Bled Dry

by Abdelilah Hamdouchi

  Now, sitting across from her, he was looking at her in disbelief. He was put off by her calmness as she took a cigarette out of the pack. She lit it, took a long, slow drag, and exhaled right into his face.

  “I ordered a beer. Didn’t you hear me?” she shouted, looking past Farqash at Warda.

  Warda remained frozen in place. The other patrons started to quiet down and look in their direction, sensing the tension between the three.

  “Nezha is making a huge mistake,” Warda said to a client nearby. “She thinks she still holds sway in this place, but she’s dreaming, and these dreams are going to get her killed.”

  “She’s just a whore,” replied the client, stammering in a drunken stupor. “Whores don’t have dreams.”

  Nezha was determined to order a beer, as if her life depended on it. But Warda shot her a nasty look and turned to help other patrons.

  “You’re ignoring me?” she shouted, jumping to her feet. “The Bedouin of La Falaise! Oh, don’t worry, your day will come, my dear.”

  Farqash grabbed Nezha’s hand and squeezed it in his fist, nearly breaking her fingers.

  “Get the hell out of here,” he said between his teeth, trying to control his anger. “I know exactly when I’m going to punish you for causing this scene.”

  Nezha didn’t pay attention to his threat. She didn’t even feel her hand being crushed, as if it were numb. For the first time, she stood up to his intimidation.

  “If you are a man, punish me right now!” she said, challenging him. “You’re an evil, controlling bastard who preys on the weak like me. What are you waiting for?”

  Was it even thinkable to insult this man? Was this really Nezha the coward saying these things directly to Casablanca’s most dangerous pimp? It couldn’t really be her. Everyone thought that she must be high, must be on something really strong. But the truth was, she was high on the horrible memories of her life, which were running like a film reel in front of her. All she could see were scenes of humiliation, insult, fear, and the people who had so cruelly taken advantage of her. Farqash, shocked, looked her over carefully, unable to figure out what was going on. Nezha stared back defiantly, and he couldn’t say anything. The entire place was waiting on his next move, holding their breath.

  He changed course, and leaned toward her, speaking in a soft, unthreatening tone, as if he were going to come to a friendly compromise with her. “I’m going to kill you tonight. And when they take your body to the morgue to do the autopsy, they are going to find that beer bottle you requested, jammed inside.”

  Nezha burst out laughing, as if she’d just heard a hilarious joke. “Life doesn’t matter to me any more, you bastard. What matters is embarrassing you in front of everyone.” She looked around and started back in on him. “This bastard takes advantage of weak women. He steals their hard-earned money. If one of us makes a hundred dirhams, he takes fifty—and if we sell our bodies elsewhere, we still have to pay him. He prohibits us from working at other clubs. He’s a pervert who likes anal, and he deals coke too. He even admitted to me that he killed someone . . .”

  Farqash’s heart started pounding, his breathing quickened, and his fists clenched. He tried to resist the urge to pound them into Nezha’s face. He didn’t care what she said about him, but he wouldn’t have his name dragged through the mud by this whore. He stood up, shaking with anger, and gestured to Warda, indicating that she turn up the music. As the song got louder, Nezha’s voice could no longer be heard. She didn’t know what would happen next; all she wanted was a cold beer. She headed to the counter where Warda stood.

  “Give me a beer, Warda,” she said. “This is my last request in life.”

  Warda looked at her with confusion and pity. She nearly carried out her request, but Farqash motioned to her, stopping her from reaching for a glass. Warda nodded, understanding his message, and drifted back toward the corner.

  “Please, Warda,” Nezha said, looking at her imploringly. “One beer and I’ll head out.”

  Warda looked at her, still confused. She was searching for an excuse to help her, as she started to realize that Nezha’s behavior might not be the result of being high on some drug. Farqash recognized what was going on inside Warda’s head. He moved to the counter, grabbed Nezha by the arm, dragged her to the door, and kicked her out as if she were a small dog.

