The Boy Who The Set Fire and Other Stories

by Paul Bowles

  I looked her up and down, and said: A whole family of whores. If you weren’t whores you wouldn’t break into a man’s room and stand over his bed and scream at him. Only whores do that.

  The two women ran out of the room. Mr. James was putting on his clothes. When he was dressed, he went to his wife’s room. She had heard all the noise and shouting, and was calling out to him.

  I stood in the corridor, and when Mr. and Mrs. James came out of her room, we all went into the dining-room, where the two women stood with glasses of gin in their hands. Their eyes were very narrow. They began to tell Mr. James that they understood what he was doing, and that he was trying to make his wife sicker than she was, because he wanted to get rid of her. He would not speak to them. He only shrugged his shoulders.

  I know what you want, I told them. I told Mr. James when we were on the boat. Those people want money, I said. Even before I’ve seen those English people I don’t like them.

  The Englishman’s wife came over to me and said slowly: Hijo de puta. Then she slapped me, trying to hit my cheek, but I ducked, and she hit my neck. I punched her in the face with the back of my hand. She fell against the door and came back to hit me again. Then I slapped her hard with my left hand, and she went onto the floor. I lifted her up and pushed her against the table. The dishes broke and fell on the rug. By that time I was angry. There was an Arab sword hanging on the wall. I yanked it down.

  I’m going to finish you off, you and your race! I told her. We’ll all go to jail tonight except you. You’re only an English whore and I’m a Riffian!

  The woman’s sister screamed and ran into the lavatory. She shut the door and bolted it, and began to pound on it with her shoe, screaming all the time. The Englishman’s wife ran into the kitchen. I ran after her, trying to chop the top of her head with the sword. Then Mrs. James came up to me and took the sword out of my hand.

  I went to my room and threw my clothes into my suitcase. I heard the English woman calling: Rifi! Rifi! If you’re a Riffian, speak Riffian! What kind of Riffian are you?

  When I came out into the corridor I saw her at the other end, peeking around the corner. I’m a Riffian! I shouted. What are you? An English Jewess, that’s what you are. That’s nothing much.

  Jewess! she screamed. I’m not Jewish! I’m English!

  The girl came up the stairs. The banging in the lavatory went on, and she could hear her mother shouting: Help! Help! The girl stood a minute, and then went and told her mother to come out. The woman cried and laughed, and her face was very white. At the same time the Englishman came downstairs reading a book. I stood with my valise in my hand, and looked at his head. It was like a watermelon, and his nose was like a rhaita. His wife said to him: Here he is! Speak to him in Riffian and see!

  He looked over his glasses at me and said: Mismiuren? Mismiuren means: What’s going on? But I did not want to speak Riffian.

  I don’t understand what you’re saying, I told him.

  He hung his head, and his wife cried: You see? He’s not a Riffian.

  I’m not like your husband, I told her. I haven’t eaten donkey’s ears. Look at him. He can’t even lift his head. Any other man, when he hears his wife insulting somebody, speaks to her and makes her stop.

  The woman began to shout: Mierda! Mierda!

  I spit at her three times. She only shouted at her husband: Why don’t you speak to him in Riffian?

  I said to him: Yes. And why don’t you speak to her in Hebrew? You need a lot more time if you want to learn Riffian. You think you know something about the Riffians? All you ever saw of them was their teeth when they smiled at you. They never let you find out the important things.

  I went into Mrs. James’s room and helped her pack her bags. I squeezed them all shut, and then I went to help Mr. James. When all their luggage was in the corridor, the girl came upstairs and told me: Wait. I’ll turn on the light. I carried everything down and put it into the car, started the motor, and drove around to the front door. It was half past four in the morning, but I began to blow the horn, over and over. The Spaniards leaned out of their windows to watch. I looked at the house and said: Inaal din d’babakum.

  Mr. James came down with his wife. I helped her into the front, and he got into the back. I shut the car door and spat at the house. Then I drove off.

  I was very nervous going through Granada, and Mr. and Mrs. James were afraid of an accident, because they saw how I felt. We drove out of the city, went a few kilometers, and stopped for gasoline. It was still dark.

