Mamed and I shared books and records. Some evenings we would have a drink together, either at his place or mine. Mamed liked only cheap whisky, which he drowned in soda water. These days he smoked brown-tobacco Casa-Sport cigarettes. His famous Favorites had been taken off the market, due to a documentable increase in lung cancer among those who smoked them. 1 got by with a little bit of Galavuiline, a pure malt whisky I bought under the table from a Jewish grocer who got it from Ceuta.When Ramon joined us, he drank Coke. Like a lot of converts, he was serious about his religion. He no longer drank rioja or ate Spanish ham. We teased him about it, and he laughed.
Mamed and I talked, argued, criticized each other, engaged in wordplay and dark humor. He was much better than I was at verbal banter, but I knew more about film and poetry. These exchanges were supposed to keep our minds active so we wouldn't fall into the lethargy most people in Tangier suffered from. Especially in those days, when everybody lived in wariness and fear. A diffuse fear, without name or shape.
Our wives saw each other, but they never became close friends. Mamed and I rarely talked about our marital problems. We avoided it because we knew instinctively that nothing good could come from such discussions. He intuited my difficulties, and I his. We remained supportive of each other, but had no need to say it or to show it publicly. There were usually no subjects that were taboo in our conversations, but we must have been thinking of Bob Marley's misogynist "No Woman, No Cry." In Morocco, as everybody knew, it was the men who made the women cry. They cried in silence. Women did not have the right to complain. In friendship, as in love, everyone needs an element of mystery. This was less true of me than of Mamed, who loved secrecy, perhaps a weakness acquired during his Communist days.
12
Our friendship was about to undergo a five-year hiatus. Without any stain to its purity, it just went underground. It happened naturally, without either of us deciding anything. It was simply the result of physical separation.
Mamed was offered a job with the World Health Organization, and after some hesitation, he finally took it. He agreed with me that it would be good for him to leave the familiarity of Tangier to advance his professional life elsewhere. So he left for Stockholm on a trial basis, to see if it would suit him. As he had left Ghita behind for the time being, we made sure we saw her regularly, and frequently invited her to our home. While Mamed was away, I found a replacement for him at his doctor's office. I did the bookkeeping, paid the bills, and generally watched over his family's needs. I bought a notebook in which I kept track of all the finances to the nearest cent, informing Mamed of every transaction. He called often, and I sent him letters with every business transaction clearly detailed.
The next summer he came back, having decided to sell his office and stay in Stockholm. He sold his medical practice to my nephew, who had just finished his degree. My older brother paid Mamed's asking price without quibbling. Everything seemed to go very well. However, I began to realize that Mamed was obsessed with money, whether out of fear of having too little or mere avarice.
With my best friend gone, I felt completely alone. Our letters and telephone calls became less and less frequent. I became depressed. My wife didn't understand why I missed Mamed so much. She made occasional jealous scenes. She kept telling me to open my eyes to reality. I thought they were wide open.
One day, Mamed called from a telephone booth and asked if I was alone. I said yes. He confessed that since they had gone to Sweden, his family life had become a living hell. Ghita would become hysterical to the point of violence. I was her favorite target. She accused me of having cheated Mamed on the sale of his practice. She was sure I had exploited our friendship in order to get a good deal for my brother. Her parents had supposedly informed her of the "real price," and had even advised her to sue me for taking advantage of the situation for personal gain. I was stunned, deeply hurt. Mamed said that it was all a pretext on his wife's part to break up our friendship. I told him that my wife was jealous, too. I understood then that our relationship, built over so many years, was in jeopardy. I had fooled myself into thinking that our friendship was indestructible, that nothing could come between us.
Later, I made the mistake of repeating this conversation to my wife, who took advantage of it to pour out a torrent of emotion. You are so naive, she told me. This guy has used you. He has always been self-interested. His friendship has never been sincere. His wife is right to accuse us. We gave her the opportunity to humiliate us. One good deed is often repaid with a bad one. You should know that, since you've been swindled so many times by people you considered your friends, people who took advantage of your kindness. It's a weakness, when it all comes down to it. It's special form of stupidity. Now you have proof that your best friend isn't a true friend. He pretended to be on your side, but in fact allowed himself to be manipulated by his petty, jealous wife. You need to get rid of these so-called friends. You tell them all your secrets. I bet you even tell them about our arguments, our sex life. You can't keep a secret. You're riddled with vanity. Ah, the respected teacher, the distinguished pedagogue, the old leftie who has fallen into line with the corrupt majority! Well, thanks to Ghita, now we know. Mamed is not your friend. He is jealous and bitter, he's a slave to his wife, he does just what she tells him to, and you believe everything he says. Youd be better off taking care of your own family, saving some money so that I can go to France and see a gynecologist who can help me have a child…
13
I had married soraya for her beauty and intelligence, but when she realized she could never have a child, she turned into a different woman. Our life revolved around her fertility problems. She read everything she could, wrote to specialists in France and America, tried diets to encourage ovulation, went to faith healers, and even had a telephone consultation with Jacques Testard, who had just succeeded in creating "Amandine," the first test-tube baby. She decided to try in vitro fertilization. Her parents were firmly opposed, saying this was all in the hands of Allah and we should never contradict his divine will. Her parents' opinion mattered, since they were the only ones who could afford to pay for this expensive procedure. In order to lay to rest any doubt, I underwent examinations to be sure the problem had nothing to do with my sperm. Without invoking religious principles, which I didn't have anyway, I tried to convince Soraya to adopt. I discovered that Islam forbade adoption, allowing it only in the case of a child who had been abandoned, in order to give the child a chance in life. But according to Islamic practice, the child would always remain the fruit of an adulterous relationship, and would never have the right to bear the name of the adoptive family. It had to do with laws related to heritage and incest. Still, on a practical level, corruption made anything possible. We could obtain false papers, documents, family certificates. Even if Soraya agreed to adopt a child, I told her I wouldn't do anything illegal.
The birth of Adel, Mamed and Ghita's first child, was traumatic for Soraya. She made a heroic effort to overcome her jealousy, yet it took nothing but the slightest remark or reminder to set her off-a pregnant cousin, a neighbor's inquiry, a television ad for diapers. She would become depressed all over again.