Can you get back to the ship all right? Kandoussi was saying to el Kebdani. It’s not too rough?
It’s all right.
If you think there’s any danger, we’ll leave the boat beached here until the morning and take it back then.
No. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble.
Look out for those rocks.
I know, said el Kebdani. I know the whole place.
See you soon, I said to him.
Ah, Mohamed? B’slemah. I’ll see you back at the shack in an hour.
The two cargadores began to pull the rowboat back out into the water, with el Kebdani plying the oars. I watched him disappear into the darkness, riding up and down on the waves.
Working quickly, we put two cartons into each sack. When we had tied up the openings, Kandoussi came up to me and said: Can you carry two cartons, or is one enough for you?
I can carry three if you want, I said with great confidence.
Probably he doesn’t believe me. My body is very thin. But I had my pride. I was thinking: This is better than begging or stealing. And better too than letting an old man suck on me, or selling harira and fried fish to the Djebala in the Zoco de Fuera. Better than any of the work I’ve had. It’s an adventure, and I feel like a man. In any case, I am seventeen. I feel on this early morning that I am entering into a new phase of my life.
We loaded the sacks on our backs, and started up the same path we had come down. Kandoussi went first, and Qaabil, empty-handed, brought up the rear. Each one of us cargadores was carrying a sack with two cartons in it. Kandoussi carried the ninth carton, also wrapped in its sack.
It was not long before my load began to weigh more and more heavily on me. The pain hit my spine and the nape of my neck. I must have placed the sack in the wrong position when I took it onto my back. But now I did not dare stop and shift it for fear that Kandoussi would think I was tired, and we were still only about halfway up the path. If I show signs of weakness now, very likely he will not hire me the next time he needs a cargador. As for Qaabil, at the moment he seems as unnecessary to the scene as he is ineffective in his daily life. Should I even obey his orders if he gives them? Then I wondered why I should be thinking such things about him. Up to now he has treated me very well. I must try and get rid of these feelings. I must fight against them, even while my shoulders shoot pains in every direction and the bones at the back of my neck go on cracking. I was breathing heavily through my mouth, and my throat was getting dry. I suppose the trouble came from having smoked too much Virginia tobacco and kif. But Sallafa also had a part in my weakness. During the past day I had made love with her four times. And here I was, thinking of doing it again. Yes, I’m going to make love with her. There’s no doubt about that, if only everything goes well here and I manage to get to the shack before Qaabil and el Kebdani.
But the key? Will Qaabil give it to me when we’ve finished here, if for instance he finds that for some reason he has to stay on longer than he thought, or if he can’t get back until morning? The idea of getting into bed with Sallafa at this hour of the morning excites me, and that helps me forget the pain of the load on my shoulders and the burning shortness of breath. The money I was going to get for this work meant nothing compared with what I should find in the shack. Money was only for the world outside the shack. I wish Sallafa were with us now, just walking ahead of us without carrying anything. Am I myself beginning to fall in love with her? Merely to think of her makes my heart beat harder. Then I feel a wave of hostility towards her. I imagine myself insulting her, slapping her, trying to work up her temper. Maybe I like her better angry than calm, better sad than happy. Maybe she means more to me when she is being crazy than when she is sensible. I like the way she behaves when she is with Qaabil. Yes, I like to watch her fight with him. I can imagine myself in Qaabil’s place when she disappears, losing control like him and waiting desperately for her return. Thus at this point I learn a new truth about my feelings for Sallafa.
When we got up to the road, the two drivers were there, one standing beside each car. They helped us pile the boxes into the back seat of the first car. Kandoussi got into the front of that car and Qaabil got in with us. We went ahead of Kandoussi, whose car followed always at the same distance, about a hundred metres behind. We drove so slowly that I decided this must have been arranged beforehand, perhaps as a way of protecting the merchandise. I doubt that any of the cargadores knew exactly where we were going. During the entire ride no one spoke a word. From time to time the cargador sitting to the right of me coughed and sniffed violently. We took the road past the animal cemetery by the river at Boubana. When we got to the crossroads by the Spanish Cemetery both cars stopped, and Qaabil got out. The driver of the other car came over.
Qaabil spoke to our driver. Take them wherever they want to go.
He handed me the key. Go to the shack, and don’t open up for anybody but el Kebdani.
The other driver got in and sat in Qaabil’s seat. Then we drove down the road towards Dradeb, leaving the other car still parked. The operation had certainly been very carefully planned. I was sure now that Kandoussi and Qaabil trusted absolutely no one. After our car is gone they’re going somewhere that only the two of them know about, to unload the stuff. Qaabil must have another key, otherwise he would have said something about my letting him in. He may work all night and not come back before morning.
We got to the hill at Dradeb. The driver smelled even more strongly of wine now than he had before. Where do you want to go, brothers? he asked.
Two of the cargadores wanted to be left in the Zoco de Fuera. I asked him to take me to the Place de la Casbah.
I know where to take you, he told me.
The one who had been coughing beside me also wanted to go to the Casbah. I looked at him, and he looked at me, but we said nothing.
The two cargadores got down in the Zoco de Fuera, as two policemen walked past. The car drove on through the arch of Bab el Fahs. The streets were empty. Another pair of policemen stood in front of an apartment house. My fear was that they might stop us and ask to see our papers. It was then that I realized how much colder the night was now than it had been earlier. We got out of the car in the Place de la Casbah, the last cargador and I, leaving the two drivers together.
I’m going down here towards Amrah, I said to the cargador. And you?
He coughed. I’m going down that way, too, to Oued el Ahardan. We passed under the arch and started down the hill. I did not dare bring up the subject of the work we had just done. After a silence he said: Is el Kebdani a friend of yours?
Yes.
He’s a good man. This is the first time you’ve worked like this?
Yes, it’s the first time.
And Qaabil, is he a friend of yours, too?
No, he’s a friend of el Kebdani’s. I met Qaabil through him. Are you a friend of Qaabil’s?
No, I only know Kandoussi. He’s a man with a lot of guts. And he’s serious. He knows what he’s doing. If he tells you he’s going to do something, he does it. All the cargadores want to work for him.
I feel the same way, I told him. I noticed how he treated us.
When we got part of the way down the hill, I stood still and pointed up the small street that led off to the left. I’m going up here to Qaabil’s shack, I said.