A Country for Dying
Page 9
I sense your questions. I decipher them.
The knife is to slit your throat. The mint is to give you a taste of the other life. Paradise? One bunch in my right hand. The other in my left hand. The glasses: one to collect some of your blood, the other to break against your forehead.
The pomegranates: you know why. The symbol of love for an entire people, the Arabs, myself among them.
After completing the sacrifice, I will eat them both. Next to you, dead. I will take my time removing their seeds. Devouring them. And then, I’ll drink some of your blood.
Complete the second sacrifice. Join you in your journey. In another land, another sky. Other colors.
This life is only one life. Others will follow. We both know that.
You will die. I will die. It’s over.
Like your aunt Zineb, we will suddenly disappear. We won’t leave bodies behind. For those who survive us, we will be a mystery. That will be their problem. They’ll manage as best as they can to understand. Or not. Accept the unbelievable. Or not.
You have become impure. Dirty. Ruined. Deflowered from morning to night. I come, black, to kill you and bring you back to life. Avenge myself and resume my path with you there where your mother, with her cold eyes, put a stop to everything. I cling to this vengeance. I want to be a criminal for the men from here. May they have a terrible memory of me! May they say that I am in the end what they always thought I was! Savage. Bloodthirsty. A cannibal.
Yes, I am all of that. I am no longer afraid. Why be afraid? They are on my side now, the jinns, the Masters, the invisible world. Destiny tells me that I am right. I want to kill. I want to commit this crime. Spill human blood. That of the beloved. Of love. That or nothing. That or give up. It is out of the question to wait. I am leaving this very night.
It’s midnight.
You’re asleep, Zahira, over there in Paris.
In less than six hours I will be standing before you.
Your door is shut. Your body is destroyed. Your soul is lost. Through me you will be saved. Through me, through my vengeance, you will live for a long time. Through my crime, you will forget the rest. All the rest. You will change. You will turn black. Black like all of us.
Don’t wake up. For the moment, I am still on this side. Africa. Your origins despite yourself. Despite your tyrant mother and despite your sick father.
I won’t get out of your head, Zahira. I am still in you. In love once more. A murderer on his way.
I see the Mediterranean Sea. With one step I cross it.
I reach Spain. In the blink of an eye I fly over it.
I’m in France. I climb. I climb. I climb. Biarritz. Bordeaux. Poitiers. Tours. Orléans. Paris. The Eiffel Tower. Dark streets. I know your studio. Your prison. I walk through the door. You’re asleep. I am no longer just in your head and your dreams.
Open your eyes, Zahira. Open them!
You know me. Since our first life, you’ve known me. Yes, it’s me. Allal.
Let it happen. Don’t cry. Don’t be afraid of this large knife.
It’ll be easy.
It’ll be fast.
Don’t resist.
It’s our destiny.
PART III
Indochina, Saigon, June 1954
1
“WHERE ARE WE, GABRIEL?”
“In my arms, Zineb.”
“Don’t make fun of me . . . I mean . . . in what country?”
“You don’t know already? They didn’t tell you when they brought you here?”
“Yes, yes, they told me. But they didn’t explain anything to me. I don’t know where we are exactly, where I am exactly. Where on this earth . . . But you must know . . .”
“I can draw the five continents on a piece of paper and show you where exactly . . .”
“No. Not like that. I’d rather you tell me with words . . . Where are we?”
“In my arms.”
“I’m not kidding, Gabriel.”
“We’re in Indochina. Do you know that, Zineb?”
“Yes, yes. But what is Indochina? A country?”
“No, it’s more like several countries, several regions in the south of Asia, that belong to France.”
“You mean the way my country, Morocco, belongs to France?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly the same way?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
“As I said, this continent is called Asia . . .”
“Don’t talk to me like a professor . . . Speak simply to me.”
“Bordering us, not far from here, are Indonesia, China, Thailand . . .”
“The sea, does it have a name?”
“There are many seas all around, Zineb.”
“Say their names, Gabriel . . . Say them . . .”
“All of them?”
“No. Just a few. I’ll repeat them after you. Go on . . . Name them . . .”
“There’s the Andaman Sea.”
“The Andaman Sea.”
“The Arafura Sea.”
“The Arafura Sea.”
“The Ceram Sea.”
“The Ceram Sea.”
“The Tasman Sea.”
“The Tasman Sea.”
“The Pacific Ocean.”
“The Pacific Ocean.”
“The Indian Ocean.”
“The Indian Ocean . . . Is India close to here, Gabriel?”
“Yes, you could say that . . . You know India?”
“I love India.”
“You’ve been before?”
“Of course not! I had never left Morocco before coming here. I only know India through those Indian movies I used to see at the theaters in Casablanca . . .”
“Really?”
