‘You’re the one causing all the problems!’ she yelled at Abd al-Ghani. ‘Why do you have to harass him with this police inquiry?’
‘That’s exactly what I’ve been saying,’ said Abd al-Rahman, interrupting them both. ‘He’s behaving just like a policeman: “Where have you been? Where have you come from?”’
Khaduj now turned to him, and Abd al-Ghani got the impression that his mother was giving him the opportunity to defend himself.
‘I’m not going to leave this reprobate alone,’ he yelled.
‘Say “reprobate” again,’ Abd al-Rahman interrupted, ‘and I’ll bust your teeth for you!’
Khaduj now realised that there was no end to this argument. She did her best to use her maternal authority to bring the dispute to an end. She ordered them to stop arguing and to stay away from each other.
She decided not to take Abd al-Rahman’s side so as not to inflame things even further. Even so, she was extremely unhappy about the kind of personality that Abd al-Ghani was showing; the attitude he was adopting disturbed her greatly.
‘He’s just a young man,’ she told herself. ‘Not only that, he’s just like his father in the way he dresses, his posture, his gestures, and his interests. As day follows day, his speech sounds more and more like Hajj Muhammad’s; the same topics, the same mode of argument, and the same issuing of instructions; and the same nosiness about everything involving personal behaviour, the household, food, and servants. His voice has even started to sound like his father’s, as though their vocal cords come from a single nerve.’
Khaduj now turned in order to leave the field of battle.
‘Listen, you!’ Abd al-Ghani shocked her by saying, ‘O she who is leaving—’
This made Khaduj furious. ‘Don’t I have a name?’ she yelled at him as though scorched by a hot coal. ‘Aren’t I your mother? What’s this “you” and “she” all about? Don’t you know how to say “Mother”?’
This shocked him, and he said nothing. The only thing on his mind was that his mother was supporting Abd al-Rahman.
He had not realised yet that he was imitating the way his father addressed his mother. He had started saying ‘you’ and calling her ‘she’, and hardly ever used ‘Mother’ or called her by name because Hajj Muhammad did not do so. Like all husbands, he never called his wife by her name; it was not socially acceptable or appropriate, just as it was also wrong for a wife to call her husband by his name. To do so would arouse the amazement and disgust of the entire community. ‘You’, ‘he’, and ‘she’ implied husband and wife whenever he was talking about her or she about him.
Abd al-Ghani had no intention of insulting his mother or degrading her status. He was simply using Hajj Muhammad’s mindset, talking like him, and adopting the same internal logic. For that reason his mother’s remarks surprised him. He tried to rescue the situation by saying, ‘My father says “you” when addressing you and calls you “she” when talking about you. Why don’t you get mad with him too?’
Abd al-Ghani’s stubborn attitude made Khaduj even more furious. ‘So here’s a little boy,’ she went on, ‘whose clothes, stride, and mode of talking now turns him into a man of his father’s age!’
Abd al-Rahman and Abd al-Latif both had to suppress their giggles, but a dagger-look from Khaduj had them both raising their hands to their mouths to throttle the laughter in its cradle.
‘Wake up,’ she told Abd al-Ghani, to conclude what she wanted to say. ‘Try to imitate your colleagues and take a look at young men like yourself. I refuse to hear you say “you” or “she” to me ever again. You call me “Mother”, and you should be proud of it!’
Khaduj now withdrew, but she had managed to open a window for Abd al-Ghani on to a different world. He had been following in his father’s footsteps unconsciously, but now he had clashed with his mother, whom he loved just as much as he did his father. He had thought that she approved of his behaviour, but now she had opened his mind to new vistas with regard to his peers – new thoughts about the way he walked, dressed, and talked, and the kind of things that he thought about and that interested him.
‘My father never talks to me about such things,’ he told himself, ‘when he takes me to the mosque, or to the homilies in the Qarawiyin complex and Mawlay Idris.’
In his mind’s eye he saw Abd al-Ghaffar and Mawlay Abd al-Tawwab as they repeated the homiletic lessons at the shrine of Mawlay Idris and the Qarawiyin Mosque. The words of the homilist rang in his ears, aspiring to heaven and avoiding hellfire.
