Mohamed had won a trip to Mecca in a raffle at the Faculty of Arts and Letters, where he had studied. The one time he got lucky, he couldn’t take advantage of it. What was he going to do with a plane ticket? He had no desire to go on a pilgrimage to Mecca, and, anyway, he didn’t have the money to carry out the ritual. He wanted the airline to refund the cost of the ticket to him, but it refused. The only thing he could do was sell it to a pilgrim. He managed to get a third of the price, but still had to bribe the travel agent to change the name on the ticket. With the meager amount he had left, he repaired the cart and, finally, began to sell oranges and apples.
3
Mohamed knew Bouchaïb was a crass and a very dishonest man. His father had often told him this. The man immediately claimed that Mohamed’s father owed him money and hadn’t paid his last two bills. How could Mohamed verify this? He had to come to terms with this guy because Bouchaïb was the only one who sold on credit — charging a markup of 10 to 15 percent. Mohamed didn’t argue and gave him a deposit for two crates of oranges and one of apples; he also asked for a few baskets of strawberries.
Bouchaïb took him aside and, in a hushed voice, asked after his younger sister. Mohamed answered that she was doing well and was getting ready for her college entrance exam.
“You know, your father had promised her to me. I want to get married, have a family.
“You and I could even become partners. You can’t make ends meet with the fruit cart. There’s a lot of competition, and, also, to get the right spot you have to be on good terms with the police.”
Mohamed looked at him, bowed his head, and left without saying anything.
He didn’t really know where to set up his cart. Some vendors moved around; others found themselves strategic spots, usually near an intersection or at a traffic circle. He soon realized that the best places were already taken, and decided to keep moving and stopping from time to time. He loudly hawked his oranges and apples, but it was useless because of the sound of honking horns. Nobody could hear him. When Mohamed stopped for a moment next to a grocer’s stand, the owner instantly chased him off, shouting: “Are you crazy? What’s wrong with you? I bought my license and I pay taxes. How am I going to make a living if you plant yourself right in front of me? Go on, get lost!”
On his first day, Mohamed just wandered around, from one street to another. Even so, he managed to sell more than half his produce. He realized that he would need to wake up very early the next day if he wanted a good spot before all the others arrived.
At dinner that night, he looked at his young sister and imagined her in Bouchaïb’s arms. He felt ashamed. A young and innocent girl in the hands of a brute. Never.
4
After dinner, he told his mother that Bouchaïb had demanded money from him.
“Your father couldn’t stand having debts; he paid them off as soon as he could.
“Bouchaïb is a crook. He doesn’t have any proof. Just forget about it. Did you remember to get my medicine? I only have one pill left.”
Mohamed took out a box full of books and laid them out in front of the house for sale. History books, paperback novels, and a leather-bound copy of Moby Dick in English; it was a prize he had won for finishing at the top of his English class during his senior year at high school. He sold three books, making just enough to buy the medicine. He kept Moby Dick, as nobody had wanted it. That night, he reread a few pages and realized his English was a little rusty. Before falling asleep, he thought about beautiful Zineb, whom he had loved for two years. But with no money, no work, and no home of his own, it was impossible to get married. He was unhappy. What could he promise her when he had nothing to offer? He decided he had more pressing priorities, and he felt that he would succeed if he tackled things one at a time. Zineb would wait for him.
5
Zineb worked as a secretary at a doctor’s office. She really loved Mohamed. Being an only daughter, she had suggested that they get married and live at her parents’ place. But Mohamed was proud; it was unthinkable for him to depend on his wife and live with his in-laws.
Usually Mohamed and Zineb met at a café. They talked a lot, kidded around, and often burst into laughter. More than three months had passed since they had been able to be alone to make love. The last time, Zineb’s cousin had lent them her small apartment while her roommate was traveling.
“Someday,” said Zineb, “we will reach the end of this tunnel. I promise you. I know it. I can feel it. You’ll have a good job. I’ll stop working for this sleazy doctor, and we’ll start a life. You’ll see.”
“Yes, someday, but you know I’ll never get on one of those flimsy boats to become an illegal. I know your plan: Canada! Yes, we’ll all go to Canada, and we’ll also go to paradise. It’s written somewhere. But, in the meantime, I have to feed a big family, take care of my mother, and fight to get a good spot for my cart.”
Zineb took his hands and kissed them. He took hers and did the same.
6
Mohamed woke up at six. He tried to make as little noise as possible, so as not to wake his brothers, with whom he shared a room. There was Nabile, twenty years old, an unlicensed tourist guide, who often had problems with the police. There was Nourredine, eighteen, a high school student, who worked in a bakery from Friday evening until Monday morning. And then there was Yassine, fifteen, intelligent, lazy, handsome, and spiritual. He promised his mother that he would become a millionaire and take her to visit the Pyramids.
Mohamed washed himself, swallowed a piece of bread, and took out his cart. On top, he placed the box that he had used for his books. At the corner of their narrow street, a police officer stopped him:
“This is your old man’s cart. Where is he?”
“He’s dead.”
“And you’re just taking over, as if nothing had happened?”
“What’s the problem? Is it forbidden to make an honest living?”
“Don’t be insolent! Your papers.”
Mohamed gave the man all the papers he had on him.
“No insurance. Can you imagine? If you ran over a kid, who would pay? You?”
“Since when is it necessary to have insurance for a fruit cart? This is new.”
The police officer took out a notebook and started writing something while watching Mohamed out of the corner of his eye. After a moment, he said:
“You’re playing the fool. Pretending you don’t understand.”
“I’m not doing anything. You’re the one who’s doing everything you can to keep me from going to work.”
“OK, you can go now, but think about the insurance. I’m telling you this for your own good.”
Then, with both his hands, the police officer helped himself to oranges and apples. He bit into an apple, and said, with his mouth fulclass="underline"
“Move on now!”
7
Mohamed found a good spot; it was still quite early. He put down the cart and waited. A car stopped; the driver lowered the window and ordered: “One kilo of each, and get me the good ones.” The next customers were in less of a hurry; they got out of their cars, felt the fruits, asked for the price, bargained, and ended up buying a few oranges.
An hour later, another vendor arrived with a decorated cart and a better, more attractive selection, including some expensive and rare exotic fruits. He had his regular customers. With a look and a slight nod of his head, the man indicated that Mohamed should leave this spot. He obeyed without protesting. Once again he had to wander the streets. He thought he had a good morning all the same, and he decided to have more variety the next time.