  Nezha found herself out on the street, hungry, disoriented, and penniless. She started walking. She had conquered her fear and exploded right in Farqash’s face—this was what she had long dreamed of doing. Now she was free, and if Farqash tried to control her again, she’d go straight to Detective Hanash and tell him everything she knew. She had enough information to send Farqash to jail for the rest of his life.

  She lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and lifted her face to the sky, letting the smoke circle her head. She burned down half the cigarette in three drags and threw the remaining half on the ground, stamping it out with her foot. A few steps later she emerged from the alley and was on Mohamed V Street, the biggest street in Casablanca. “Now I’m free,” she told herself, “and whatever comes will come.”

  The bus station wasn’t very busy at this hour. Abdel-Jalil headed toward the ticket window with the sign for Fez and waited until the woman in front of him finished. He checked out her prominent ass before she left her spot at the counter.

  “One ticket on the midnight bus to Fez, please.”

  The employee at the counter handed him the ticket. “Want to know the seat number of the woman with the nice ass just before you? Number twelve.”

  Abdel-Jalil looked at his ticket, and his eyes widened. “And you gave me seat number thirteen.”

  “You’re gonna have the best trip of your life,” the elderly ticket man said sarcastically.

  Abdel-Jalil left the station quickly, hoping he might spot the woman. Who knows, maybe she was by herself and didn’t have anything to do for the next four hours until the bus left. He raced out the door and looked in all directions. He cursed himself for not paying more attention to her when they were in line. He tried to recall what she looked like. He didn’t have a clear picture of her in his mind, having seen her from behind and been more focused on her ass than anything else. He had a feeling that she was middle-aged, wore a traditional jalabiya, and her hair was covered. Maybe she was more the type of the old employee.

  Abdel-Jalil didn’t feel like heading back to the cold apartment. He had everything he needed in his jacket pockets. He wouldn’t be staying in Fez for more than a day, and he had clothes, pajamas, and shaving supplies there. He always preferred to travel without bags—it made him feel free. As he headed downtown he thought about when he had first come to Casablanca three years ago, after one of his cousins had gotten him the job at the factory. At the time, Abdel-Jalil was so disappointed because he was hoping for a more stable government position in the public works department.

  He felt overqualified and out of place at work, and this always gave him the sense that his situation was temporary. Like other well-educated guys, he dreamed of emigrating to Canada, and he participated in the US visa lottery every year. He had looked into emigrating to Europe, whether legally with a job offer, or as a “harrag,” hiding away on a boat.

  He had grown up in a poor but close-knit family. His father made ceramics and had a small shop where he sold clay pots. There wasn’t much demand for ceramics these days and there was a lot of competition, making it difficult for his father to earn a steady income. His mother was a housewife who spent her time doing the seemingly endless household chores. Abdel-Jalil had the nickname “the Sisters’ Brother,” since he had three sisters, all of whom still lived in the same rundown home in Fez’s Old City with their parents. The sisters were all on the path to becoming spinsters. Abdel-Jalil, at thirty, was the youngest sibling. He felt a deep responsibility to help his family, despite his meager monthly wages. And now he had a thousand dirhams for all the extra hours he had put in at the factory.

  He fingered th
e bills in his jacket pocket as he strutted down the street dressed in his best clothes. He had combed his hair back and put on cologne, and looked suave. As he walked he was overcome with a sense of ease and satisfaction. He decided to just enjoy taking a stroll on Mohamed V Street. He wouldn’t think about the past or the future; he’d just live in the moment.

  Abdel-Jalil walked down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, whistling and checking out the women passing by. He stopped in his tracks in disbelief the moment he saw Nezha. She seemed to be in a daze, as if she were in another world. He looked at her and rushed toward her.

  “Is it you?” he asked.

  He moved in and planted two warm kisses on her cheeks. Nezha had still not come to her senses, and was about to reply impolitely, “No, I’m not who you think.”

  But instead she inspected him, noticing how attractive he was, and the scent of his lovely cologne. She was a bit overwhelmed by this man’s good looks and his chipper mood. Then it hit her—she remembered the last time she had slept with him, about two months ago. She felt at ease, remembering that this guy, despite being a bit stingy—he’d never given her more than a hundred dirhams—always made her feel comfortable, and she liked spending time with him. She looked around, scared that there was someone on her tracks.

