We Have Buried the Past

by Abdelkrim Ghallab

  ‘If the people of this country lived the kind of lives that my father’s generation would like to impose on them, along with Abd al-Ghani’s attitudes,’ he told himself, ‘I wouldn’t have been able to go to the academy. Abd al-Ghani represents the middle generation; he is its personification, and his ideas are dominated by the profit motive. He’s fearful and cowardly. It was that cowardice that led him to advise me not to take risks.’ The question came back to him once again, ‘Suffering, cruelty, death – is that it?’

  Then came the response, without the slightest hesitation, ‘Yes, everything has its cost, and the cost of our desires is suffering, cruelty, torture, death, and… two years in prison.’

  28

  No sooner did Hajj Muhammad set eyes on Abd al-Rahman, still alive two years later, than his eyes flooded with tears. For the first time in his life, he found himself in a position of weakness. He never dreamed he would be standing like this, facing his son, who had never veered from his stubborn and steadfast behaviour towards his father. During the two agony-filled years, Abd al-Rahman’s features had changed; no longer a fresh-faced boy, he was now a man whose face showed all the marks of exposure to the unrelenting sun. The crushing hard labour he had endured had robbed his body of its softness; now he looked taller, thinner, and more serious. His expression was stolid, powerful, and determined, and he seemed pained; his eyes lacked any sign of affection or gentleness. He looked around aggressively; his expression demanded respect, and brooked no intrusion.

  Hajj Muhammad could find no outlet for the suppressed anger he had nursed for two years. He now found himself faced with an entirely new person, someone with no connection whatever to the Abd al-Rahman of earlier times. He was expecting Abd al-Rahman to proclaim his innocence of the crime whose stain had become attached to the family, which could not recall any of its previous members being imprisoned or defying the authorities – or for him to acknowledge that he could not tolerate the pain he had endured or the stain he had caused to the family’s reputation.

  However, once he looked at his son’s expression, he realised that he was confronting a different person, someone he did not dare challenge. Hajj Muhammad simply stood there, not knowing what to do and wrestling with an internal struggle that involved on the one hand his own posture towards his son and on the other the diffidence he felt as he realised that this Abd al-Rahman was a different person, someone who was challenging him without uttering a word. It was his face that presented the challenge, along with his forced, barely perceptible smiles and his powerful and composed way of speaking, decisive and determined, that brooked no argument or opposition.

  At first Hajj Muhammad was surprised by his own reaction. His mind was full of ideas and opinions that he had waited until this moment to be able to explain to Abd al-Rahman. He had long been practising the discussion of such matters in his own mind while sitting with other people, so why was it that he could not do the same thing now, in privacy with his son, with no barriers between them?

  Hajj Muhammad made no attempt to explain this new factor, which had robbed him of his authority inside the house and made him – the absolute master decision maker – feel incapable of putting his ideas into words. In the past he had had no problem taking action, but now he was starting to cede some of his authority to Abd al-Rahman without even asking himself why or how. Without quite being aware of it, Hajj Muhammad found that a new authority was impinging on his own. The authority that had come down to him from his forefathers and ancestors, and his absolute control over the household’s opinions, actions, and behaviour were both concepts that now began to agitate his mind.

  Abd al-Rahman went back to the academy, where he faced the complications raised by the administration because of his prison term. Eventually he managed to rejoin his class without even needing to consult his father; from now on, his conduct would be completely independent of Hajj Muhammad.

  He also faced fresh burdens in his nationalist struggle. Day or night he would leave the house with no opposition or anger from Hajj Muhammad. He argued with Khaduj, but Hajj Muhammad made no effort to either speak out or defend his household authority.

  He told Aisha that on no account should she marry a man she did not know and did not agree to marry. A person should not be deprived of the right to choose, he told her. In any case, he would support her if she chose to object, but if she gave in there would be no way he could help her. When Khaduj heard of this provocative talk, she immediately told Hajj Muhammad, but neither of them felt able to stand in the way of the forward march of ideas.