  Mr. James got out while the Spaniard filled the tank. Then I asked for some water. He gave me a clay jar to drink from. The water was cold and sweet.

  We went on our way. I was driving slowly, the way they liked me to drive. It began to get light. This is a good trip, I told them. It’s cool and there are trees everywhere, and the wind smells good, and you can see the mountains far away. It’s a good place to be driving through.

  They both said I was right.

  We came to a village and stopped. There was a café that was open. We all went in. Mr. and Mrs. James were very tired, and they sat down at a table near the door. I went and ordered a café con leche and a pastry for each of us. I started with a glass of orange juice, and Mrs. James gave me her pastry. We talked about the English people. Mr. and Mrs. James both said I had been right, but Mrs. James told me: I thank Allah you didn’t manage to hit the woman’s head with the sword.

  Then we started to drive again, still very slowly. We were all so sleepy that our eyes were ready to shut. The road was nothing but curves. When we got to the mountains above Malaga it was full of trucks coming up and going down. A dangerous road. The foot brakes were not working at all, but we got to Malaga and went to the hotel. It was not yet seven o’clock.

  We carried the luggage into the hotel, took three rooms, and went to bed. At noon we had to get up to go and see the doctor. I was up at eleven thirty, and I called Mr. and Mrs. James. We had some coffee and went out.

  At the doctor’s office Mr. and Mrs. James sat down to wait, and I went to look for the agency to return the car. I couldn’t find it, no matter which street I took. Finally I parked the car and went to ask a policeman. He explained where the place was. I walked there, and told them they would have to go with me to get the car. A Spaniard went out with me, and we walked to where I had parked the car. He drove it back to the agency. On the way at a cross-street he put on the brakes. We kept going, so that he hit another car. I began to laugh, because he had found it out himself. When we got to the agency he went in and scolded the girl. Why do you go on giving cars to people without checking on the brakes? They might have had an accident.

  It was lucky the car had a good driver, I told him.

  He gave me the change and apologized. I went back to the doctor’s office. They were talking with him. When they finished we all got into the elevator, and a nurse came along with us. We managed to get a taxi at the door, and drove to the hospital. It was outside the city in an orchard. Some nuns led Mrs. James away, and Mr. James stood talking to the Mother.

  When Mr. James and I got to the port in Tangier, the sun was very hot and there was a strong wind blowing. He said he was glad to be on the other side of the water from the women in Granada. We passed through the customs and I drove him home.

  THE WITCH OF BOUIBA DEL HALLOUF

  THERE WAS A YOUNG MAN named Qaqo who lived in Tchar ej Jdid with his mother. The woman spent her days gathering wood in the forest. She would load it on her back and take it to the town, where she sold it to the bakers for their ovens. While his mother was in the forest looking for wood, Qaqo stood near a café selling pastries for a peseta apiece. If there were any left over at night, he would get up at six o’clock the next morning and sit in the doorway of the café, and the men who were having breakfast there would buy them all. Then he would go home and make fresh pastries. He took them to the oven to have them baked, and when they were done he would pile them on a tray and go to stand outsi
de the café. By the time he got home his mother would have sold her wood and be in the house cooking dinner.

  One evening when Qaqo got home she was not there. He waited a long time for her, and when she did not come, he started out to look for her. He climbed up the mountain to Sidi Amar, then by Rmilats and Donabo, and from there to Ain del Ouis and the entrance to Mediouna, and up to Bouiba del Hallouf, at the highest part of the mountain.

  In the moonlight there on the trail he saw something dark. Then he heard a voice crying: Ay yimma! Ay yimma! and he knew it was his mother lying on the ground.

  What’s the matter?

  I’m sick! she said. And nobody came by to help me.

  He unstrapped her from the pile of wood, lifted her up, and carried her on his back until he got to the highway. There some strangers passing by in a car helped him get her back to Tchar ej Jdid.

  Qaqo put his mother to bed and made her a little harira. After she had drunk it, she fell asleep. And he spent the whole night sitting beside her and wondering.

