We Have Buried the Past

by Abdelkrim Ghallab

  Hajj Muhammad did not seem disturbed by what he heard, and Abd al-Rahman realised that freedom was not something his father was much concerned about. He had no sense of his own liberty being forcibly taken away. All he knew was that the wealthy white lords and the masters like himself who owned large mansions, lands, and properties were free – and that slaves were the servants you bought, as many as you needed. But he did not offer any objections. He attributed all this talk to the onset of passionate ideas that had afflicted Abd al-Rahman’s life and made his young mind think of strange things like freedom, slavery, nationalism, and independence.

  War careered its way forwards in a variety of vicious and intense currents. People now opened their eyes to an entirely new world, one in which they forgot the stories about Hitler and faced a reality that deprived them of bread to eat, warm clothing to wear, and protection against disease. The windows of their minds were opened to vast new horizons. Fez was no longer everything to them. Personal contentment was no longer enough to satisfy their aspirations and desire for knowledge. They heard about world capitals, theatres of war, army commanders, political leaders, victory and defeat, occupation and liberation, and new military weaponry.

  The city of Fez dwindled in the minds of its inhabitants. They began to feel that the life they were living inside its narrow walls was the limit of their natural aspirations, and the misery that the war imposed on them only made them even more unhappy. Typhus, resulting from filthy conditions, infected the city and was spread further by people coming in from elsewhere. Disease, misery, and deprivation all had their effects on people’s sense of pride; they started to feel a need for some kind of revenge to restore their self-esteem.

  None of this impinged on Abd al-Rahman, who lived through the war and its various stories carrying his thoughts to infinite levels: leaving the city’s concealed alleys and narrow squares behind, they would soar out to battles in the Pacific, thousand-bomber raids on cities, the wholesale destruction of continents, and the pulverisation of millions of lives. He did not anticipate any kind of peace for Fez in the shadow of its tribulations, just war with its ongoing news of terror, killing, and homelessness.

  His nerves were not affected by the general atmosphere in the city. He was more bothered by the loss of freedom than upset by the misery of his countrymen. After all, misery could turn into plenty, and darkness could become light once again. All wars had their limits, but the forward march of freedom had no connection to the course of war. One or other side might emerge victorious, and yet that would be of no benefit to the many people of the world, the domination of whom was the principal cause of the conflict.

  ‘If we give in to the tragedy of pride,’ he thought to himself, ‘the pride that has been crushed by misery and weakened by disease, we will emerge from this war still miserable and diseased – nothing more. Instead, we must emerge victorious. Misery and disease are simply obstacles standing in the way of progress. We have to move beyond it all so we can achieve true freedom.’

  As he indulged in these ideas, he did not forget that thoughts of freedom in a world of war were a crime unforgiveable under war’s own rules. But he found a refuge for himself in the new openness that had enveloped the city, transforming its character from one of self-satisfaction to a kernel based in a world with wider boundaries. This war had opened people’s eyes to a new world and their minds to fresh horizons that even war could not delimit.

  Freedom’s forward path involved a sense of need – the need for an open world in which the free could have their share.

  30

  It was the logic of Abd al-Rahman’s thought that made its way to his heart. When it spoke to him, it was as though it were singing, its attractive sound ringing in his soul like a melody played on a stringed instrument made by a master craftsman. He smiled, a winged smile that floated on his young, laughing face, his eyes glistening with a gentle, attractive gleam from which flowed a spirit of youth, delight, energy, and beauty.

  Madeleine was an employee at a city bank. Her young mind had not yet been polluted by racist thoughts, and she enjoyed chatting with Abd al-Rahman, who represented for her the aspect of the country that demanded she find out more about it. She was a young Frenchwoman, born into a French family, educated in French schools, and with French friends. And yet she liked to observe Moroccans and hear stories about Moroccan families, households, and culture, learning what she managed to pick up from random conversations and passing comments.