  Abd al-Rahman also spoke to Mahmud. ‘Don’t be weak hearted,’ he told him. ‘In school, you’re no different from the other students, and at home you’re no different from your brothers. Khaduj may not be your mother, but Yasmine is just like Khaduj. Their fathers are both of one type, from a single male species. Don’t let the fairy tale about the mistress and the servant-woman affect you in any way. You’re a man and the son of a lady, even if, to my father and mother, Yasmine is a servant purchased in the slave market. Raise your head high, my brother! This is not the time for slaves and masters.’

  This too reached Hajj Muhammad’s ears. Abd al-Rahman was keen that nothing he said should be a secret, and he declared himself to those people he knew for sure would pass it all on. Hajj Muhammad pondered the whole thing, but he kept his thoughts to himself; by now he had learned to restrict the considerations and internal debates to himself, within his own mind. He even managed to create an imagined clone of Abd al-Rahman for himself, and could rant and rave at it for all he was worth – though the reaction of the replica was compliance, obedience, apology, and a pledge not to do the same thing ever again. This provided a degree of security and satisfaction, and allowed him to return to the reality of the situation: namely, that Abd al-Rahman had emerged from prison with a flame blazing inside him, vowing to use it to set fire to chaff.

  When Abd al-Rahman spoke to his elder brother, Abd al-Ghani was both nervous and perplexed. Abd al-Rahman had bothered him even when he was still an immature child, and when he had gone to the academy and started showing his contempt for his elders and betters, Abd al-Ghani had grown fed up with his arrogance. Now that Abd al-Rahman had come out of prison, Abd al-Ghani found himself dealing with someone he could no longer boss around and whose taunts he found intolerable. Even so, they were both sons of the same father and mother, and shared a house and dining table. The vestige of brotherly feelings that he still had demanded that he try to remain close to his younger brother and make an effort to be friendly and offer advice. But he found he could not face this new personality that had emerged from prison and invaded the family atmosphere.

  Abd al-Rahman did not leave his brother alone in his nervous perplexity. Instead, he launched a bold attack, almost violent in its fury. ‘You… What’s the point of your life?’ he said. ‘You eat your food and walk around the markets. What mission do you think you’re performing for your country? You’re getting ready to put your arms around your little nest like a chicken with rotten eggs. You’ve started a family now. Are you planning to bring up your children to be just like you? Open your eyes. Times are changing, and they’re going to leave you behind. You need to understand some of the consequences of the mistakes you’ve made. You haven’t learned anything. In fact, you’ve always resisted learning anything. Maybe that won’t be possible with your children.’

  This kind of talk demolished Abd al-Ghani’s self-esteem. The only way he could find of ridding himself of the siege wall that Abd al-Rahman kept erecting around him was by keeping his anger buried, chewing his gum as hard as possible, making it click so loudly that it echoed in his ears. It was almost as though he were trying to use the clicking noise to drown out what Abd al-Rahman was saying.

  However, Abd al-Rahman was not entirely content with himself, nor was he sure about his own role in life. He had certainly borne his share of responsibilities and acquired a rebellious spirit. Now he found himself radiating that sam
e spirit outside the house, where it was both expansive and effective. However, when he tried to do the same thing inside the house, he came right up against the family fortress with its lofty walls and closed windows through which the only light or air that penetrated came from whatever minuscule amounts filtered through the aperture in the roof to the courtyard below.

  The convulsions going on inside Abd al-Rahman took the form of a demon-jinni that had been kept inside its bottle for centuries and generations. It stomped around and let off steam, but the world was not big enough. Instead, it clashed with a nightmare that kept its eye on the world so as to limit its revolutionary energy.

