He was glad to see her. He told Zineb about his day and avoided talking, at first, about the police violence on the street vendors. He proposed going to have some fish in a popular restaurant at the harbor. Soon the two of them were laughing like children lost in the middle of a splendid meadow on a spring day. Later he said to her, “The police defeated Spartacus! He was crushed under the tires of the van.”
13
They returned home on foot. On the way, they saw some street kids making a fire to warm themselves. One of them asked for a cigarette. “I don’t smoke,” said Mohamed, “but take this and buy something to eat.”
The National Security vans drove slowly alongside them. Prostitutes were being asked for their papers. Zineb noticed one of the girls slipping a big banknote into the pocket of one of the cops. It’s routine. That’s how things go.
They discussed their marriage again.
“We have to wait. I just started working. I’ve got to pull off something big first.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hold up anyone! But I’d really like to open a store at the market. I know one of our neighbors who’s sick, and he owns a well-located store in the central market. It would be great if he let me take over the store. I could pay for it little by little. I’ve looked into it. His children don’t want to continue the business. They are engineers and technicians, so they don’t have job problems. This would be an ideal solution for me. My mother is going to speak to the man.”
“You’re right. But I’m tired of waiting. We need to have our own place, even if it’s just a shack, a small hole in the wall, a shed…”
14
At home, the old TV was showing a program celebrating the President’s thirty-year reign over the Republic. The President appeared with his wife, who had gained a lot of weight. Both wore makeup, were well dressed — too well dressed, too tidy, with not a hair out of place, and smug, satisfied smiles. The camera followed them through their palace, through their immaculate gardens with perfectly manicured trees and automatic sprinklers to water the grass. The President’s wife was saying, “My husband works so hard that I have to force him to rest a little. Thank God the country is doing well. The people are grateful, and they show us their support every day, because they realize the country is prosperous and moving forward!”
The President made a gesture with his hand, as though waving to a child.
These images were accompanied by some syrupy background music, which got on Mohamed’s nerves. His mother was dozing. His brothers and sisters were getting ready for bed. Yassine showed Mohamed his report card. For every class it said more or less the same thing: “Intelligent boy, talented student, but lazy. Could do better.” Yassine laughed and said, “I get bored in the class, and, in any case, what’s the point of studying? You’ve seen it yourself — you studied like crazy, and then no job. Now you’ve taken up Dad’s cart.”
Mohamed tried to give his brother some hope, but it was difficult. There was too much injustice in the country, too much inequality and humiliation.
Yassine told him that while returning home from school, he saw a man being beaten by the police. The man was screaming, and people stopped, but no one intervened. “I recognized the man. He’s the caretaker of that glass building. You know, the one on the other side of our neighborhood. The man was fired, but nobody knows why. Today he stole a hen. It was bizarre. The man was screaming, and so was the hen, because he wouldn’t let go of it. He really got a beating.”
15
Early the next morning, Mohamed left to buy his fruit. He bought a larger variety this time. Coming out of the market, he met a former fellow activist, who had got a job in the town hall.
“I don’t do anything at the town hall. I’m in an office with four other clerks.
“Some of them have files to work on, but I don’t. I’m bored. Plus, I haven’t been paid. It has been six months. I live on credit. I think they hired some university graduates just to make us shut up, when in fact they don’t have any positions for us. And how about you?”
“As you can see.”
They said good-bye and parted. Ten minutes later, as Mohamed was waiting at a red light, two police officers in plain clothes pulled him aside.
“What were you and your friend talking about?”
“Nothing.”
The first slap took Mohamed by surprise. He screamed and got a punch in his stomach.
“Shut the fuck up. Come on, what’s your friend’s name?”
“I forgot his name.”
Another slap. The passersby stopped. One of the police officers threatened them:
“Clear off! He’s a thief. We’re doing this to protect you all. Let us do our job.”
Mohamed cried, “It’s not true! I am not a thief!”
Seeing the crowd close in on them, one of the police officers knocked the cart over and left Mohamed with all his fruit on the ground.
The crowd comforted him; they helped him pick up the fruit, though most of the strawberries were crushed. Some of the people said,
“This is disgusting! How shameful! Attacking a poor street vendor…”
“They behave as if they were in mafia movies. These bastards all want their share!”
“This can’t go on! One day or other, God will bring the truth to light.”
“God’s on the side of the rich!”
Arguments follow.
“Villain! Infidel! God is with everyone! God is everywhere.”
The people decided to buy Mohamed’s fruit out of solidarity. He gave away the strawberry baskets that weren’t crushed.
Mohamed didn’t feel like working anymore; he felt sick.
He returned home, put away the cart, and, since his brothers were not home, he decided to take the opportunity to sleep and recuperate a little.
He had a dream. His father, dressed all in white, was beckoning to Mohamed to join him. He was saying something, but Mohamed couldn’t hear him. He had no desire to join the deceased. Suddenly, his mother appeared and said, “Don’t listen to what he’s asking you to do. He is with God, perhaps in heaven.”
In the morning, Mohamed woke, disturbed; the dream had been so powerfully real.
16
It was high time that Mohamed and Zineb had cell phones. He bought two used phones in the central market. The phones were simple. No monthly charge, just a rechargeable SIM card, which allowed them to receive calls even when the credit was used up.
Mohamed also decided to improve his fruit cart. On one side, he set up a manual juice press to make orange juice. On the other side, he arranged the slightly better selection of fruit in a more appealing way. He also attached a board to show the prices. And, to make it look pretty, he hung a picture of the singer Oum Kalthoum. He even bought a flyswatter.
Mohamed seemed destined to become a wandering street vendor, since those who collaborated with the police took all the good spots. But this morning he decided to return to the neighborhood by the hospital, where business was good.
Soon two police officers arrived and started circling him.