30
‘It’s hot, very hot. That’s how it is in Fez, it starts getting hot from the beginning of summer. The winter’s very cold and the summer’s very hot. I’m sweating, pass me a little orange-blossom water, it’s so refreshing. What do you mean there’s none left? I bought the flowers myself, I dried them on the terrace and, with cousin Lalla Maria, I made about ten bottles from one litre. I’m dreaming, you say? That was thirty years ago? All right, fine, but is that any reason not to let me have the orange-blossom water? What kind of thinking is that? And if I want to eat khli — you know, dried meat — if I ask you to make me a little khli tagine, you’re not going to refuse me that? The doctor says it’s not good for my diet. But what diet? I haven’t eaten anything sweet in thirty years, there’s no sugar in khli. Oh, you mean the fat, but I have a good recipe with lemons that gets rid of all the fat. Where did Keltum go? And the other woman, what’s her name? She pretends she hasn’t heard me. People are strange. The moment you need them, they turn into ghosts. Oh well, we’re in Fez, at home, Father’s come in, his face is all lit up. He’s always like that, his face is full of light. He looks happy, and tells us he’s just bought a camel. We must prepare for the slaughter. We’ll call for Larbi, the butcher, the one who married my last husband’s first wife. You know, you remember my husband, who was Fattouma’s husband, she couldn’t give him a child. He was looking for a wife, to have children, that’s why my uncle suggested he take me as a wife, even though I’d been widowed twice. He must have hesitated, because you never know, who is this woman, this bringer of doom? In the end, as luck would have it, he took me and kept poor Fattouma just in case. He repudiated her when I fell pregnant … Ah! I’ve already told that story? No, it wasn’t me, it was someone else that made it up … so Larbi, who was to have thirteen children with Fattouma, slit the camel’s throat right there in the middle of the yard. The beast shrieked like a human being. My father loved this ritual, it meant he could gather the whole family together. We knew that at the start of spring, Moulay Ahmed would go and buy a camel. Mother didn’t even need to invite anyone — as soon as the camel entered the narrow alleys of the medina, relatives would turn up and move in with us for a few days. My father adored those days. In the evenings, he’d play cards with the men, and in the daytime he’d tell the local shopkeepers how he won at cards. He was a holy man, a wonderfully sensitive man, who knew the Qur’an by heart, but he didn’t understand why women should inherit half a share and men a full one. He always spoke his mind. We were treated as equal to my brothers. What a remarkable man. I’m waiting for him, don’t go. You know, he loves you very much. You’ll see, he’ll be here in a minute and he’ll bring apples from Spain, as usual, and bananas, nuts, and dates from Arabia, as well as toys for you and your brother. He has a magnificent beard, all white, you’ll see. We must tell Keltum to bring me the pot so I can start on lunch. I can’t get up any more, but when he’s here, he’ll say a prayer and my health will be back to how it was before …’
Keltum had someone dial my number for her this morning: ‘I can’t do this any more, your mother kept us awake all night again. Not only did I not get a wink of sleep, but I had to listen to her raving, answer her, pick her up when she fell out of bed because she wanted to go to the cemetery and wake the dead who are pretending to be asleep, the dead who spend all day with her, then abandon her at nightfall. No, that’s it, I’ve had enough, I’ll end up like her, loopy and deranged. But if I fall over in some corner of the house, there’s no one to look after me. I’ve got my children and my grandchildren but they’re all thinking of themselves, I could die for all they care. No, come quick and talk to her, or send her to a head doctor so he can give her pills to calm her down and, God willing, make her sleep. Do you know, she spent the whole night looking under the bed for Mokhtar. You’re wondering who Mokhtar is? He’s the baby she thinks she had last month. In fact, he’s the nurse Halima’s little one, or rather her sister’s — she recently gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. She brought him to show us. She’s so proud of her first child, you see, she couldn’t know she was going to drive your mother crazy, because as soon as she saw him, she thought he was her own child. She wanted to feed him and started to sing a very old lullaby, then she refused to hand him back to his mother. We had to trick her into letting go of him. Halima cried and she hasn’t come back. Your mother’s obsessed with the baby, she calls him Mokhtar and she keeps asking for him. That’s what’s going on. She cries and says that the dead have gone, and taken the baby with them, that’s why she wants to be carried to the cemetery, to look for Mokhtar. That’s what I’m having to deal with. I come and go, in and out of this madness, and I don’t get a moment’s rest. I know she’s attached to me, as I am to her, but sometimes, like last night, I run out of patience. The water heater needs repairing, there’s a leak. The plumber says it needs changing, replacing with a new one, which costs money. And the pharmacist won’t give us credit any more, he won’t take cheques, he wants to be paid in cash. And I don’t know how to go to the bank. Your cheques are sitting here, what am I to do? You need to come and sort out all these problems.’