  When she came to know Abd al-Rahman, her curiosity found a way to penetrate a world about which she was anxious to learn more. In him she discovered a young man who spoke good French, coloured with the attractive accent of people from Fez – an accent which was smooth and had about it the delicacy of the speech of young girls. She also found in him a young man who had managed to demolish the wall separating her world from the one beyond the city wall – the worlds of old Fez and modern Fez. She was eager to learn about the old city, which to her was veiled like a virgin girl keeping her face hidden out of modesty and shyness, so that prying eyes would not see how beautiful she was.

  Madeleine noticed furtive glances in Abd al-Rahman’s bashful, handsome expression that revealed what was hidden behind. Her response to him was no less fervent than his was to her, and he now discovered a face different from the faces of those foreign invaders who managed to infuriate him with the domineering way they exerted control over his country. His teacher at the academy may have revealed to him the cultural and scientific side of the colonising nation, but now Madeleine showed him the more aesthetic and spiritual side, where people spoke about beauty, subtlety, and softness.

  As a young man Abd al-Rahman was open to the future, his interest in revolution being no less than in his own biology. His soul was now open to the idea of love, and his heart had begun a search for somewhere to settle, after having previously declined any offer of open arms to embrace him.

  When Madeleine spoke to him, it was with a lively mind, a sharp tongue, sparkling eyes, and a cheerful expression; she was opening her own heart to be an abode for his. He did not deliberately long for her, nor was he in quest of a place to settle with her; rather he was inevitably attracted by the element of novelty that Madeleine provided for him whenever she spoke frankly and argued freely with him. Between them developed a being that was neither just man nor just woman, but instead a woman and man using mind, emotion, and life to engage with each other.

  Abd al-Rahman began to experience something like the feelings he had read about in books at the Qur’an school and in collections of poetry. He now felt what he had only theoretically known as ‘love’, though he did not dare admit it to himself. He was still labouring under the weight of tradition that recognised only the physical aspect of love, and he had no wish to think about that ‘dirty’ subject – although there were many occasions when he had asked himself exactly what that dirty aspect was that everyone linked to love. He was also weighed down by his negative feelings towards the outsiders: was Madeleine herself not the daughter of those very people who turned a racist eye on Moroccans? This would explain why he had no desire to be frank with himself about his growing feelings towards Madeleine – but he found he could not stop himself seeing her, meeting her whenever possible, far away from the prying eyes of other people.

  Once when they were talking, she surprised him by inviting him to visit her parents and have dinner with her family. She had told them about her friendship with Abd al-Rahman, and they wanted her to introduce them to her Moroccan friend – ‘One who moves beyond the walls,’ she laughed, ‘to form a friendship with a girl outside.’

  Abd al-Rahman was stunned. What could she have been thinking to dare tell her parents about her passing friendship with a young Moroccan man? ‘What will they think of me?’ he wondered. ‘A foreigner invading their daughter’s life? Are they suspicious of my intentions? Why do they want to get to know me? Could this imply some kind of scandal, or crime? Should I accept? It would be risky�
� Or should I decline? That would certainly be impolite, and would put in question the intentions of a young man who accepts a girl’s friendship and then refuses to meet her parents. What does meeting her father and mother imply? Are they going to suggest I marry her?’

  The word ‘marry’ set bells ringing in his mind; the sound was neither unpleasant nor entirely desirable either. Even so, it was an accurate reflection of his own self, in that his heart tended towards Madeleine to the extent that he could by no means rule out marrying her. His mind was in a whirl. He did not like the idea that his life companion would be a non-Muslim, a foreign girl, so liberated that she could tell her parents about her relationship with a young Moroccan man; nor did he like the idea that his life companion should be linked with the French nation that had placed itself in a position inimical to Morocco and installed its own sons in enemy headquarters. However, his heart could not give up on the idea.

