‘I know precisely when it all started. One evening — an absolute nightmare — Miguel had some Brazilian friends over, total sex maniacs, and he asked me to make love to a gorgeous woman who was actually a guy: it was dreadful, I was disgusted, they were watching me do it while we were in the middle of the living room! At first it amused me, I was playing along, in top form, but then the she-male told me in Portuguese to piss on him, and when I didn’t understand, he grabbed his dick, acting it out, so Miguel told me, ‘Do what he asks, piss on him, urinate, it excites him, and you don’t give a damn, no one’s asking you to drink it, just to give him a golden shower!’ It was revolting. I didn’t feel like pissing, my penis wouldn’t cooperate — I shouted and left the room. They were crazy, those Brazilians. Why did Miguel ever invite them? Forgive me, but it’s a relief to talk to you, that’s how low I’ve sunk, I’m dirt, worthless, no self-respect at all. After that episode I went to see my Moroccan pal, you remember, the guy who always knows what to do, the neighbourhood big shot; I didn’t dare tell him about this, but he could see I was miserable, so he gave me something to drink and some smoke, I don’t remember exactly what anymore, result was, the police scraped me up off the sidewalk at ten at night, they thought I was experiencing some sort of malaise. In a sense they weren’t wrong, but it’s an ancient malaise, very ancient, a malaise that’s been going on for a long time, a massive malaise, something that hurts, like needles playing with my heart, my liver, and griping pains, like wanting to vomit. The police tried to question me but I was dozing; then a doctor gave me a shot, that woke me up a bit, but I felt awful, so awful, I wanted to die, to throw myself under a bus …That’s when they called you. And luckily, they found you, big sister!
‘Can I sleep here?’
Kenza was shocked; she’d never imagined that one day her little brother would tell her such things. She didn’t know what to say, what to do, but she could clearly see that Azel was in a bad way. After a long pause, she stood up, went to get her purse, and told him that she could not let him stay at her place indefinitely. He would have to seriously consider going back to Morocco. Azel screamed and started weeping like a child. Kenza simply had to go to work. She asked him not to answer the phone, and above all, to get some sleep.
She called Miguel from the Red Cross office. He was in bed, laid low by bronchitis. He was the one who brought up Azel, but Kenza didn’t want to upset him, since he was sick.
‘He’s not doing well, is he?’ asked Miguel. ‘It had to happen, unfortunately… You know, I feel somewhat responsible; I thought he was mature enough, knew what he was doing, when he left with me… But his longing to leave Morocco was so strong that in the end it blinded him and corrupted everything he did. I don’t want to see him anymore, he went way too far. I never admitted as much to you, but he stole some precious objects from me that he must have resold at ridiculous prices, and he behaved like the worst kind of creep. He knew that money was not a problem between us, but he wanted more, he wanted to humiliate me. One evening with friends, he was appalling, he insulted them, broke a bottle of wine, and tried to pick a fight. No, Kenza, my Kenza, my friend, my dear wife, your little brother is a lost cause, and you’re right to say that he’d be better off going home, where he could find his bearings. Here, he had everything given to him too easily, he has no idea how hard I worked, how I suffered to get where I am today, but, well, when you’re in love, you don’t think straight, you follow your feelings, your emotions. I was in love with Azel; he never was with me, and he acted as if I didn’t realize that he was pretending. Well, I’m a clever old monkey, as you know, and nobody fools me! All right, let’s stop talking about him for a moment. When are you going to come fuss over your poor husband? That reminds me, I haven’t told you yet, but congratulations! Thanks to a few well-placed interventions, your case is closed, you’re Spanish now, a citizen of Europe: the notice from the ministry arrived yesterday, so all you have to do is go sign and claim the document that will allow you to apply for that wine-red passport stamped with gold letters that spell ‘European Union’! Afterwards, we’ll get a divorce whenever you like — I adore you, my lovely, you’re a wonderful woman!’
Before going home, Kenza made a detour to visit Miguel. When Carmen told her at the front door that Miguel was sound asleep, Kenza bowed her head and went on her way. Then, remembering that she had promised to dance that evening at the restaurant, she hurried directly there to arrive on time. She took pleasure in letting herself go in front of her audience, turning her body into a superb metaphor for eroticism and dreams. She performed several times that evening, and took home quite a bit of money.
29. Nâzim
NÂZIM WAS STANDING out in front of Kenza’s apartment building. He was nervous, and worried. It was his nature always to expect the worst, which was probably why his hair had begun to turn grey when he was still young. Tonight he was determined to conquer his distress. There was no reason to let himself get upset! Kenza would be there any moment; he would take her in his arms and carry her off somewhere far away. He longed so much to be free, to have his papers in order, and have a little money… Then he could take Kenza to see his native Anatolia, and show her the insolent beauty of its richly forested mountains. He thought suddenly of his family and friends, whom he hadn’t seen for more than two years, people whom he missed but never mentioned, which was a vaguely magical way to keep them from his thoughts, in a limbo of waiting. He was convinced that he would see them again some day, an especially splendid day, with a heart full of light and eyes brimming with happy tears; on that truly extraordinary day, he would finally become himself again, the man he’d once been. On that day his exile would be abruptly erased from his memory.
When Kenza finally appeared at the end of the street, he ran to her and threw his arms around her. He told her how happy he was to see her, how painfully he’d missed her; he kissed her hands and recited another Turkish poem to her. Kenza, however, was in an awkward position: Azel was sleeping at her place, so she couldn’t bring Nâzim home.
‘Let’s go to a hotel!’ suggested Nâzim.
Kenza hesitated. ‘Why not go to your place? I don’t even know where you live. Hotels are for secret lovers or prostitutes, and in Sabadell it was different, we were taking a trip.’
‘You know I live in a rat hole,’ protested Nâzim. ‘You deserve better than that.’
Kenza asked him to wait while she went upstairs to get a few things for the following day. Nâzim paced up and down, growing impatient. Perhaps Azel had forbidden her to rejoin him. Perhaps she’d changed her mind. The light went on in the apartment. At last, after twenty long minutes, Kenza reappeared. The idea of spending another night in a hotel excited Nâzim. Along the way, he began singing in Turkish and Arabic.