Are you going to give me back my money?
You picked out the watch yourself. Nobody made you buy it.
Dozens of pairs of eyes were staring doubtfully at me. I heard throats being cleared. The blond French soldier spoke: Mine’s all right. I’m going to keep mine.
I went quietly down to the steerage deck where the Jews were travelling. It smelled of mildew and vomit.
What have you got, boy? asked a Jewish woman in a tired voice.
Japanese shawls and handkerchiefs, I told her.
Several other women gathered around me. Let’s see what you’ve got in your basket, the first one said.
What a pretty colour that one is! a girl exclaimed to a woman who was probably her mother. How much is this?
A thousand francs.
Seven hundred.
I was thinking: I’ve got to sell everything fast and get out of here.
A pot-bellied old man with a pointed grey beard suddenly cried: It’s cheap material! Wash it once and the whole thing is gone. No more colour.
The woman beside him turned to him. What do you know about it? she cried. These things are for women.
I know the stuff, the old man said. The Hindus sell it wholesale all over Tangier.
It’s always hard to sell to old people, I kept telling myself. They always pride themselves on knowing everything.
The Jewish women around me went on buying, without paying any more attention to the old man. From time to time he cried at them: You’re crazy! You’re buying the worst quality! The lowest!
The shawls and scarves were disappearing, but the sharp smell of the vomit was still there in my nostrils. There was a sudden jolt and the boat stopped moving. I pocketed the money for the last handkerchief and began working my way through the shouting women. Bring more stuff! they were crying.
As I came up on deck a Senegalese soldier some distance away caught sight of me and began to call out: Hey, you! Wait for me there!
He probably wants me to take back the watch I sold him, I thought. I hurried through the crowd to the other end of the deck.
There was a circle of soldiers around Rami. That drunken brute, who practically never gets out of his bed, must be selling them watches for half the price I charged. I went over to him.
You’re the same old pimp, aren’t you? I said.
Who do you think you’re talking to?
You. Who did you think I was talking to?
Wait till we’re in town. I’ll show you, he said.
I’ll spit up your ass-hole, I told him.
I could see Boussouf rowing rapidly towards the ship. I waited until he was below, and tossed the basket into the rowboat. Then I began to climb down the rope, letting myself slide as I went. The rope took the skin off the palms of my hands. As I went, the taut end of the rope above me was suddenly cut, and I fell the rest of the way, landing in the middle of the rowboat.
Pftu! cried Boussouf. This is no way to earn money. You want to break the boat?
That Senegalese son of a whore must have cut the rope, I said.
To hell with this fucking work, he went on angrily.
Row hard, I told him. They may throw things at us. It wouldn’t be the first time. I know those soldiers, the sons of whores!
Look out! shouted Boussouf. He and I both ducked as a beer bottle came down at us.
Take one of the floorboards and ward them off, he told me.
I did what he suggested.
The black man was screaming insults after us, and squeezing an invisible neck between his two hands. It was as if I could feel him strangling me. Then two bottles came at once, and I parried them with the floorboard.
Ow! My hand! Inaal dinhoum! I threw the board far from the rowboat, and began to lick and suck my wound. It was a wound that pleased me. Not for a long time had I so enjoyed watching my blood run out. And the mixture of salt and sweet is pleasant in my mouth. But I began to feel painful pricklings in the spot on my hip where I had landed. Boussouf stopped rowing. We were far enough away from the ship now. He stood up, seized his crotch, and waved it wildly at those standing by the rail.
What’s that for? I said. Who’s interested in what you’re doing now? The current’s against us.
We began to row together.
After a moment he said: But what did you do to them?
Nothing. It’s all Rami’s fault.
And what did he do?
He always sells his watches at half price. The next time I see him in town I’m going to piss on him.
You didn’t talk about the war in Algeria?
Of course not. Are you crazy?
And with the Jews?
No, no. Nothing. What would I tell them? Should I tell the French and Senegalese soldiers not to go to Algeria and fight? Or tell the Jews not to emigrate to Palestine?
The tide and the current were very strong, and the wind was coming up. Suddenly Boussouf’s oar cracked in half. Only the handle remained.
Now we’re in trouble, I said.
Pfu! All this for your three thousand francs! he cried.
It’s not my fault.
The waves had begun to spill into the boat.
Listen, I said. You take care of bailing it out. I’ll tie the other oar at the stern and try to steer.
The current is taking us towards El Menar. We’ll hit the rocks there unless we’re lucky.
We’ll take care of that when we get near the shore, I said.
My whole life depends on this boat, Boussouf declared.
The current’s not going to take us any farther than Villa Harris, I told him.
You’re trying to tell me what the current will do around here? You don’t know anything about it. But tell me this. How much are you going to pay me if my boat gets smashed up?
We’ll try not to let that happen, I said.
I want to know now. How much are you going to give me?
I’ll give you twice as much as we agreed on.
What? Six thousand francs?
That’s right.
And for six thousand francs –
The boat tipped violently, and he fell over backwards. Quickly I brought the oar-handle down on his left shoulder, and then on his right one.
You damned coward! he roared.
Shut up, or I’ll throw you in.
You’ll see later.
I cupped my groin in my hand and shook the mass at him.
You’ll suck this for me! I cried.
He lay back on the seat-board of the prow, without trying to get up again. I busied myself taking off my belt, and started to attach it to the oarlock at the stern. At that moment he came at me with the oar-handle. I ducked, and the oar slipped out of his hands onto the floor of the boat. We grappled, and I kneed him in the groin. Then I pushed him backwards.
I grabbed the oar-handle, and he began to yelclass="underline" No! No! His eyes looked as though they would pop out of his head, and his face had turned very pale.
Sit still, or you go into the water, I told him.
The oar I had been trying to fix to the stern was now floating far behind us. Keeping the oar-handle in one hand, I began to scoop out the water with an oil can. The boat was turning round and round as it went along on the current. After a moment I tossed the can at him.
It’s your turn now.
He took the can and set to work silently bailing out the water. I thought of Naima. Perhaps she is still asleep. She’s up there dreaming while I’m here fighting with this bear. I don’t know why I keep her with me. It’s not love, that’s certain. It may be just habit. Perhaps it’s merely her indifference. She has no blisters on her palms, no beer bottle has hit her hand, she does not know the sweet salt taste of her blood in her mouth. When she wakes up she will wash and go downstairs in her nightgown to talk with the night-watchman or the proprietor. If one of the clients of the hotel invites her into his room I think she is not likely to refuse. She once said: The only excuse for love is marriage. I replied: I’m afraid marriage would mean the end of love. What keeps us together is the fact that neither of us belongs completely to the other. Thus there is always that element of uncertainty between us.