“There are a lot of wolves among guys today.”
I nearly laughed at the comment made by al-Baqqali, because like me he was over twenty-five and under the law all three of us there would be considered wolves, since none of our companions was over eighteen. The coal-black hair of his fiery girl crowned her head; her teeth nibbled on his ear with avid pleasure from time to time while her right hand touched his neck, searching for sensitive spots in familiar moist corners. The youngest, the fair one, cried, “You haven’t heard what happened to Malika.”
The Marrakeshi’s eyes widened and his mustache was raised in disgust. “I assure you, lady—they were not sons of good families…”
Al-Baqqali cut him of: “Enjoyment comes from companionship and caresses, so why the entanglements?”
The other girls exploded in laughter, their cheeks red with embarrassment, as the Marrakeshi smiled in victory. He added, confidingly, “The criminal is the one who abandons innocent pleasure for…”
His tongue stopped, as if under the influence of the alcohol it was becoming too heavy for speech. Al-Baqqali rushed to rescue him: “For illicit pleasure.”
I deliberately tangled the conversation: “Then the relationship between a married couple is illicit?”
The girls looked at me doubtfully and anxiously, so the Marrakeshi clarified: “Certainly not! Otherwise people would not get married.”
Al-Baqqali cut him of, imploring me with his eyes not to uncover the plot, especially as it was about to bear fruit: “I have a big surprise in this heat. I put some Pepsi on ice. Come to the kitchen and get a bottle.”
The Marrakeshi began to dance drunkenly and clap while al-Baqqali drew his girl by the hand and opened the bottles with a swift, graceful movement so they made a loud noise. They began to give each other drinks as they embraced, and the liquid spilled on their chins and their clothes. They kept on laughing for a while, then darted into the bedroom, closing the door behind them. The Marrakeshi was in the middle of the kitchen, whispering intimately in the ears of the youngest girl, leaning on the edge of the basin with his arm on her shoulder. He was surrounded by an aura of mental dissolution mixed with the smell of wine, desire, and temptation, so that all that remained of him were his passionate glances and his trembling, whispering voice.
The thin girl was sitting on her chair in front of the table, happily sucking little mouthfuls from the icy bottle. When I emerged from the kitchen, belching, she stared at me with a lost look before which all the contradictions were equal. The unplanned events of the moment imposed her company on me; each of us was free, waiting for company on an exciting journey. But under the effects of the wine I decided that I had sufered a loss of respect by not being given the right to choose: they had left me the last of the girls, and the least attractive. I decided to leave quietly, without any fuss. I went to the door of the room, leaning against it and looking at her closely; she did not withdraw her gaze, and I sensed that she was warm enough for a cold winter’s night. She continued dripping the icy liquid on her tongue, coolly and calmly, and I realized then that, whether from muteness or cleverness, she had not joined us with a single word, all afternoon. She must have seen a great deal in my eyes, and I discovered as I scrutinized her that she was as beautiful, if not more beautiful, than her friends. Her pale eyes were wide, a fascinating ash-gray light shining from their center. In her face, which seemed to have nearly reached maturity, her warm cheeks stood out with great elegance, harmonizing in captivating beauty with her small mouth. Despite all of that, however, in comparison with al-Jaza’iri’s relative she seemed like a faint shadow.
I read in her eyes an enticing submission, like ash concealing a tempestuous rebellion in the fevered timidity of those two rosy cheeks. Her chest was rising and falling, in a movement that hid a test of nerves and pulsed with deep understanding. When I drew near she moved the bottle away from her mouth after one quick sip and closed her eyes, to allow me to act as I should. I kissed her quickly on the mouth and whispered, “Goodbye.”
When I lifted my face a small, tender, scolding smile appeared on her face as my eyes swept her neck, which was carved with astonishing voluptuousness. Nonetheless I continued toward the main door, hearing the door of the bedroom open as Si l-Baqqali cried: “ Where are you going? We’re just starting!”
I motioned with my hand: “But I’m just finishing.”
He ran barefoot and reached me in a few steps, then laughed: “You’re crazy. At least put out your fire.”
“I’m preoccupied.”
He thought a few moments. “Ah—the woman in the jellaba, the old lady. Can someone like her preoccupy any sane person?”
I laughed. “Every sane man has moments of madness.’”
“Okay, I won’t bother you. But remember that they will come every day at seven-thirty, so don’t pass up the opportunity.”
“No… No, I won’t forget.”
He still seemed unconvinced, and touched my shoulder. “I don’t understand you sometimes. Your girlfriend is the most beautiful of the three, so why…?”
The word “girlfriend” struck me as strange and funny, coming from man’s eternal wish for savage possession, so I laughed.
chapter 4
All along the short distance to where I met Qobb, as the street embraced me with its refreshing breeze, I kept thinking about how my eyes had deceived me. The first glance at the three girls had made me believe that “my girlfriend” was the least beautiful and fascinating of the three, but after a little examination she seemed to be the crowning beauty. Can the eyes deceive like this? Might I also be mistaken with respect to the one occupying my apartment with her bold and commanding behavior?
“Where did you wander of to?” Al-Habib’s voice was calm and deep. He continued, “ There’s no harm in your having secrets. If you don’t want to come, then turn back.”
I came to suddenly and assured him, “No, I want to come.” “That ’s the house.” He pointed to a wide door that stood open, and when we went into the little courtyard we were struck by a strong glare. It was the only spot I had seen empty, without a garden, outside of the Casbah. The white cement façade was divided by four doors, which deceptively led you to think they were the doors of gloomy bachelor rooms.
We stopped a moment; Si l-Habib must have wanted to make certain before knocking on the door. The glaring rays from the white façade increased and for a moment I thought that the breeze had died down in the whole city; were it not for the television aerials taking their pleasure by calmly bending on the rooftop, I would have believed that we were being held in a spot taken from the desert. But we entered the house, whose rooms extended lengthwise, divided by precise engineering to take advantage of every inch of ground, and found a tall French window open. The afternoon shade reflected on its gleaming white wood, and the breeze invaded the room softly, lightly teasing the curtains and releasing the air trapped in the room.
After we had sat for a moment I felt that we were alone, so I went to the window, where delicious little waves of moist breeze refreshed my face. The grass outside was amazingly fresh. The light had divided its blades with a magic sword into two parts, the color lightening to pistachio under the sun but a deep green in the greater part, overtaken by the shade, which swallowed the distance to the artificial forest that divided the city from the shore. I felt like someone discovering a new secret. I took