sighed as if finishing a delicate task. He extended his hand to the woman, with the key to al-Jaza’iri’s apartment. “Dear lady, please go with Si l-Sharqi.”
“Dear lady”: this phrase made me imagine the woman as an elderly or mature relative who had come to Mohammediya. It would be strange for a woman alone to take a summer holiday, so I expected that her family must be going to follow her later. I looked at her as she looked at the key. She was still sitting, perhaps wondering how safe it was to go with someone who sat in women’s laps before meeting them!
I looked, and when I took what was in his hand I said, “These are two keys!”
“She may need something from my apartment.”
I arose but she was still sitting. I thought it unlikely that she felt unsafe with me. Perhaps it was fatigue after a long journey…. Ah! Might she not be blind and waiting for someone to come forward and touch her hand?
I would have committed another blunder, had she not saved me in time by getting up with a sudden movement and picking up her small suitcase. I bent down. “Let me help you.”
“No.” She said it without shaking her head.
“Please go ahead.” I pointed with my hand. The sun enfolded us, the shade of the shop sinking into a sea of light that made me feel as if my whole body was dissolving, becoming dispersed in the light. The mind alone remained to deal with this strange chaotic force. Qobb saw us while making us think he had not seen us, as he stood at a distance, on the other sidewalk.
In that moment it seemed to me that Si l-Habib’s great caution suited the depth of his thinking, for at a time when his heart could not bear climbing stairs, he had not sent her with Qobb. Why? She was walking less than half a yard ahead of me, and I was trying to gauge my height and hers in the mirror of the shops on the right. She was erect, a little taller than I. I distanced myself and looked at her feet. If she took of her high heels she would be my height.
I entered the door of the building ahead of her. There were rapid footsteps on the stairs, and it seemed to me that I knew them.
“Where have you been, Si l-Sharqi?”
“Al-Baqqali? You haven’t gone away?”
He embraced me, and I hugged him with real afection. “Didn’t I tell you?”
I complained, sighing, “Loneliness was about to kill me.”
I wondered at myself—how could I complain when this was the first day of vacation? Yesterday we had stayed up until midnight bidding them farewell. Was it the fear of fate before its time? But al-Baqqali did not notice my complaint.
“Have you ever been to Casablanca?” He pulled me forcefully away from the middle of the narrow entryway to where we were facing the apartment of Si l-Habib. I thought from the secrecy of his tone that there must be some great good news making him speak at this amazing speed, his eyes shining. No, rather there was good hunting.
He shook my shoulder, as if he were waking me from sleep. “Listen.”
I laughed. What else was I doing?
“It’s not the time for jokes. I’m not going away as I had planned. Three girls are coming today from Casablanca. Don’t be late!”
“At this hour of the morning?”
He cried in a loud voice: “Vacation, my friend!”
The impatient posture of the woman near the stairs doubtless made him realize that she was with me. He was silent, guessing that she must have heard everything. He moved his eyes between her and me. It seemed as if he was predicting an unknown fate, while I wished I could allay his misgivings by a sign or look. At the same time she turned her face to the wall of shining gray marble, drawing herself up in great hauteur. Al-Baqqali blushed, and I noticed real alarm in his eyes. Did he think he had made some mistake? I smiled encouragingly and whispered, “I’ll see you later.”
He grinned, like someone finding himself after being lost, and looked at her back. He signaled with his eyes, moving his nose and upper lip, dismissing her like an inconsequential insect. He tried to speak through a tumult of feelings which crowded together in his eyes, then gave way to one that allowed him to relax. But I extended my fingers to his lips and signaled to him to leave, so he moved quickly to the second door, leading to the garage.
She sensed his departure and looked at me. I said, as if hiding something shameful that had happened in spite of me, “This is Si l-Habib’s apartment. Would you like to look at it?”
“Later.”
That was the first sound she emitted, and it was an entire melody. Dozens of musical instruments in complete harmony sending melodies that echoed from a distance. I couldn’t believe my ears—her jellaba was somewhat old, large and flowing loosely—and she was a relative of al-Jaza’iri?
I went into my apartment and she entered behind me. I looked at her and smiled. I tried to hear that voice again, grasping at any idea even if it was silly.
“This is my apartment.”
The green veil did not allow me to see her eyes clearly. Her face was opposite the window, and the pale reflected light touched the small spot between her eyes with a delicate shine.
“And the apartment of Si l-Jaza’iri?”
There was more than a little blame in her question. But I closed my eyes as I rose and fell in a sea of melodies to which I was led by her mellow voice.
“This one. Permit me…”
I crossed the space between her body and the door, and she cautiously came behind. I opened al-Jaza’iri’s apartment. “Please…”
She remained motionless as brilliant light streamed from her relative’s apartment. Had her eyes been unveiled I would have been able to probe the secret of her great hesitation. But doubtless it concerned her embarking on a great risk by placing her confidence in a man who had opened his apartment to her when she wanted another. That very point confused me—why had I done that? Did it follow from having opened the door of Si l-Habib’s apartment? Since I wanted to show my good intentions, my confusion made me fall into a second mistake: I rushed into al-Jaza’iri’s apartment, though I soon drew back. This must have given her another bad impression, after my successive failures. I was alarmed, so I began to move my hands meaninglessly. My embarrassment remained, inscribing shame on my face, nipping at my cheeks. As she entered her relative’s apartment, she was careful to keep away from me as far as possible, as if I had the mange; and I was careful to comply with that, as if I had experienced it from birth. But I followed her, stepping cautiously, for the floor of the apartment and all the rich old man’s simple furniture was covered in a thick layer of dust—a soft, distasteful chalky powder that invaded the lungs without permission. In the glaring sunlight it portrayed a miserable human vacancy: a small table on which there was a small night light, whose green color had been turned to gray by the dust; an old, iron single bed; disordered, flimsy