‘My mother’s an ignorant woman,’ he told himself. ‘If she saw Sidi Abd al-Ghaffar and Mawlay Abd al-Tawwab, she would not be so disapproving of my clothes, my walk, and my mode of talking.’
Hajj Muhammad had been thinking about his sons’ futures. Because Abd al-Ghani was the eldest, Hajj Muhammad had been planning a future for him that closely mirrored his own ideas. It simply involved a clothing shop that would guarantee the continuity of a profession that the Tihami family had inherited for generations, from grandfather to father to son.
Until it was time for the first stage on this long road, Abd al-Ghani had had no job, since he had grown too old to stay with the other children at the Qur’an school run by the jurist from the south. This was why he was always so keen to fill his time by following all the activities of the household, the family, and his brothers. But now the day had come when he had clashed with his own mother. She had opened his eyes to the fact that he was now a young man, like other boys his age. Her very words kept toying with his feelings. They were knocking on the door of a closed soul, one that had never launched itself into the welcoming world whose adventures his mother had now shaken him into exploring.
10
Abd al-Rahman had found himself in Makhfiyya Square without knowing how he got there, or how it was that he had acquired this group of companions that formed one of the many circles in the wide space. The feeling he had, however, was that in this square he was discovering his own heart and mind. After returning from the Qur’an school he would spend some time in the square; for him it would be the happiest time and the one with the most physical and mental activity. No such consolations could be found inside the house, because any activity involving the children disturbed the adults. Life in the house was subject to very strict regulations; the children had no choice but to go along with them. The absolute authority with which Hajj Muhammad imposed these rules brooked no opposition or contravention of his instructions.
Abd al-Rahman found no consolation at the Qur’an school either, because the jurist from the south functioned by terrorising the children. No sooner did one of them even make an attempt to sniff freedom on the breeze than he would be ordered to raise his legs high in the air to receive the bastinado on his feet with a quince cane. The miscreant would then return to the reality of his terrified fellow students.
For Abd al-Rahman and his colleagues and friends, Makhfiyya Square represented a world of freedom; they could talk unobserved and raise their voices in such a way that the echo coming back would not take the form of a threat or a warning. They could laugh out loud and not simply smile, and the walls around the square would echo their laughter without the inevitable ‘Shut up. Don’t be so shameless!’
When Abd al-Rahman was with his group in the square, he would only ever see Abd al-Ghani walking by in the distance. News of his elder brother’s presence would come in the form of a warning, which would make him hide in a doorway or the bend of an alleyway until Abd al-Ghani had disappeared. Then Abd al-Rahman would reappear and join his friends’ circle once again.
They would talk about everything their senses encountered: each person’s experiences were a subject of intense debate. The Qur’an school was a rich topic for tales, stories, discussions, and analysis of the personalities of the jurists and the pupils. Then there were things like fights with brothers, fear of fathers and mothers (this being a topic where the child’s genius and various tricks would emerge), anecdotes about shopkeepers an
d their customers, and people living in the quarter, each of whom had his own spot when it came to chatting with the group of children from outside the quarter whenever they happened to pass by.
Many members of the group were particularly good at withering criticism, subjecting the Qur’an-school teacher to their analysis and harsh opinions, which prompted sarcasm and admiration at the same time. The best of them was Muhammad Two-Heads, who always felt inferior because his head was so big and elongated, though his inferiority was not reflected in any sense of frustration, fear of society, or psychological withdrawal. To the contrary, he made use of its scope for provocation and acclaim. His head was a site for experiment, exploiting the powerful feelings that distinguished him. Every day he would make up stories and fables about his enormous head, stories that made them laugh but at the same time admire him, endearing himself to his friends and turning his huge head into an object of pride, not inferiority.
