Dream number three is a train that crosses the Straits of Gibraltar. Tarifa and Tangier are linked by a bridge as lovely as the one Malika saw in a tourism magazine. The trip takes twenty minutes. Malika is sitting in the first car, avidly observing everything about the crossing. When the train arrives on the Spanish coast, a welcoming committee greets the travellers, offering them flowers, dates, and milk. Malika loves dates. She takes three of them and eats them as fast as she can. The Spanish who greeted them propose that Malika attend the lycée there, to continue the studies she interrupted upon leaving Tangier. When she turns around, the train is gone, and the bridge as well.
Dream number four is a suitcase, an old brown suitcase. Inside it Malika has hidden the toys and objects she loves. All kinds of things: a hairbrush, a piece of mirrored glass, a pencil sharpener, three buttons of different colours, a notebook full of thoughts she jotted down quickly, a silver khamsa* given to her by her grandmother, a yellowed piece of paper folded in four and tied up with a red thread, an eraser, a brooch, some nails, and a notebook made to look like a European passport so that when you open it, you find your photograph and all the usual information. Each of these items has a specific meaning for Malika. Secrets known only to her. She has simply written on the back of the suitcase, with a black felt-tip, the words: ‘This is mine.’
16. Mounir
MIGUEL TOOK HIS CONVERSION to Islam very seriously. Of course, he had already known something about that religion, but he bought books on Muslim culture, a biography of the prophet, and a new translation of the Koran. He read and reread certain passages. Everything interested him. He was curious, and happy to plunge into a world so close to him, one he had believed, mistakenly, that he knew. He realized that Islam was only truly different from Christianity with regard to that business with Mary and Jesus. Reading the sura ‘Women,’ he paid particular attention to verses 156, 157, and 158: ‘They said, ‘We slew the Messiah, Jesus, Son of Mary, the Messenger of God.’ They did not slay him, neither did they crucify him, but were deceived by some likeness (…) Instead God raised him up to Him.’ The three monotheistic religions defended the same values. As for Islam, it recognized the other prophets and required of Muslims that they honour and celebrate them.
Miguel wished to convert through love, persuaded in fact that it is through love, because of or thanks to love, that we embark upon our most important achievements. This was obvious, one of the eternal truths. When Miguel looked back over his life, he saw it as simply a series of stages in which a loving infatuation had often been decisive. ‘Today Azel is leading me towards Islam!’ he mused. ‘Ah, if my old Catholic friends could see me now! They’d say that I’m done for, that it’s all over, that Azel’s mother has cast a spell on me, that I’ve definitely been fed jackal’s or hyena’s brains. They would never understand how eagerly I accepted the offer from Azel’s family. But none of that could change my mind: I’m going to be married, and what’s more, married fair and square. This marriage, of the purest convenience, will help a person in need. My sole personal interest in the matter will be to keep close to me the loved one who gives me hope and renewed faith in life. Ah, my friends, sitting discouraged in your beautiful houses, passing your time remembering your youth — your bodies are letting you down, you drive yourselves batty thinking life is unfair, and you hang out together like old folks in a nursing home, waiting to die! Well, me, I’ve made my choice: I’ve refused to be bundled off to that home! I can still get it up, still make love, I have people around me, I’m even going to have lots of people, I’ll have a family and God willing, I’ll have my little twins. My friends, I will enter Islam… That brings back a painful memory… My great love, my first great love: Ali, the acrobat, star of the Cirque Amar, Ali who drove me wild, for whom I wanted to become a Muslim, so that he would live with me, but oh — he had an accident, abandoned everything, just disappeared, and I have never been able to find out anything about him, it’s still a burning wound in my heart. I only hope things won’t get complicated with the adouls, that they’ll be open-minded about this, and that I won’t flub the shahada — I’ve been practising it since yesterday: Ach hadou anna la ilaha illa Llah, Mohammed rassoulu Llah. Ach hadou … it’s simple, you just say that sentence and become a Muslim, but your heart must be in it, because God is trusting you; if it’s for a joke or to cheat, that’s no good, because being Muslim, it means believing sincerely in the divine oneness.’
Such were Miguel’s thoughts, interrupted when Azel and Kenza rang his doorbell. They and Lalla Zohra were all to meet with the adouls at the Mendoubia* near the rue Siaghine at three o’clock. The conversion would be first, followed by the marriage.
Miguel dressed in white and put on a djellaba.
Azel asked him to please tone it down. Miguel took off the djellaba. Miguel usually wore some foundation and outlined his eyes with kohl, but as they were about to leave, Azel asked him to remove his make-up, too.
‘Your name is Mounir, you love women, and you carry yourself like a man, a real one, virile and straightforward.’
Azel was taking charge, somewhat to Miguel’s surprise.
At the Mendoubia, the adouls were waiting for them. They had been informed of how matters stood and asked not to raise any questions. They would be very well paid.
The youngest of the two, who spoke several languages, greeted Miguel warmly. The other man said nothing as he opened a large register in which he recorded the day and the hour. Next, he merely asked if Miguel had performed his ablutions, since it was advisable to say a prayer after the conversion.
‘Of course,’ replied Miguel. ‘I’m quite committed to this and have performed both the simple and the formal ablutions. I always do.’
In a slightly strange silence, Miguel said the shahada, which everyone repeated after him as if to confirm his action. Miguel was very moved. Kenza stood waiting behind the men, holding her national identification card.
Miguel, Azel, and the adouls rose and left to pray at the mosque down at the end of the rue Siaghine. Although Miguel had toured a few mosques in Egypt and Turkey, this was the first time he had entered one in Morocco, where non-Muslims are forbidden to visit them. Watching his friend act as though he believed in what he was doing, Azel was hard put to keep from bursting out laughing.
Back again at a small office in the Mendoubia, the younger adoul read the solemn declaration of the entrance of a Christian into Islam.
‘In the name of God the Merciful and Compassionate, we, Mohammed Laraïchi and Ahmed El Kouny, men of law and religion, attest that Monsieur Miguel Romero López has spoken the shahada and thereby become a Muslim before witnesses; he has chosen the first name ‘Mounir.’ May God help and protect him. He hereby renounces his Catholic faith and enters the Umma Islamiya, which welcomes him to swell its ranks and benefit from his faith and goodwill.
‘Dear Mounir, you are now our brother, welcome in the Islam of enlightenment, fraternity, dignity, and noble spirituality. We remind you of the five pillars of Islam: the profession of faith; the five daily prayers determined by the movement of the earth around the sun; the fast of Ramadan when the faithful abstain from eating, drinking, smoking, and sexual relations from sunrise to sunset for a period of twenty-nine or thirty days; the zakat, the charity offered to the needy in proportion to your means; and lastly the hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca undertaken if your physical, mental, and financial capabilities permit it.’