My mother isn’t surprised to see me. She thinks I live with her, that I’m my older brother. She looks even thinner. She says: ‘Skin and bones, nothing but skin and bones. When I was young, I had the most beautiful bosom in the family. I had curves, I was well covered, my bones didn’t stick out. Feel my arm, you see, it’s just old skin on bone. Keltum’s making out I’m mad — do you know, she thinks I’ve had a baby and is going around telling people! The shame of it! I’m not mad. Having a baby, at my age! She’s got the nurse’s baby mixed up with the boy I had before you, who died a few days after he was born. We called him Mokhtar, then we buried him in Bab Ftouh — you know, the cemetery just outside town, it’s a quarter of an hour from here. You go out, you take the first road on the right and it’s Buajarra, then you cross Rcif, then you go through Fekharine … Wait, I think I’m getting lost, no, to get to Bab Ftouh it’s simple. You go out, and as soon as you see a coffin carried by four big men, you follow it and it will lead you to the cemetery. That’s where I wanted to go yesterday but Keltum’s getting on my nerves, telling me we’re not in Fez. I’ve never left Fez, why does this half-wit tell me different? She’s the mad one. Isn’t that right, son, we’re in Fez? Your father’s just opened his spice shop, he’s in the Diwane, that’s where his shop is. He sells cumin, ginger, pepper, paprika — wholesale, never retail. Go over there and tell him his lunch is ready, unless he’d rather eat there, if he’s got a lot of customers. Go on, and tell Keltum we’re in Fez. The Sultan’s been exiled, and Morocco’s weeping for its king, the men are demonstrating and demanding his return.’
‘But Yemma, we’re in Tangier, you’re muddling up different times. Keltum’s right, pray to God to give her patience.’
‘How is that possible? King Mohammed V has come back and no one told me? What? He’s dead? What did he die of? Why is everyone hiding things from me? It’s making me angry. By the way, son, I had a bath yesterday with lukewarm water, it was almost cold. The boiler’s not working. It’s very difficult to find a plumber here, so Keltum heated up the water in pots and washed me as if I were a baby. It’s true, I’ve got so small she thinks I’m a baby. Me, a baby! I’m still very young, though, I even breastfed the nurse’s baby the other day. She left him with me, she gave him to me. He’s so sweet. He looks like you, he’s got your eyes, your nose, your hair … They took away my baby, you know. They said I wasn’t right in the head, they gave him to a young woman — I think she was a nurse — to look after. I said all right, but they’ll have to give him back when I’m better. After all, I am his mother. I dream of that child at night, you know. I’m with Moulay Idriss, in the mausoleum, with the baby in my arms. I’m having him blessed, I’m praying for him and for you all. As God is my witness, I’m always asking for His mercy and thanking Him for this magnificent gift, a beautiful baby with such white skin, which I love. You know, I don’t like very dark skin. You’ll be angry with me, but I prefer Fez children with white, rosy skin, especially skin that reminds me of my own when I was little. You may laugh, but it’s true, I was beautiful — you can ask your father, he married me when I wasn’t yet twenty, get him to tell you … He’s dead? Oh yes, so he is, but when you go to his grave, speak to him, you have to talk to the dead because they’re alive in our hearts. God says so, it’s in the Qur’an. I hope you’ll be telling me about everything when I’m in the ground, I like the idea of you talking to me, even when I can’t hear you or answer you. You know, son, it’s reassuring. I already said that to your older brother, the one who knows the Qur’an by heart, he promised he’d say a surah every time he comes to pray at my grave. The Qur’an softens the heart, clothes the soul in mercy and tenderness. I know because I’m this close to the earth I’ll be buried in. I can feel it and it doesn’t frighten me. The Qur’an, the word of Allah, will be with me. The angels make it so: for that, you have to be good and honest and have a heart that’s pure, and I’ve spent my whole life making sure my heart’s clean. I’ve never stolen, lied, betrayed anyone or done anyone any harm. When your father shouted at me and called me cruel, hurtful names, I’d answer him with a verse from the Qur’an. I’d say to him: “I leave you in Allah’s hands, I’m just a poor creature faithful to God and his Prophet.”’