  In the morning she awoke, and saw Qaqo sitting there.

  How do you feel? he asked her.

  A little better, son.

  Shall we eat? I’ve got everything ready. He brought her a bowl of harira, and mint tea with bread and honey. He watched her happily while she ate and drank. Then he said to her: Tell me all about it. What happened yesterday?

  Yes, son, I’ll tell you. Yesterday I didn’t go where I usually go to look for the wood. I climbed down by the ocean and found a new place where there was wood everywhere. But there was a big hole in the ground near it, and when I looked down in I saw piles of bones. I went on as fast as I could and turned to the left, and I came to two big boulders, and the top of the mountain was above my head, very high, and the rocks went straight down to the sea on the other side. I went nearer, and between the two boulders there was an old woman with long white hair. She called to me, so I stopped. Then she came out, and I ran back. And she came running after me. I got out of the forest and ran toward the little farm up the road. There were two dogs, and they came out and began to bark. I turned around, and I saw her going back into the woods. Then I felt very sick, and walked around, and fell down. And it wasn’t a woman that came after me, either. It was an affrita.

  Qaqo began to laugh. Mother, he said. There are no affarits anymore. The old woman is probably hiding there from the government, and she’s got friends with her, smugglers perhaps. I’d like to see her myself. I’m going up and look for her.

  No! Don’t go there, please! I’ll go crazy waiting for you to come back. They could kill you. And if anything happens to you I’ll die.

  Don’t you think about it, Mother, he said. It’s seven o’clock. I’ve got to go to work now and get rid of these pastries. There aren’t many left.

  Qaqo went out with only about twenty pastries on his tray. He sold them quickly to the men having their breakfast at the café. Then he bought enough kif to fill his mottoui, went to the market for food, and carried it home.

  You can make lunch for yourself, he told his mother. Because I won’t be here. I’ll be back for dinner.

  She knew where he was going. Be very careful, son. If they ever catch you they’ll kill you.

  Don’t worry, said Qaqo.

  He walked to Dradeb and then up the Monte Viejo. He cut through to the highway by the Palace of Moulay Abd el Aziz, and then followed along to Sidi Amar. He climbed up to the top of the great rock of Sidi Amar. The sun was warm. He sat down, looked at the mountains, and smoked many pipes of kif. Then he lay on his back and looked at the trees and the sky.

  After a while he put away his pipe, climbed down the rock, and started walking again, straight to Bouiba del Hallouf. He stood on top of the cliff and looked at the big forest all around below him. The sight of it chilled him at first. But then he started down through the forest, taking the path his mother had described to him. It was not long before he came to the large hole in the ground. He peered in and saw the white bones far below. Then he went on, made the turn to the left, and soon came to the place of the two boulders. He stood still and listened. Then between the trees he saw a clearing where thousands of butterflies were trembling in the sunlight. The ground was covered with them, and they moved in the air under the trees. He went on into the forest. Again he stopped to listen and to smoke some kif, and now it seemed as though he could hear a woman’s voice saying to him: Don’t go on. Something will happen.

  He looked upward, into the branches of a tree above him, and thought he could make out the face of an old woman caught in the thick spiderwebs that hung between the boughs.

  Qaqo continued to walk ahead. Suddenly a girl stepped out from behind a tree and walked toward him. When she came up to him she stopped and said: Ahilan! How are you?

  And you, he said. How are you?

  I’m wondering what you’re doing here, she told him.

  Just looking at the forest. There’s not another like it. I’ve been to many places, and we have the best one here at Bouiba del Hallouf.

  Yes, you’re right, she said. Come with me if you want to see more.

  They started to walk together. Soon they came to the entrance to a large cave. Qaqo followed the girl inside, and they descended a flight of stairs into a lower cave. There were trickles of water running down the walls of rock. The water ran into a trough that led to a pool below. When they got to the bottom of the steps, Qaqo saw that the pool was full of fish. There were many torches burning in this part of the cave.

  Wait for me here. I’m going to change my clothes, the girl told him. I’ll be right back.

