The older kids must have planned the skeleton heist in advance. One of them had brought along a jute sack, while the one who seemed to be in charge filled the sack with the bones, making sure they were all accounted for. The sack was tied with a bit of string, and the order to move out was given alongside strict instructions: The secret must be kept. Not a word of it should reach their families or any of the other classmates. The skeleton would be delivered the following day to Mr. Cousin.
Namouss went home in a rush, making sure to avoid being seen by the rest of the household. There was no doubt in his mind that his crime was engraved on his face: an indelible cross etched in the middle of his forehead, scars on his cheeks, or pimples emerging on his nose. Above all, he must not look at himself in the mirror. He went to bed without dinner, pulled the sheet over his head, and tried to go to sleep. All in vain. The night was long and when he managed to doze off, the images of the skeleton being pulled out of the tomb flashed past him in scenes that were alternatively gloomy and comical. Stirred from his sleep, the skeleton came back to life, stood up, and brandishing a golden-yellow sword, cut off the heads of everyone around him. Their heads toppled from their bodies and rolled along the ground, which was swarmed by a throng of people that, mistaking the heads for balls, started knocking them about and scoring goal after goal. In another scene, the awakened skeleton wasn’t only made of bones but was also covered in flesh. He wore a beautiful djellaba and a black burnous, as well as a spotless turban. He resembled Si Daoudi, the Arabic teacher. As soon as he got up, a winged horse in a magnificent harness landed in front of him. He mounted the horse in a single leap and rode off toward. . the Sekkatine. Driss was waiting for him. Si Daoudi got off the horse and said, “I have come to speak to you about your son.” “Yes, Sidi, I know.” “So what are we going to do about it?” “You cut his throat Sidi, while I scalp him.”
The most grueling version of this dream was the one where Namouss pictured himself in the tomb. He and the skeleton were one and the same. He was dead without being dead. After a moment, he began to hear the confab of kids — who’d come to disturb his eternal sleep. He was unable to address them, to dissuade them from their mission, which he believed would be fatal for all parties. As they began to pull out his bones, he felt as if his soul was still hovering above the grave and was about to take flight and disappear forever. Nothing will remain of me, he told himself. They will forget about me — and, God forbid, I will be absent on Resurrection Day.
Early in the morning, Namouss was awoken by the sound of thunder and the heavy splatter of rain falling in the courtyard. The fury of the sky brought back to mind the nightmarish visions he’d experienced, and above all the anguish he felt at the thought of what might happen at school if the episode of the skeleton were to turn out badly. Who could he turn to in order to prevent dire consequences from arising? Whom could he speak with about the unspeakable?
Ghita was already up on her feet, or rather bent over double sweeping away the water that had accumulated in the courtyard and threatened to flood the bedrooms. Glancing at Namouss, she didn’t seem to read anything out of the ordinary on his face. She even smiled at him and prompted him to go wash up while she prepared his breakfast. Blessings upon you, Ghita, you who brings sunshine to bear on rainy days! Hope returns.
TWO DAYS WENT by at school without anything arising from the skeleton episode. Mr. Cousin had started up the life-science lessons once more. The new poster he’d brought to class depicted a man who’d been flayed, revealing the vivid, red surface of his muscles. Names even more complicated than those linked to the skeleton rained down on Namouss. He raked them in avidly. Words became a sort of drug that helped chase away the images of the cemetery, whether real or nightmare-induced. He nevertheless sometimes lost his train of thought and lapsed into those visions. A chill ran through his spine and made him want to shout: “It wasn’t me, sir! I swear, it wasn’t me!”
The reprieve was short-lived. On the third day, it was battle stations from the get-go. Mr. Cousin announced that Mr. Fournier, the headmaster, would be visiting the class. The latter arrived soon after, followed by Si Daoudi and another Arabic teacher who looked after the higher grades: Si Ben Jebbour. They had somber, menacing expressions on their faces. It was Si Ben Jebbour, whom the students didn’t know from Adam, who first addressed them, in Arabic to boot, thus letting the Nazarenes that were present off the hook and allowing them to leave while the going was good. The speech began, and it was harsh.
“I want to tell you little savages that you clearly lack any notion of faith or religion. You belong to the most vile and evil category of miscreants. Know that there are three sins that God cannot forgive his creatures: lying with one’s mother, doubting His existence, and desecrating the dead. Know that even in hell, your place will be in the seventh circle, the last, where no one will save you from everlasting suffering. Nothing will save a desecrater from his fate, not even if he prays and fasts for a century, nor if he distributes piles of gold to the poor. And if he thinks he shall cleanse his soul with a pilgrimage, he is bound to burst into flames before he can even reach the sacred Kaaba. We belong to God and to Him shall we return. If I have come here, it is to remind you of the tenets of our religion and to warn about God’s coming judgment. As for earthly judgment, this falls to the headmaster, who will soon inform your parents of the sanctions that will be taken against the culprits. My greetings to those of you who have followed the right path. Amen!”
Once the visitors had left, and after a heavy silence, Mr. Cousin wrapped up the episode by emitting an odd “Well, there we have it” and then smiling half in jest, half in earnest. Thanks to his reaction, Namouss concluded that once more he had been saved, even if he didn’t know why.
The sentence was passed the following day. Three students were handed a fifteen-day suspension, a punishment Namouss couldn’t find fault with. Among the three students was the presumed leader of the perpetrators and the one who had carried out the desecration. The third student was the one who had slung the bag of bones over his shoulder and carried it off. Had one of them willingly confessed or had one of the other boys who had been with them let the cat out of the bag? One thing was certain, it hadn’t been Namouss.