  “Where have you been all this time?” she asked.

  “I went to La Falaise one other time, but you were busy.”

  She laughed. “My time there is over,” she said decisively. “I’m a free agent now. It’s probably best if you stop going there. If I told you what they do to their customers, you’d never set foot in there again. They’re all crooks.”

  “I’m not a customer,” he interrupted. “When I used to go to La Falaise, it was to find you. Anyway, where are you going now?”

  Nezha hesitated for a moment. What she really needed was to forget about Farqash and the problems with her brother. She felt that what she wanted right now was to get wasted and pass out. She looked up at Abdel-Jalil and was pleased to see that he was practically drooling over her.

  “You’re looking sharp,” she said. “Do you have a date?”

  “I’m heading to Fez on the midnight bus to visit my family.”

  This response shattered her hopes. She stepped back a bit, visibly losing interest in him.

  “I’ll see you when you get back, then,” she said, disappointed.

  He seized her by the shoulders and drew her closer, his face full of lust. “I want to see you now.”

  Nezha looked into his eyes and gave a coy smile, fluttering her fingers on his palm to cajole him. “Didn’t you say that you’re traveling to Fez at midnight?”

  He took Nezha by the hand as if she would escape and swiftly looked at his watch. “I still have more than four hours,” he said.

  He looked at her hopefully, and Nezha read the plea in his eyes. She knew exactly what this look meant in a situation like this: he was so riled up he would drop anything to get laid.

  “What can we do in four hours?” she teased him. She had him in the palm of her hand.

  “We can do everything in four hours. We won’t waste any time going to my house, which is too far away. Let’s go to my friend’s house. It’s really close.”

  “There’s no way I’m going to your friend’s house,” she said decisively. Her refusal was firm. Experience had taught her that being alone with two friends ended in one of two outcomes: a fight, or they would try to have a threesome with her. “If you want me to join you for a beer at some bar, I’m up for it, but let’s leave the other things for when you get back from Fez. You have my number—call whenever you want.”

  Abdel-Jalil drew her close again. “I suggested my friend’s place only to save a bit of time. But if you want to go to my house, no problem. Let’s take a cab.”

  He stepped out to hail a cab, but Nezha stopped him. She knew that Abdel-Jalil’s house was way out on another side of Casablanca, and the cab fare there and back would be costly, and this would affect what he paid her. She reconsidered, thinking that everything would happen pretty quickly: he’d have sex with her and then drop her off on the corner.

  “All right, I’ll go to your friend’s house. But you have to give me five hundred dirhams now, like a down payment.”

  He went silent. This request embarrassed him. She knew he was just a factory employee. Even when he went to La Falaise once a month he’d arrive drunk so he only had to pay for a beer or two, while sitting alone for hours. Despite knowing this, she expected him to respond differently this time, since it was no longer his head making the decisions.

  “I’ll give you a hundred dirhams in advance,” he said, imagining the amount of pleasure that awaited him.

  She laughed deeply, thinking that this amount, were he someone else, wouldn’t even cover the cost of the cigarettes she smoked for the evening. But she gave in. Her plan was to head to a bar far from downtown after she left Abdel-Jalil. She’d keep drinking there, and find someone to take her on an adventure.

  He led Nezha from Mohamed V down one of the alleys that took them right in front of La Falaise. He said it was the easiest way to get to his friend Said’s house, and Nezha didn’t protest. She was actually looking forward to bravely walking by the place.

  “You know that my house is far from downtown. Plus, the neighborhood is full of nosy people. Here, the streets are empty and people mind their own business.”

  That certainly wasn’t how Nezha viewed this neighborhood. She imagined a group of people watching and following them. When she dared look back, her mouth suddenly dry, she only saw random people crossing the street. When they reached the grimiest section of the street, Abdel-Jalil twisted into a narrow, dark alley.

  “Here’s Said’s place,” he said, invigorated.

