These discoveries required considerable effort. And they didn’t help calm the volatility of his mood swings. So he would go back out into the streets in order to vent his frustrations.
DURING THE DAYS preceding the beginning of the school year, the games picked up again and were better than ever, but this time Namouss and his gang decided to make fun of passersby. One of the practical jokes required advance preparation. First they had to get the props: an old wallet, a hook, and a few yards of fishing line (a handful of strands pulled from a horse’s tail and tied together would also do the job). The wallet was stuffed with paper to give it an alluringly bulky look and then would be attached firmly with the hook to the fishing line. Once this was done, they set the trap: The wallet was placed in the middle of the street, where it would be easy to spot, while the cabal of conspirators went to hide in the vestibule of the nearest house, lurking behind a door that had been left ajar. The ringleader would then wrap the fishing line around one hand and lie in wait. A chump would invariably show up. Immediately after spotting the wallet, the chump would stop, look around, and after a moment’s hesitation, would bend down to pick it up. But the coveted wallet would then slip and evade his grasp. He would try to catch it, once, twice, three times — in vain — right until the thing vanished entirely out of sight behind the door, as if by magic. Faced with this supernatural phenomenon, the poor devil would be left flabbergasted and eventually walk away, cursing Satan and his evil doings. However, someone less naïve would occasionally see through the hoax, quickly locate its perpetrators, and rush toward the door to flush out the clowns, who would then — being quicker — slam the door in his face and make their escape by way of the terrace.
A variation of the same stunt consisted in making a hole in the middle of a coin and anchoring it into the ground with a nail. The chump would bend down to pick it up, but quickly realizing he was fighting a losing battle, would quit the field and walk away, shamefaced.
More often than not, Loudini was the mastermind behind these pranks. Even though Namouss didn’t always agree with him, he vaguely admired this outlaw who always had a vast store of adventurous and entertaining ideas. Loudini was also the orchestrator of less playful activities — for example, initiating the group into the world of commerce, the source of the city’s wealth. This consisted in minor business deals that could earn them a little pocket money. But Loudini took it all very seriously. Ever since Namouss had known him, Loudini had been a hustler. Every afternoon he could be found squatting outside the entrance of the El-Attarine souk. In front on him was a stool upon which he’d place a baking tray filled with chalaouane, a chickpea dish with a golden-brown crust that he prepared at home and then had cooked in the public ovens — a reasonably priced delicacy that got gobbled up by both adults and children alike. Armed with a knife, Loudini would cut a piece according to the customer’s wishes, half a slice or even a quarter. He pocketed the money in advance and, adopting a peremptory tone, would admonish the pushy customers and tell them to wait their turn and keep away from the work area. He would sell out in less than an hour, at which point he would pack up and leave.
Aside from this little business, where he monopolized both the production and supply chain, the budding capitalist also invested in another sector: the confectionery industry. For that, he had commissioned a tbila — a wooden display shelf with tapered legs, protected by an iron grille — from a carpenter in the Nejjarine souk. His stock, which he would renew once a week on average, was limited during the high season to two packets of chewing gum and about thirty or so sweets, all in different colors. The running of the shop was entrusted to Belhaj, a serious boy who inspired confidence. He received payment in kind for his work: the last rumpled pack of chewing gum and all the damaged sweets that hadn’t been sold throughout the week. Loudini would pocket all the income and move on to other investments.
The trade he managed to recruit the entire gang for was the manufacture of windmills. Loudini would supply the building materials — colored paper, pins, reeds — and supervise the cutting, folding, and assembly. Once the frafers were ready, he would test them out one by one and then tell each member of the group where they should sell them. At the end of the day, he would collect the proceeds, pocketing half and dividing the remaining half among the gang. He had come up with a cockamamie formula to justify the way he split the profits and explain why he should have the lion’s share, leaving his disgruntled business partners no option but to swallow the bitter pilclass="underline" Suck an egg-egg and give me my share-share.
Why was Namouss mixed up in this? He was obviously not suited to business, neither when it came to selling chickpea pies, which required some knowledge of cooking, nor to running a candy shop, which required the gift of the gab and the patience of Job. As far as the making of frafers was concerned, the less said, the better. Even if he more or less got through the cutting stage, he always bungled the folding and assembly. How many times had Loudini scolded him and threatened to fire him because he’d wrecked some of the material or because all his work needed to be redone! When it came to splitting the profits, however, Loudini nonetheless allotted Namouss a share. At that point, Namouss received his honorable discharge. When he’d finished making the rounds in the part of the city he’d been assigned to, he’d only managed to sell two or three. But seeing how much effort this took on his part, it wasn’t long before he came up with a slightly bizarre idea. He hadn’t quite swallowed that whole “egg-egg, share-share” story. Why was Loudini entitled to such a large share? Fine, he provided the paper and all the rest. But then Namouss thought: I could simply buy the materials myself and find someone to help me assemble and sell them, so I could comfortably line my pockets too. This knee-jerk reaction to the logic of capitalism prompted him to come up with a plan whereby he would charge a slightly higher price for his windmills than Loudini did, which would allow him to pocket the difference. Alas, though the idea was instantly seductive, on further reflection Namouss abandoned it. The saying “Fez is a mirror” came to mind, and he realized that he would be found out. He tried to return to a more principled frame of mind, in truth motivated largely by the fear of being found out, resulting in disastrous consequences on his status in the gang.
No, no, he told himself — putting that idea definitively to rest. May God curse the religion of money.
THE SUMMER LINGERED on, and despite various activities, Namouss once again found himself in a languorous state. Something was missing and he couldn’t figure out what it was. School? Patience, that would start up again soon. Traveling? Of course, but he was realistic enough to know it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. His parents’ love? He had it, even if the outward signs of affection were few and far between, often indirect, and for the most part unexpected. Friends? He had the members of his gang, for what they were worth, who at least provided recourse when solitude weighed him down or when the atmosphere in the house became insufferable. What was it then? Maybe what he lacked was a kindred spirit in whom he might confide his big secret or, without even going that far, someone with whom he might share the crazy ideas that ran through his mind — the incomprehensible images that flashed past his eyes during his waking dreams, or the voices he heard, which came, as they say, from another world — or even talk with about the tingling that was electrifying his body, those sweet waves that flooded over him, the longing he felt for a hand, a truly tender hand, for someone whose scent and breath might mingle with his just before going to sleep. Having stirred all that up, nothing came of it. Having reached the limits of his imagination, he came down from the clouds and landed on the patio.