Namouss worked hard and applied himself, automatically raising his hand whenever the teacher asked a question, even if he didn’t know the answer, thinking he might come up with one at the last possible second, especially since he was convinced that it all came down to divine intervention, or baraka, anyway. He was obsessed with acquiring ten gold stars because Mr. Benaïssa had promised that the first student to reach ten would be rewarded with. . a book.
Ah, competition, that virus! Namouss got carried away to such an extent that the rest of the class faded into the background and his sole concern was his relationship with Mr. Benaïssa, who was God in the flesh, who gave and took, punished and rewarded, but who above all shepherded his flock into a new world teeming with life and perpetually in flux, a world where men were so accustomed to fables and legends that they became a part of everyday life.
AS THE YEAR progressed and Namouss settled into his new life, he began — for the first time in his life — to have the impression that he was different. This filled him with both joy and uneasiness. Starting from his first day in school, when Mr. Fournier had called his name out, right to that lucky day when Mr. Benaïssa had exchanged his ten gold stars for his very first book, one could say that the path he’d undertaken was that which separated being from nothingness. Namouss knew he was his own man. He began chafing under the stifling constraints that regulated life at home, in the streets, and even at school. The path he’d begun to walk was none other than the road to freedom, where his only true responsibility was to throw himself headfirst into adventures.
His first adventure wasn’t a strictly glorious one. The school owned a kitchen garden surrounded by wire mesh, where aside from a handful of trees, there were also various types of vegetables, as well as, unusually, a couple of turkeys that had been left to roam freely, though under the nominal supervision of a watchman who was rarely around. Two rascals in Namouss’s class had spotted a flaw in the fence: a small opening located away from prying eyes, where a predator had obviously already made an incursion without an alarm being raised. This lack of surveillance emboldened the two accomplices, who then offered Namouss the opportunity to join their wild caper. After much deliberating, Namouss accepted their offer, though he found the object of their desire a little laughable: the eggs laid by the turkey hen. How had his companions found out about the eggs? Probably because they were originally from the countryside, where children are able to read the movements and changes a bird makes when it’s brooding. So Namouss followed their lead, his heart racing wildly. The theft was carried out toward the end of the afternoon, just before the school gates were shut. A meager booty: there wasn’t even enough to go around; only a couple of eggs for all their troubles. Once outside, there was the problem of what do with them. Eating them or taking them home was out of the question. The solution they came to was to sell them to the local grocer and split the proceeds between them. In order to better incriminate Namouss, whose success in class irritated them, the two accomplices made a democratic decision — they were, after all, in the majority — that he was the one who should sell the eggs to the grocer. Having no choice, and with a heavy heart, he complied. How would the grocer react? Wouldn’t he just confiscate the eggs and blow the whistle on him? That was what he feared as he entered and repeatedly gave up his place in line until there was nobody left in the shop. Miraculously, though renowned for his avarice, the grocer reacted positively to the offer. Amused, the grocer looked at the little boy of pure Fezzi stock as he held out the eggs as if he were a peasant entering the Medina for the first time. He took the suspicious goods and in return handed Namouss a ten-cent coin — two douros. Hell, they were worth at least three times that! When Namouss caught up with his accomplices, they put their heads together and realized it would be difficult to split the sum equally between them. They therefore decided to use the coins to buy some sweets. Namouss went back to the grocer’s. The number of sweets the grocer proposed to give him was considerably lower than the usual going price. The grocer had come out a winner on both ends.
As they were about to part ways, Namouss was given the smallest share.
“We’re the ones who came up with the idea,” explained one his accomplices.
Namouss wound up with two miserable, stuck-together sweets. Only once did he try to determine the extent of the catastrophe. Though he’d committed an unspeakable crime, it seemed only fair to call a spade a spade: He had stolen. A villainy that would lead him straight to hell, but above all a villainy in the eyes of his family. Driss would never forgive him, that is if he could even conceive that one of his children could ever commit such an act.
Tears welled up in Namouss’s eyes. In a fit of rage, he threw the sweets into the gutter and ran home. It would take some time to get over this episode. He was obviously still too young to face the risks that freedom entails.
8
THE SUMMER HAD arrived, and contrary to all expectations, Namouss was not to remain in Fez.
Sometime before the end of the school year, Ghita had come to the end of her tether, and, adopting the royal “we,” had begun to hammer home her demands.
“We are suffocating inside these four walls. Home, always at home. . How can we get out of this house? Wait until the day we get carried out feetfirst? Regardless of age, we’re all tired and need to ‘feast our eyes’ and experience the world.”
Driss dithered for a while, claiming that it was too hot and that it was a vital time of year for his business. All in vain. He soon resigned himself to the idea of a trip, but only for a week, he insisted, and not a day more.
Word got out and, thrilled by the news, Namouss started daydreaming. He imagined himself aboard one of those vehicles he had seen in his textbook. Oh, neither boat nor plane. That was beyond his imagination. Just a car or a bus. A red car, actually, one as big as the house, which would take him. . where? He hadn’t the vaguest idea.
Driss came to the rescue. He announced that they would sojourn in Sidi Harazem, a spa town a few kilometers from Fez.
The big day finally arrived and the family made their way to Bab Ftouh, where there were a number of vehicles for hire. Instead of the longed-for car, Driss set his heart on a coutchi (horse-drawn carriage), a type of conveyance that was both cheaper and a more respectable way of traveling, especially with wife and daughters in tow. That would circumvent the lack of privacy one found in cars. The entire family piled into the carriage, along with a mattress, duvets, kitchenware, tagines, a brazier, and baskets of provisions. A real uprooting.