  Madeleine realised he was being slow to accept her invitation. She noticed the distracted expression in his eyes, and it surprised her that her invitation could provoke so much hesitation and thought. She sensed that if she pushed him for an answer, he would be upset. Even so, she wanted him to accept.

  ‘My parents really like the idea of getting to know you,’ she said. ‘You might enjoy meeting them too.’

  This opened a door for Abd al-Rahman and, his mind now fully alert, he accepted with a smile. ‘Indeed, I shall be very happy to meet them.’

  She was glad, and smiled in return.

  Abd al-Rahman entered Madeleine’s house. He met her father, who lived a life full of activity and liked to fill his mind with new ideas about life and people. He was a teacher who spent most of his time with children and their world of learning. Beyond that he devoted himself to books, painting, music, and sports. He was close to fifty years old, and yet his face was that of a much younger man in the prime of life. He talked to his guest about a variety of subjects and recalled a number of fond memories. He had many questions about aspects of life in the city about which he knew nothing. How did the men and women there live, not to mention the girls? Abd al-Rahman was a little bashful as he concealed half the truth, but he discovered he could divert the conversation to the more pleasant aesthetic aspects of family and household life.

  He was introduced to Madeleine’s mother and saw in her the kind of woman that Madeleine would become in twenty years. She was still beautiful and elegant, and smiled at life. She too had retained her love of enquiry and knowledge; her feelings were uncluttered by idle fancies and fairy tales. She never mentioned arguments among women or silly resentments and hatreds.

  He also met Madeleine’s brothers, and discovered that they were all children of the same father and mother. None of them felt their lives to be affected by issues of either race or gender; all they talked about was schoolwork and the competition to succeed.

  The evening showed Abd al-Rahman another side of the life of the foreigners he regarded from behind the city walls, seeing only what the army, the administration, and the military regime chose to show him.

  He had no regrets about accepting Madeleine’s invitation; indeed, he felt she deserved his thanks. She had already shown him a new world, but now she had rid him of the tension he had felt in becoming her friend. Now he had an even greater love and respect for her. She made no attempt to conceal their friendship because she saw nothing dishonourable about it, nor did she intend it to lead to anything inappropriate. Meanwhile, he felt guilty when he recalled the thoughts he had had when she first suggested he pay a visit to her family.

  He now busied himself with Madeleine even more than before. The friendship developed into a strong love, dignified by both respect and admiration. He had the impression that she was drawing closer to him, feeling an even greater affection for him, and disclosing her secret love, although – despite her youth and broad experience – she was too chaste to embark upon a frivolous adventure. Her honesty and self-respect were factors that increased his love and his conviction that he too could remain chaste in spite of his own youth and experience, so as not to dishonour her or ruin their friendship.

  They embarked on an exciting discussion of the depictions of love, both happy and sad, to be found in stories and novels. He was not particularly fond of this type of writing, but Madeleine managed to make it more enjoyable for him by telling him about the heroes and heroines of the romances. He began borrowing stories from her and lending her stories and novels as well. In all of them he read his own love story and imagined his own experiences.

  One day she surprised him by talking about a novel she had just read. ‘You’re always choosing sad novels for me!’ Her tender look seemed to be asking him a question.

  He had not given the subject any thought, so her comment came as a shock. He gave her a cheerful but unconvincing response, trying as he did so to brush off the implied accusation with an affectionate smile. He then extended his hands and drew her face towards him.

  A veil of despair held him in its clutches as his thirsty eyes drank their fill of her lovely features. ‘I’m in love with Madeleine,’ he told himself, a thought that sent his mind into a spin. ‘But what future does this love have? Shall I marry her? Should I remain loyal to this love in spite of everything that is happening? In spite of all the years I’ve spent opposing the French? What will happen to my reputation if people find out about this secret love? What will my father think?’