“I immediately fell in love with the actors in those movies . . . Especially the actresses . . . So beautiful, so spiritual . . .”
“Like who?”
“You don’t know them, I’m sure.”
“Say their names anyway, Zineb.”
“Chadia. Do you know Chadia?”
“Is she brunette or blond?”
“Don’t be an idiot . . . They’re all brunettes, the Indian actresses . . . Sort of like Moroccans . . . But they’re less harsh than Moroccans . . . More open . . .”
“Who else?”
“Tabu?”
“Tabu. That’s pretty.”
“And there’s Nargis. My favorite. There were two girls with me in the brothel, in Casablanca, who had the same name as her.”
“Nargis . . . Nargis . . . That’s pretty.”
“It’s more than pretty . . . It’s incredibly beautiful.”
“And why do you like Nargis more than the others?”
“I don’t know . . . When I see her I recognize myself in her. But I am not her. Nargis is me in another life . . . Is India very far from here, Gabriel?”
“That depends on where you want to go in India. India is huge.”
“Oh . . .”
“You didn’t know?”
“I didn’t know . . . How many days does it take to get there by boat?”
“I would say five days, maximum.”
“Five days! That’s not a lot . . . Will you take me there, Gabriel?”
“One day, Zineb.”
“I’m serious.”
“To bring you there, first I’d have to leave the French army.”
“Would you do that for me, Gabriel?”
“I can’t. I don’t have the right.”
“You’ll have to desert, then . . .”
“Don’t joke about that kind of thing, Zineb. France is at war in Indochina. That’s why I came here.”
“But you’ve told me several times that you’re in love with me.”
“Then act madly . . . Desert your country’s army and let’s go to India . . .”
“Pffft . . .”
“No response? Don’t you love me, Gabriel?”
“But surely I can’t be the only one who loves you here. Practically all the soldiers at the base are in love with you. Don’t they tell you that when they visit you for . . . for . . .?”
“The others just come for sex. Nothing more. That’s why they brought me here from Morocco. Some of the French soldiers don’t like the Asian women . . .”
“How do you know that?”
“Don’t change the subject, Gabriel.”
“Don’t be so serious, Zineb. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Do you love me? Yes? No?”
“I love you, Zineb. You know perfectly well I do.”
“Are you satisfied when I give myself to you each day, from the front and from behind?”
“Zineb, don’t talk like that.”
“I’m not ashamed of anything. I own it.”
“Even so . . .”
“And when I tend to your cock and everything else, are you happy?”
“I am always happy with you, Zineb.”
“Then bring me to India!”
“Even if I wanted to, the French army would never let me leave with you. You belong to them, Zineb. You work for them.”
“I don’t belong to anyone. I came here of my own free will. I whore myself out for these French soldiers because . . .”
“You’re not a whore, Zineb . . .”
“Yes I am. You share me with the other soldiers, and you’ve never said that it bothers you. I give to them what I give to you. I spread my legs . . .”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Do you tell them what I do with you? Do they tell you what I do with them?”
“What’s wrong with you? Calm down. Calm down . . .”
“Do they tell you everything? Absolutely everything?”
“Zineb, that’s enough . . . Be quiet . . .”
“Gabriel, if you love me, you’ll take me to India.”
“That’s pure insanity.”
“Yes, I’m insane. That’s what you love about me. Isn’t it?”
“Yes, that too . . . Your tendency to be . . .”
“Especially that, the insanity in me that I give to you. The sounds I make when we’re having sex . . . It drives you mad . . . You told me all this, didn’t you?”
“Zineb . . . Stop . . . Stop . . .”
“Why are you denying me the right to dream about India?”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“India belongs to France, too, right?”
“India belonged to England. Now it’s a free country.”
“India is a free country! Since when?”
“Seven years ago, I think.”
“You see, it’s simple, Gabriel. We’ll go live in a free country. No one will arrest us over there.”
“And Morocco? You can forget about it just like that, so easily?”
“Morocco?”
“Yes, Morocco.”
“What has Morocco done for me?”
“That’s for you to tell me.”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t exaggerate.”
“Morocco sold me to France, to the French.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t want to become a whore, you know . . .”
“I . . . suppose . . . that . . . no one wants . . .”
“Yeah? You suppose what? Finish your sentence.”
“Nothing.”
“You think I was born a whore? That I always lived in Bousbir?”
“You mean Prosper, I imagine.”
“In Casablanca, we pronounce it Bousbir. It’s simpler.”
“Bousbir is a brothel in Casablanca?”
“Better than that. It’s an open-air whorehouse. Where all the damned of Morocco end up, men and women alike.”
“And everyone prostitutes themselves there?”
“Everyone. Well, as long as you’re still a viable commodity.”
“Is it big?”