  Qaqo stood smoking kif by the edge of the pool while he waited. He was not certain whether what he was seeing was real or not because he had already smoked so much kif on the rock at Sidi Amar. Soon the girl arrived looking even more beautiful in a blue and gold kaftan.

  What would you like to see? she asked him as they went back up the stairs.

  You have butterflies, said Qaqo. I’d like to see them.

  Don’t you want to see what I have here in the cave? she said.

  I want to see the butterflies first, he told her.

  They walked out of the cave and through the forest to the clearing. As they stood there looking at the butterflies, again it seemed to Qaqo that he could hear a woman’s voice. But this time it was laughing. He glanced up. There was something that looked like the face of a very old woman wrapped in the spiderwebs between the branches. Her mouth seemed to be saying: Look out! Be careful!

  The girl was shivering as she looked at the butterflies lighting and fluttering their wings. I hate those things! she cried.

  Then Qaqo gave her a powerful push, so that she fell onto the earth among the butterflies. He could scarcely see her, there were so many of them around her. She began to scream, and as she screamed she started to look like the thing he had just seen in the tree, muffled in spiderwebs. He was terrified, and he seized her by the neck and pushed. Her nails ripped the skin from his arms. He pushed harder, and blood began to spill from her mouth. Then suddenly he realized that he was choking a frog. The frog was dead. He stood up. The blood was still oozing from its mouth.

  Qaqo began to run through the forest. He ran all the way up the trail, and did not stop until he reached the highway. It was getting dark and all his kif was gone. He hurried on to Tchar ej Jdid. His mother was waiting for him.

  Did you see the affrita? she asked him.

  There was no affrita, said Qaqo. There was nothing at all.

  THE DUTIFUL SON

  A YOUTH NAMED MEHDI who came from the place of a hundred and one saints married a girl from Temsaman as beautiful as he was handsome. They lived on a farm where nothing grew but almond trees and kif. Their first child was a girl whom they named Zohra. She stayed with them for a little more than a year, and then she fell ill with a sickness in her throat. There were no doctors in that part of the country, so they did not know what was the matter with her. They gave her many sorts o
f herbs that grow in the mountains, but it did not help her. A terrible odor began to come out of her mouth, and she died.

  Not much later a son was born to them, and they named him Mohammed. Mehdi said to his wife: I’m eighteen now, and you’re seventeen. I think we should move to the city.

  They went to Tangier, where Mehdi had relatives. They told him: There’s a new hotel here that’s taking on help. Why don’t you try? He went to the Hotel Minzah and they gave him work in the kitchen as an assistant. He had brought a good sum of money with him from the sale of the farm, and he earned high wages at the hotel.

  After a few months an older woman named Aicha Riffiya began to follow him around in the street, and to wait for him outside the hotel. She lived in a brothel in Bnider, but she was in love with Mehdi. And so she captured him, a young man with a son. She even showed him how to drink wine.

  One night Mehdi and his friends gave a party at a mahal in Bnider. They had several women there with them. For the first time Mehdi did not sit beside Aicha Riffiya. He was paying attention to a girl named Haddouj Djibliya. He smoked kif and drank with his friends, and Aicha Riffiya sat and watched him. As she watched, hatred for Mehdi filled her heart. If she had been able to kill him then and there, she would not have waited. However, there was nothing she could do at that moment but watch.

  Mehdi spent the night with Haddouj Djibliya. In the morning he went to work, and at the end of the day he went home. His wife greeted him by saying: Where were you all night? I was waiting for you. It didn’t come into your head that perhaps your son was sick or that I might need you, or that maybe something had happened here in the house. You’ve begun to go with whores, and they’ve taught you to drink wine. I can smell it.

  Shut up! he shouted, and he jumped up and slapped her twice, very hard. I know, she said. I have no right to speak. I’m only your wife. But I love you, and you love me, and you hit me because I tell you the truth. You hit me because you like wine and whores. You’re married, Mehdi! Why do you want whores and wine? If I’d known you were like this I’d never have married you! Now I understand why you wanted to come to Tangier. Because in the Rif there are no whores. You’re disgusting!