Muhammad’s head was the key that opened up discussions about other people. No sooner had he finished one of his Two-Heads tales than he would move on to subject passers-by, male and female – people from the quarter whom he did not know – to description, analysis, and sarcastic comment. Once finished with them, he would then talk about the quarter’s grandees, people who had earned the respect of everyone in the quarter. Hajj Muhammad al-Tihami was not exempt from this: his name would invoke a storm of laughter when there was talk about his piety, severity, seriousness – which scared the quarter’s children – and the traditional smiles he would bestow on the shopkeepers and local grandees whom he met during his comings and goings.
Whenever Abd al-Rahman joined this group, he too laughed heartily at Two-Heads when he imitated the Qur’an-school teacher yelling at the children in the school, or when he poked fun at the halva-seller by the arcade. He would pay with a mawzuna coin, and the man would think it was a sou, worth more; Abd al-Rahman would then take an extra portion. He would laugh as well when Two-Heads dealt with Si Abdallah, the mosque imam, or Hajj Muhammad al-Tihami, Abd al-Rahman’s father.
He laughed out loud when his companions looked to see how this sarcasm aimed at his own father was affecting him, and he could not stop himself laughing, so his companions got the impression that it did not bother him. But as soon as the group broke up and he turned to go home, he realised how serious the things that Two-Heads had been saying were.
‘How bad am I for not objecting to Two-Heads’ comments about my father?’ he asked himself. ‘He’s a cheeky boy, there’s no doubt about that. He talks about the schoolteacher, the mosque imam, and my father the same way he talks about the halva-seller who falls for his tricks. He’s self-deprecating about himself and his big head, so there’s nothing wrong if he rattles on about this person or that. But what about my own father? Is it right for him to be so critical? He goes too far. My father’s not like other people!’
This train of thought came to an end when he reached the house and encountered Abd al-Ghani’s vicious glances, which no longer bothered him. What really mattered was that Hajj Muhammad had not yet returned to the house; all that worried him now was his father’s punishments and his mother’s anger.
In the Makhfiyya Quarter Abd al-Rahman had come to hear about the experiences of Abd al-Qadir al-Rahmuni, whose father had transferred him from the Qur’an school to the secular academy.
‘Secular academy?’ was the unified cry from all the children.
‘That’s right, the secular academy.’
‘What does that mean, “secular academy”?’
‘Is the teacher in charge like the one at the Qur’an school?’
‘Are the pupils’ slates bigger than the ones we have?’
‘Does the teacher beat you with a whip or a cane?’
‘Are the pupils children or adolescents?’
‘Do you have to sit on mats like us?’
The questions flew from all directions. Abd al-Qadir realised that he was now a recognised entity among his comrades. The fact that he was different gave him some power over them.
He gave himself free rein as he told them about the secular academy. The good things that he described opened their young minds to a new realm. As Abd al-Qadir told them about the school, he used unfamiliar words: teacher, class, blackboard, notebook. He pronounced French words that aroused both admiration and shock. But above all he filled these children’s imaginations with a strange new world.
‘By “teacher” you mean the jurist, right?’ Abd al-Rahman shouted.
‘No, no! Are we still talking about Qur’an school?’
‘So what does “teacher” mean?’
‘The teacher’s a young Christian. He’s clean-shaven and wears nothing on his head. He has a nice suit and shiny shoes. He stands up and teaches us all the time. He asks us questions, and we answer. He talks to us about new things, things we’ve never heard about before.’
‘Does this Christian teacher instruct you on the Qur’an and its suras?’
Abd al-Qadir was clearly fed up with answering these questions. ‘You don’t understand,’ he yelled at Abd al-Rahman haughtily. ‘If you’re so keen to find out, go and ask your father to transfer you to the secular academy.’
Abd al-Rahman’s mind wandered away from the rest of the group. ‘Ask my father to transfer me to the secular academy?!’ he thought. ‘If the southern jurist at our Qur’an school heard that, he’d bash me on the head or cuff me on the neck. And what if my father heard it? Or even worse, Abd al-Ghani. This school that Abd al-Qadir describes sounds really great! But a Christian teacher?! No, no! I can’t recite to a Christian teacher. What can the Christian teach me? My father would certainly not exchange the jurist for a Christian. That’s out of the question.’