  Now that the majority of Fez’s sons had returned from exile and prisons, the city was full of newly invigorated hopes. Life ticked along at its usual deliberate pace – unassuming, and content to be so; comfortable, but not to an excessive degree; industrious enough to earn a loaf of bread, but not greedy or competitive. The city lived a life of self-satisfaction, with all its own little ideas, hopes, and aspirations. If the idea of nationalism were mentioned, it would almost never leave the city limits. As a result, the struggles in the outside world rarely reached the city itself. Even when the kind of ideas that can usually slip in along with daylight, sun, and air were involved, that very same property of self-satisfaction had already converted the city into an impregnable fortress. It was content with this posture; no one felt any kind of lack, and in fact people appreciated it because it brought with it a sense of felicity, liberty, and contentment.

  This was how it affected its inhabitants, and this was how its young folk were, and this was what strangers would sense when they came to visit. The welcoming expressions, laughing eyes, and words brimming with hope and confidence in the future all conveyed the same impression.

  But then something happened to change this way of life, an event that imposed a thick, dark curtain on the welcoming expressions, the laughing eyes, and the words brimming with hope. Fez’s inhabitants were not ready to assess the true extent of the danger that this curtain brought with it, nor were they prepared to change their ways. But the curtain came down suddenly, changing bright light into darkness and joy into unhappiness and hardship.

  Abd al-Rahman was the first person to sense the thick, dark curtain as it descended on the city, because it had a direct impact on the revolutionary spirit churning inside him. And Fez and Abd al-Rahman were by no means the only ones to be overwhelmed by a world war whose savagery spread from the capitals of Europe.

  29

  War… war… war!

  The words rang in the ears of the citizens of Fez, like any other words that are habitually weighed for their seriousness and variety. If the words had been ‘peace… peace… peace’, the effect would have been no different. Young people in Fez had never heard anything about the Great War; they had heard about the Rif War and were scared of it, but even that war had not showed them its nasty side. They were aware of conflicts between the children of one quarter and another, but those only involved single children here and there, and simple wounds that could be staunched with spiders’ webs so the blood would not stain the victim’s clothing – for, if it did, the fathers would find out and punish the boys who had the wounds rather than their assailants.

  But this new war did not spare the young folk of Fez. On the contrary, it insistently infiltrated their inner lives and weighed on each person’s consciousness. Abd al-Rahman realised that this war was not one of those local Moroccan conflicts – artificial bubbles bursting in the tranquil atmosphere, to be followed soon afterwards by the announcement of peace, like children welcoming the new moon at the beginning of Ramadan. This time the entire world was enveloped in destruction, misery, and suffering that might well result in the loss of complete generations – and could lead to the weakening of the authority that powerful countries had exerted over weak peoples. It might also impose a limit on the activities of the freedom movement in which the youth of Morocco were engaged. The foreign administration would find it an ideal opportunity to finish off its foes, in the name of regulations and precautions dictated by war.

  Such thoughts haunted Abd al-Rahman as the first explosions started to go off, deafening the world’s hearing, but he did not have the heart to let people know what he was thinking. Instead, he told himself he should be giving people some sense of hope, and war was certainly a way to achieve that goal. Any talk about its malign effects would only make already-despondent hearts even weaker and more despondent still. But, in spite of his best efforts, talk of war invaded his personal domain. Abd al-Samad, a smart young man who was known for offering information to console people, blocked his path every time they ran into each other, and told him things with an authoritative air.

  ‘Don’t you know what’s going to happen in a few days?’

  ‘No, what?’

  ‘Hitler’s going to invade Morocco from the inside… He’ll chuck the French out.’

  Abd al-Rahman took this in with a smile and a generous grain of salt, but Abd al-Samad hurried to eliminate the doubt that was obvious in his expression.

  ‘Believe me. The era of the French occupation is over. Hitler will grab them like you grab a chicken in a cage.’

  Abd al-Rahman gave a smile of almost desperate hope, and Abd al-Samad, who was never going to be duped as much by his innate perspicacity as he was by his sources of information, took that as encouragement. ‘Hitler’s very close,’ he went on. ‘In just a few days you’ll see him strutting his way around the Najjarin district!’