  The apartment building was ancient and nearly collapsing. On the wall was a hand-painted sign: “No Urinating.” Despite this, a powerful, pungent smell of urine hit them from the corner. The building’s door was made of rickety wood. The stairway was unlit, so Abdel-Jalil had to use his lighter to lead the way. Nezha stayed close, as she felt the floor shift under her feet. Abdel-Jalil smiled at her, assuring her that he knew his way.

  “Don’t be afraid. This building is from the days of the Roman Empire,” he joked. “Even though it moves around a bit, it’s stronger than the structures they build today. My friend Said is lucky because the monthly rent is really low.”

  Nezha didn’t offer a reply, and when Abdel-Jalil extinguished his lighter she felt as if she were inside a coffin. He knocked on the door, and as soon as it opened light poured into the entryway. Nezha caught her breath and hurried inside.

  The apartment was small but, in contrast to the state of the entryway, was quite beautiful and classy. The living room contained a sofa, chairs, and an elegant coffee table with an, albeit cracked, glass top. It was clear that the furniture was used. Nezha looked around, scanning the place, not even paying attention to its occupant, until Abdel-Jalil introduced his friend.

  “This is my friend . . . well, my brother, Said. And this is Nezha.”

  Nezha’s eyes went directly to the mark around Said’s temple. She noted how unattractive he was in comparison to his friend, but didn’t let that stop her from greeting him warmly, like she’d known him for ages. He rushed toward her and kissed her on each cheek, in awe as he inspected her from top to bottom, unable to restrain himself. A look of total fascination spread over his face, as if he’d seen something miraculous. Then he started moving around her, devouring her with his eyes, like a raging bull. Nezha looked straight back at him and mimicked his movements, laughing. Abdel-Jalil was getting annoyed with all this back-and-forth. He scanned the room, noticed a bottle of red wine that was nearly empty, and realized that Said was drunk. He tried to control his anger.

  “You took down a bottle of red that quickly?” Abdel-Jalil said with a smile, mildly reproaching him. “Didn’t you say that you only wanted to catch up on sleep?”

 
Said didn’t pay attention to his friend. Instead, he got closer to Nezha, nearly touching her.

  “Welcome, Nezha, to my home,” he said, cheerfully. “Let me show you around.”

  He took her hand and led her to the bedroom. It was small, but very clean. It had a comfortable-looking bed and a new armoire, and the floor was covered with a thick red carpet, like a hotel room.

  On one of the bedside tables Nezha saw an open envelope brimming with cash. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the envelope. If only I had that money, all my problems would be solved, she thought to herself. Said stepped away from her to grab the envelope and secure the cash inside it, and then shoved it into a drawer. He then took her by the arm and led her to another corner of the apartment, which was set up as the kitchen, and finally showed her where the bathroom was. When they returned to the living room they were both laughing and giggling.

  Said looked at Abdel-Jalil, who had sunk into the couch. He had a hand on his cheek, unable to hide his frown.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Said said to Nezha. “You’re a guest in my home. What would you like to drink, sweetheart?”

  Nezha laughed, feeling like all of her troubles had washed away. After seeing the envelope full of cash in the bedroom and hearing him use the word sweetheart, she felt like she was floating on a cloud.

  “What do you have to drink?” she asked.

  Said moved in closer, stumbling a bit. “The refrigerator is full to the brim! I’ve got everything your heart desires.”

  “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s drink! I’m dying of thirst,” she said, beaming with excitement.

  Said let out a resounding laugh, but instead of heading to the kitchen he threw himself on the couch. “Hey Abdel-Jalil, my home is your home—you know where the fridge is.”

  Abdel-Jalil hesitated, fighting back his irritation. He got up and headed to the fridge. As soon as he disappeared, Said lit a cigarette and offered one to Nezha. When she leaned in to get a light, he yanked her closer and sat her down next to him. She took a long drag and exhaled in his face, pursing her lips and eyeing him seductively. He bit his lip and she could see his chest rise with excitement as he inhaled. She moved away a bit and started looking around the room.