“Have you performed your ablutions properly?”
Namouss fell from great heights since this question planted the seed of doubt in his soul. He came to the moment Bou Souita’s shadow fell across the room. Panicking, Namouss took off and went to warn his friends, who as it turns out hadn’t waited for him.
He found them conferring among themselves by the doors of the mosque. One of them had reported seeing Aâssala not far from there, beside the Qarawiyyin. The group decided to go and meet her.
Aâssala, the cat lady, virtual mute, vagabond. Namouss had a soft spot for her, despite his fervent denials. Fact was that she was tied to a story that had tormented him for a long time, something that began when he was very little. Who had inflicted this trauma on him, had it been Ghita or had it been Zhor, his sister? He couldn’t remember. It had all started when someone had alleged with the utmost seriousness that Namouss was in reality an orphan. That he had been found armed with a jug in the Jnan Sbil gardens selling water to passing strollers. The family had taken pity on him and brought him home. For Namouss, the whole story had transformed into a tragedy. He avoided getting into trouble, since each time he was caught out, the same old threat would resurface: If he ever did it again, they would give him his jug back and leave him in the garden so he could take up his old trade. Where did they keep the damned jug? Namouss had looked for it all over the house in vain. Even when happiness reigned in the family the doubt had never left him, despite the family trying its best to reassure him by saying the whole story had just been one big joke. But on less joyous occasions, the family would take their gag even further. Since he was a foundling, when it would later become time for him to marry, no one would want him. One day, while he was telling the children not to pester Aâssala, the cat lady, meskina, the poor thing, someone yelled, “Here’s an idea! Why don’t you marry her?”
It had taken Namouss some time to recover from this episode. Even now, doubts would take hold of him and his eyes would fill with tears, which he would be unable to hide. But nothing had changed his feelings in regard to Aâssala. He was still secretly very fond of her, and whenever he was out with his friends, he did his best to ensure no harm would come to her.
The group left the horm of the Moulay Idriss complex and headed toward the Qarawiyyin. A gathering crowd signaled Aâssala’s presence. Namouss squeezed through to the front row. There was his “betrothed.” A swarthy-skinned woman with pinhead eyes and wild, unkempt black hair. Even though she was dressed in old rags, she wore at least one ring on each of her fingers. She was holding a pretty kitten in her arms. Another was perched on her shoulder. She was surrounded by a few scrawnier-looking cats. Aâssala was not making a speech. Muttering between her teeth, she was addressing the cats rather than the curious people around her. Yet at the slightest threat, she would raise her voice into a croaky howl, forcing the bystanders to take a step back. Occasionally a child would launch a sneak attack and tug at her sleeve. At which point the child would be beset by the pack of cats, ready to defend their mistress. Thus warned, the children wouldn’t dare confront her head-on. They would content themselves with hurling jibes at her. Keeping at a distance, some coward would then throw a stone at her before running away.
Namouss was there, watching the scene with a mixture of pity and admiration. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. At the same time, he envied the relationship she enjoyed with her cats, who seemed entirely devoted to her. He would have loved to have a kitten of his own at home, to take care of it. A strict rule stood in his way. There were lines he simply couldn’t cross when it came to his family. These ranged from raising pigeons to distilling orange blossom water — all the way up to preserved lemons and olives. Even the slightest transgression would incur a beating. Ghita proved intractable on this point. Having a cat was therefore out of the question — akin to inviting a jinni into the home. Didn’t cats have seven souls?
Namouss was well aware that while Aâssala enjoyed this privilege, his own wish would remain unfulfilled. At least Aâssala was free to have the companions she wanted and go wherever she liked with them. Having reached this stage in his reasoning, he stopped and felt anxious. If he was drawn to freedom and a life of vagrancy, this must mean there was some truth in those stories that had so tormented him in the past. For the first time, he took courage: after all, it was possible for an orphan to have an altogether different life, perhaps even a better one. Why worry so much about it? He was consequently on his way to alleviating the troubles that had dogged him all these years.
And, as if canceling out these first awakenings of a desire for freedom, he surprised himself by saying, “I must get back. It’s getting late.”
11
IT IS THE month of Ramadan, when the mornings are long and spent in total seclusion. There’s no point in going outdoors. The Medina is deserted. One has to be careful not to make any noise in the house so as to let those who were fasting sleep as much as they wanted. Even Driss, who was not usually temperamental, would get nasty whenever he was disturbed from his rest.
Having been awake for a good long while, Namouss was growing impatient. He was hungry and wanted Ghita to get up and look after him. Satan began to whisper naughty ideas into his ears. He discarded a few of them, but his hunger got the better of him in the end. It followed that he couldn’t expect to have warm milk with his breakfast. He would therefore have to make do with the leftovers from the previous evening’s meal. Rummaging in the cubbyhole that served as a kitchen, he managed to lay his hands on a partially eaten quarter-loaf of bread and a small piece of meat coated in congealed fat. He had just begun to devour his meager snack when he heard the squeaking of mice coming from behind a row of jars. Panicking, he jerked back and bumped into a rack containing of number of pots and saucepans. With a crash, the kitchen utensils came tumbling down, scattering as far as the courtyard in a deafening racket. And the mice, who were even more scared than Namouss, leaped out of their hiding place and, after racing around the courtyard in mad circles, headed straight for his parents’ bedroom.