  Abd al-Rahman managed to extricate himself from the impasse by convincing Abd al-Samad that he believed he was right and his information was correct, and Abd al-Samad then launched into a declaration for anyone to hear, whether they were in the know or not.

  ‘Hitler will be infiltrating Fez!’

  But the same impasse plagued Abd al-Rahman inside the house as well as in the street. The elder folk felt a need for the younger ones, because they were the ones who read newspapers and knew what was going on in their land of war and conflict. Hajj Muhammad relented in his attitude towards Abd al-Rahman, and refused to sit down to dinner unless he was there as well. Abd al-Rahman was well aware of what was going on in Hajj Muhammad’s mind, so he steered the conversation away from talk of war, Hitler, and Mussolini. But Hajj Muhammad still launched an assault.

  ‘People said today that Hitler’s closing in on China.’

  Abd al-Rahman had a hard time suppressing an explosion of laughter that almost paralysed him. ‘Dear Father,’ he said, ‘don’t believe everything people are saying on the streets. Hitler’s in western and central Europe. China’s in east Asia. How can news like that possibly be getting around?’

  Hajj Muhammad felt a cold sweat oozing out of his sleeves; it was as though the stain of ignorance was showing on him for the first time. His sense of pride was wounded by Abd al-Rahman’s hurtful words. ‘I realise that,’ he said by way of retort. ‘I’m not telling you what I think; just what people keep saying.’

  This made the conversation between the two of them easier.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Hajj Muhammad went on, ‘why everyone’s so concerned about this war. It’s far away from us.’

  ‘The war’s far from us, but it’s also near. There’s no more near and far in the world now.’

  This statement blanketed Hajj Muhammad’s mind in a cloud. He clearly did not understand what Abd al-Rahman was saying.

  ‘France obviously looks on Morocco as being a wide imperialist gateway to Africa. On the day that Hitler impinges on that imperial territory, France will leap to its defence.’

  ‘We pray to God that Hitler won’t do that!’

  Abd al-Rahman’s blood boiled. ‘The war’s our big chance,’ he said. ‘If France’s imperial territory is demolished by whoever it may be, then it’ll be hard for them to rebuild it.’

  ‘But that will bring the war to us,’ Hajj Muhammad replied, thinking of himself.

  ‘War’s ensconced
in our country’s very heart, even if the fighting’s in the heart of Europe at the moment.’

  Hajj Muhammad did not understand, and his expression framed a large question mark.

  ‘Our sons are crossing over to Europe,’ Abd al-Rahman said, ‘to die under the French flag.’ He forestalled the curious look in Hajj Muhammad’s eyes and the furrows of his forehead by adding, ‘Yes, our sons! They’re grabbing them from the mountains, plains, valleys, and small towns and villages, and enlisting them to defend France.’

  Now Hajj Muhammad seemed to understand.

  ‘Not only that,’ Abd al-Rahman went on, ‘but our agricultural production is being stolen from us in order to feed the army and our children over there.’

  Hajj Muhammad widened his eyes in amazement, as though a lightning bolt had dazzled him. He stared off into the gloom. Abd al-Rahman realised what his father was thinking. What had suddenly wrested the tranquil look from his father’s eyes was the terrifying thought that the government would be seizing the harvest from his land: the wheat, the barley, and the fruit.

  ‘We’re going to starve,’ Abd al-Rahman went on, to underline the idea that had now possessed Hajj Muhammad’s thinking, ‘and all so that our own sons in the army and the French military can eat. We’ll be deprived of cover, clothing, and protection as well because the people who normally supply us with such things will convert their businesses into making bombs, guns, tanks, and aeroplanes.’

  Hajj Muhammad pricked up his ears as though there was some kind of blockage preventing him from hearing properly. But there was no blockage; it was just that the shock of it all was affecting his hearing, and he now leaned forward to take in what his son was saying.

  ‘There’ll be even more tightening of restrictions on our freedoms,’ Abd al-Rahman continued, taking full advantage of his father’s close attention. ‘Because war always takes away people’s liberties. And war renders slaves even more enslaved than before.’