When the second half began, it was the home team’s turn to be greeted with boos and hisses, which were quickly drowned out by the applause of the loyalists, who were still in the majority. The second half started off with a surprise attack by MAS, allowing the public to see its team recover its proverbial punch. There was hope still, but time was quickly running out, and the Roches Noires defense seemed as impenetrable as a concrete wall. Then, during the last fifteen minutes, a MAS player was fouled right in the penalty area.
“Pinanti! Pinanti!” the crowd screamed.
The referee seemed to hesitate, but faced with the public outcry, he granted MAS the penalty kick. Couscous dashed up from the back of the field to transform it. And he scored.
So the match ended in a draw, the worst kind of outcome for the majority of the spectators, who saw no sense in a contest unless there were clear winners and losers. That was the law. The walk downhill back to the Medina was gloomy, and the post-match analysis that took place the following day in the fine-leather workshop was filled with dismay. Sticking to his guns, the leatherworker tried to reassure his audience with another dictum that ought to be etched in marble: “Up until the final match, a championship can be won or lost.”
Having been an honorary witness to the crazy events on that day and its mixed results, Namouss didn’t know what to make of it all. His knowledge of soccer was patchy. He still didn’t know the offside rule, for example. Why is a player, who manages to slip past the opposing team’s defense and take up the best position to score, sanctioned? These tricks were very much allowed during the matches they played in the Bab Guissa cemetery, so much the worse for anyone who got caught out by these wily tactics. Beyond these technical considerations, it was all too clear that Namouss’s interest in soccer remained lukewarm at best. Ever since the Small Springs incident, large crowds made him nervous. Especially when they shouted, shoved, and got all riled up for reasons that more or less eluded him. Sometimes, when he began to feel faint, he had the odd temptation to let himself be overrun and carried away by a black cloud right up to the point of losing all consciousness. What instinct, fascination, or denial was at play here? He was at a loss, and had yet to find his way within the dark forest of questions.
17
TIME WAS PASSING, and Namouss didn’t quite perceive it. He barely sensed the winds of change shyly blowing through his town, even though the signs were all there. What was happening to the Fezzis? Defying what people might say, some had recently started enrolling their daughters in school, even going so far as to allow the ones of marriageable age to go out in public without their head scarves and to dress in European-style clothes. Some married women also followed suit. They abandoned their head scarves, wore shoes with heels, and — scaling the heights of audacity — cut their hair short. Witnesses even reported seeing one of those Amazons behind the wheel of a car! An even more astounding rumor made the rounds regarding a young woman who had enrolled at a flight-training college and would soon qualify as a pilot.
This emancipatory momentum was accompanied by another phenomenon, which was considered more controversial for a different reason. Example: the sudden craze for imported household goods. Chinese ceramics began competing with traditional pottery. Bronze, silver, and copperware were progressively supplanted by plastics and tins. Namouss had witnessed this particular transformation when Driss decided one day to get rid of what he considered old junk: teapots, kettles, ewers, candlesticks, tea and sugar caddies, as well as antique trays. The whole lot was sold off to a shopkeeper in Nejjarine Square and replaced by newer items. While the proceeds of this transaction certainly added much-needed income to the meager family coffers, what was more astonishing was that Ghita raised no objections to this ransacking of her heirlooms.
Yet another change: While Radio Medina remained the preferred source of gossip and word-of-mouth news, many increasingly started turning to more reliable outlets. Once strictly reserved for the wealthy, radio sets began to grace most households, taking pride of place in the middle of the living room, and often decorated by beautiful embroidered cloths and crowned by a vase of artificial flowers. One steered clear of Radio Morocco, which was the colonial government’s mouthpiece, and instead tuned in to stations broadcast from Cairo or Moscow, as well as the BBC and Voice of America. People paid particularly close attention to the news but also took delight in listening to Oriental songs. Umm Kulthum, or the “Star of the East” as she was widely known, was already universally popular, but the radio facilitated the sensational rise of crooners such as Mohammed Abdel Wahab and Farid al-Atrash. It brought turmoil to formerly peaceful households, pitting brother against sister, sundering long-standing friendships — basically, it split society into two rival camps: those fanatics who pledged their loyalty to the Son of the Pharaohs and those equally fanatic fans of the Lebanese Druze. So it was no coincidence that moviegoing became astonishingly popular, and Namouss plunged headfirst into this craze.
THREE CINEMAS VIED for the patronage of the people of Fez. The most popular ones by far were the one situated in the somewhat rural neighborhood of El-Achabine and the one way out toward Bab Ftouh. The third, in Boujeloud, was frequented by a more sophisticated clientele and allowed women to while away their afternoons there. The competition between cinemas was stirred by which films were being shown. The El-Achabine specialized in detective films, Bab Ftouh showed Westerns, and Boujeloud practically had a monopoly on Egyptian films. Namouss ran with the hares and hunted with the hounds. He needed his weekly fix on Friday afternoons, which demanded much effort on his part. He was now too old to get in free with one of his older brothers. Making himself small didn’t fool the ticket inspector either. He had to pay. But securing the money was never a sure thing since Driss was the only one he could go to. The waiting game would commence at the beginning of the week and last right up until an hour before the start of the film on Friday afternoon. During this time, Namouss was on the lookout for any sign as to whether Driss was or wasn’t favorably inclined. Everything would depend on how business had gone for him that week at the souk: whether enough orders had come in, whether he had paid his rent arrears for the shop, and whether the cost of his materials had gone up or down. These considerations were augmented by others, most notably the pressures Ghita faced in setting aside enough money each day for the family budget, pressures that understandably affected her mood whenever Namouss got too insistent. But most difficult of all was Driss’s habit of taking a siesta right after the midday meal on Fridays. Was this a ruse to avoid dipping into his choukara? Namouss was sure of it. He was left with no option but to make his request at the most unpropitious time, running the risk of receiving a flat refusal. As a result, he would pester Ghita to intercede on his behalf. She would begrudgingly consent but then pull out at the last minute. Namouss would be forced to approach the foot of the bed where his father was fast asleep. Driss would then sit up and, muttering some incomprehensible curses, would thrust his hand into his choukara and pull out a horribly crumpled ten-douro note, toss it on the ground, and immediately go back to sleep. Namouss would sheepishly pick it up and hightail it out of the house.