  Then an idea ripened in his mind, and he grabbed it from the maelstrom of other thoughts which had been swirling around for some time. ‘Madeleine’s a friend; she’ll be my friend for life. I’ll never imprison her in a marriage. She and I are a couple separated by as much as we are joined. I shall never rob her of her life, nor will she rob me of mine. What there is between us will remain what her family understood it to be that evening when I went to her house for dinner.’

  He was brought back from his lost dream by a pair of green eyes enveloped in a halo formed by bushy black eyebrows and a veil, as though to prevent their shining light from beaming at random. He stared curiously at these green eyes that had forcefully blocked his path. All he could tell of their owner was her soft, white skin, her somewhat plump body, the obvious elegance of her flowing jallaba, and her silken veil.

  He told himself she must be the substitute for Madeleine. At least, she would never make him live a life of contradictions like those that Madeleine had plunged him into when he asked himself whether she might one day be his wife.

  He did not spend much time thinking. He had come quickly to the conclusion that he must rid himself of the magic of those green eyes, just as he had done with the overwhelming power of sweet logic. But now he found himself unconsciously making the decision. ‘My world belongs to the past. It will never allow me to take a wife from outside the walls of the city, or indeed from inside. So I need to get away from both Madeleine and the girl with the green eyes.’

  31

  ‘If a man’s eyes cross your path, make sure to avoid looking at them.’ These words had preoccupied Aisha’s conscious and unconscious thoughts ever since Yasmine had first spoken them to her, when Aisha had been swept up in the celebration of Abd al-Ghani’s wedding. She kept ruminating on the ideas that the words aroused. She was used to listening to advice from her mother – although there were things her mother did not talk about – and to pieces of advice offered by the servant-women. The veil of modesty, uprightness, and respect drawn between mother and daughter, as between father and son, must remain both strong and thick, unassailed by any counsel that might prove embarrassing, or diminished by words that might breach the barrier of reticence that marked the relationship between parents and children. This was why Khaduj did not talk to Aisha about the future that awaited her. By now she had grown old and did not tell her daughter what to do if her quiet life was disturbed by something that might stir things up and ruffle its calm surface. It was Yasmine who took on the task, introducing her to the idea of men in the way she had imag
ined such things herself as a young girl before her own virginity was assaulted – in her advice to Aisha, Yasmine was presenting an image of the girl’s own father, Hajj Muhammad.

  ‘If you see a man,’ Yasmine told her, ‘you should realise that there’s always some scandal involved… Men are tricky. Never trust them, my little girl!’

  The ideas kept whirling inside Aisha’s mind; her veins pulsed with disturbing thoughts that excited her and made her feel a longing, a revolt, a sense of recalcitrance… a whole new world invading her youth. When that new world collided with Yasmine’s cautionary advice, the revolt inside her reached its peak and placed her in a world where men were the problem.

  Even as the ideas whirled, Aisha was no less sensitive to things than Yasmine. Whispered conversations kept her awake at night, and probing glances aroused her curiosity. When Hajj Muhammad whispered to his wife Khaduj that Hajj Abd al-Qadir had requested Aisha’s hand for his son, Aisha was the first to sense that something was happening, even though she had no idea what it was. It was just that, one morning, as she bent over to kiss her father’s hand and looked into his eyes, she could detect a kind of probing: his eyes were searching for something in her bosom and her face. ‘Maybe he’s rethinking what he knows about me,’ she thought. ‘Have I grown up? Am I now ready to become a woman?’ When she looked over at her mother, she noticed a smile in her eyes and on her lips. That smile, she felt, had to mean something… something about herself. ‘Perhaps she’s thinking about some happy news my father’s confided in her,’ she thought. ‘If only I knew what it was, if only she could tell me.’

  The whirlwind enveloped her once again when the whispered conversation in Hajj Muhammad’s room turned into news that spread from the mistress of the household to its servant-women. Yasmine learned about it and started spending more time with Aisha, treating her kindly, showing her a beaming smile, and astonishing her when she took a careful look at her bosom.