“Several houses. Several streets. An entire neighborhood across from the sea, the Atlantic Ocean.”
“They forced you to work over there?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Go on, then . . .”
“Where to start? . . . It’s difficult. It’s a very long story.”
“I’m your last soldier of the day. We have the entire night to ourselves.”
“No. Not tonight. Tomorrow. I don’t have the energy to rehash all of that tonight. Tomorrow.”
2
“I was high up, in the Atlas Mountains, with my father and a Jewish sorcerer. We were looking for one of the treasures that had been buried there for several centuries. It was night. And this time, the Jew hadn’t been lying. In a bewitching voice, he recited psalms, incantations, calls, both in Hebrew and in Berber. My father dug for more than two hours. The Jew continued his rituals. I helped my father as much as I could. I removed the earth from the sides of the deep hole. Suddenly, as in tales, a yellow, golden light appeared at the very bottom. Suddenly, the Jew stopped chanting. My father cried out. I went over to him and helped him pull out a sack containing at least twenty pounds of louis. Real louis from way back when. So beautiful. So heavy . . . I hope you believe me, Gabriel. I’m not telling you lies.”
“I believe you, Zineb.”
“Those stories of hidden treasures are really true.”
“I believe you. Really. Continue. What happened next?”
“We divided up the twenty pounds of louis into three baskets. We put dates on top of them and started to descend the mountain back to our village, which wasn’t far from the city, Azilal. It took a long time. We got lost several times. In the early morning, we were stopped. The French police. More precisely, Moroccans who were working with the French. Someone had informed on us. I tried to resist, to yell. My father threw me a look. I gave up. They separated us. That was the last time I saw my father and the Jewish sorcerer . . . I was sixteen years old . . .”
“And after that?”
“I became what you see before you. Another woman.”
“Were you in prison? Did they sentence you in court?”
“They took me far away, very far away from home. To another city. Marrakech. That’s where I was supposed to be sentenced. But that didn’t happen.”
“They let you go?”
“The chief of police took pity on me. He got me out of prison. He said that I was young and surely didn’t know what I was doing. And so they couldn’t consider me an accomplice. I could go back home. I was so happy, so relieved. I got down on my knees and I kissed his feet, one after the other. He let me. Then he lifted me up, looked me straight in the eyes, and told me his name was Charles. And he added: ‘Before you go back home, come to my house. You can rest for a bit. You’ll work a bit. You’ll earn some money, too. That way you won’t go back to your family empty-handed.’ He was kind, Charles. Very kind. From the first night, he proved it to me. He got into bed with me and slept on me . . . On me . . . Do you understand? Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“He was kind. He knew what he was doing. What he was condemning me to . . . The consequences . . .”
“What were they?”
“I was dishonored.”
“That’s bad.”
“Very bad. Where could I go in that state? No one in my family would help me. I knew that perfectly well. So I stayed with Charles. I got used to him. I had no choice. He would say: ‘You’re so white, Zineb, and your hair is so black. I’m in love with you!’”
“You are not very white.”
“I was at the time. It was the Marrakech sun that bronzed me.”
“And after that?”
“Charles was promoted. They sent him to work in Casablanca. He brought me with him.”
“What did you do for him?”
“Cooked sometimes. Mostly, I made sure his house was well maintained.”
“That’s all?”
“And had sex with him, of course. Every night.”
“Every night?”
“He would tell me all the time that he was in love with me.”
“And you, Zineb?”
“Me? I had no other choice but to stay with him.”
“You wanted to stay with that man?”
“You don’t understand, Gabriel. For a Moroccan woman in my circumstances, it was a perfect solution.”
“Did you like Casablanca? Did you stay with him a long time?”
“One day, he told me he was going back to France. They were summoning him back there. He would end his career in Paris.”
“And you?”
“He told me he would introduce me to one of his friends. His name was Augustin. An important functionary. ‘You’ll like him a lot, you’ll see.’”
“And he gave you to him?”
“What do you think? Of course!”
“And you lived with Augustin?”
“One week. Just one week.”
“You fled?”
“Yes.”
“Where to?”
“I went to the bus station in Casablanca to take the bus to the mountains, to my home. The village next to Azilal.”
“Azilal? After all those years?”
“But at the last minute, I changed my mind. It was impossible. Impossible. I couldn’t go back like that.”
“Why not?”
“They would have killed me, my parents . . .”
“Oh!”
“An older woman approached me in the waiting room of the bus station. She’s the one who brought me to the Bousbir brothel . . . That’s the end . . .”
“‘That’s the end’?”
“I stayed in Bousbir for two years. I was practically dead over there. From time to time, I went to the movie theaters in downtown Casablanca. That’s where I discovered the actress Nargis and started to dream of her. Of becoming like her.”