Abd al-Rahman’s attention now went back to the children surrounding Abd al-Qadir, and he found himself listening to a question being asked by another child who seemed very interested. ‘Is there a Qur’anic jurist at the school?’
‘The jurist comes once the teacher’s lessons are over,’ Abd al-Qadir replied, ‘and in the early morning too. But he only recites for a short while, then leaves.’
‘What about beatings and the bastinado?’
‘There’s none of that, but we’re still scared of the Christian.’
That gave Two-Heads his cue. ‘The jurist himself is scared of the Christian!’
This provoked a gale of laughter. Everyone looked at him to hear the rest of the story.
‘Last Tuesday the jurist arrived late. The Christian subjected his feet to the bastinado!’
There was another gale of laughter, which bothered another group of young and older men in another corner of the small square. ‘Watch yourselves!’ came the warning from one of them.
The children now turned back to Abd al-Qadir, asking for more information.
But just then Abd al-Rahman realised someone was shaking his shoulder firmly, and a friend was whispering in his ear, ‘Watch out! Take care! Hajj Muhammad’s on his way here! Run, and fast!’
Abd al-Rahman took off, not stopping until he reached the house, with Abd al-Qadir’s words still ringing in his ears. ‘Ask your father to transfer you to the secular academy, ask your father to transfer you to the secular academy…’
11
Springtime in Fez was no ordinary season to be welcomed by the city like all the other seasons. The inhabitants of Fez celebrated the arrival of spring like no other season of the year. Winter would force them to keep themselves warm, and they would need to stock up on provisions for the weeks or even months during which the entire city would be beset by mud and pouring rain; they would hole up inside their homes. Spring on the other hand invited them all to let loose and liberate themselves from the material and psychological siege that winter had imposed.
The first breezes of spring would start to blow, and with them would blow freedom and a desire for liberty. As you walked along the city’s narrow alleys, you could sense the scent of freedom radiating from its sleeves. It
was not simply that you could feel its perfume filling your nose; you could actually see it in people’s unfrowning expressions, in eyes bursting with joy, and in tempers that now reflected a sense of satisfaction. Now people were in a better mood and so did not lose their temper for the most trifling reason, nor did the alleys fill with disputes and arguments which would bounce off the high walls and involve anyone who happened to pass by.
You would feel it too in the sunshine which would slink with its soft, brilliant, and illuminating light into the city’s alleyways and narrow streets, and give the decaying walls a pearly light. It would make its way through the cracks in closed windows and into apertures that would project light into salons and corner rooms. This fresh glow was the gift of heaven’s freedom to an earth in chains – spring’s great victory over a bitter winter that had finally disappeared in defeat.
The advent of spring in the alleys and streets of Fez was capped by the arrival of crowds of villagers and Bedouin, who would bring with them the season’s harbingers: pitchers of milk with curds of fresh cream floating in them. They would arrive on their donkeys and mules, which had themselves regained their energy after the bitter cold of winter; they would re-establish ties that had been almost severed by the long winter months, ties linking them with landowners, sharecroppers, and herders. The rural visitors would invite the city landowners to come out and visit their properties and rejoice in the first signs of the barley, wheat, and corn crops. The landowners might spend days or weeks strolling around, relaxing and enjoying themselves; at the same time it gave children, women, and servants the opportunity to spend their annual vacations in the open air, once a year leaving behind the walls of their houses and the lofty boundaries of the city.
The month of April witnessed preparations for families to move out to their country estates. Such preparations were always visible in the more prosperous neighbourhoods of Fez. Mules and donkeys would leave the city for the desert regions loaded down with lighter items of household furniture, tents, cooking utensils, tea, and food. Should an overloaded donkey or mule come to an alley that it could not pass through, the only way anyone could pass would be by adopting a posture close to full prostration and crawling between the animal’s legs; either that, or else bending down and making their way under the bags on either side, making sure not to unbalance things or bump their head into the pans and cooking utensils packed inside.
We Have Buried the Past Page 7
