Mohammed Mrabet - M'Hashish

He moved to her table, and they talked for a while. Soon he took out his kif pipe, filled it, and handed it to her. She smoked it and smiled. They each had a coffee. When Hassan asked her if she wanted to go home with him, she said it was all right, only she had to go to her hotel first.

Hassan paid and they walked to her hotel, a small, dark, very dirty place not far from the Zoco Chico. He went upstairs with her and she opened the door. There was a young man lying on the bed.

This is my friend, the girl said. Can he come too?

Hassan was certain that if he said no, she would not go with him, and so he said: Of course. But he was already thinking of how he could get rid of the young man. He looked again at him. He had long golden hair like a girl and wore many strings of beads and strange things around his neck.

The three of them started out for Hassan's house. When they got there, Hassan made them sit down, and then he put the water on to boil for tea.

The pellets of aghrebia were in a dish on the table, and the girl and her friend were looking at them. Are those hashish cakes? she wanted to know.

That's aghrebia. Try some.

Hassan gave her half a cake, and she ate it. Then she reached out and took another half. By the time he saw what was happening she had swallowed it. Since it was too late, he did not say anything. He tried to put the dish away, but the young man wanted a pellet. Hassan gave him one.

They drank their tea. About twenty minutes later Hassan saw that the girl's eyes were almost shut and that she was sweating. He looked at the young man to see if he had noticed it, and saw that he too was feeling the effects of the medicine.

Are you all right? he asked them.

I feel marvelous! the girl said. There's nowhere anything like the place I'm in right now. I can hear the air blowing by me like music, like music that could never be in the world. I'm not connected to the earth at all. I'm in the sky! In the sky!

You're right, you're right, said Hassan. That's the way it is.

The young man merely sat smiling, with his eyes shut. The girl ran her fingers through his long hair, and told Hassan: My friend feels the same as I do. He's in the sky, too.

Then she spoke to the boy in their own language, and he turned and kissed her without opening his eyes.

Hassan picked up the plate of aghrebia and handed it to the young man, thinking that if he could get him to take more he might make him lose consciousness. But the young man opened his eyes, saw the dish and shook his head, without letting go of the girl. And as Hassan sat there, not believing his eyes, the two Americans took off each other's clothing and began to make love on his bed in front of him. He was too astonished to move from where he sat, and he could not say a word. Then he jumped up and climbed the stairs to the roof, where he walked back and forth for an hour or more. When he went downstairs again the two Americans had their clothes on and were sitting on the bed looking at one another. He opened the door, and they got up and wandered out into the street. Then he slammed the door shut and bolted it.

The next day at the cafe, Hassan found Si Mokhtar in a very good humor. I had a girl with me all night, the old man told him. I took a little of your aghrebia. And he began to tell him about his night.

Soon he saw that Hassan was not listening, and so he did not talk about it any more.

A certain kif-smoker got up one morning, had breakfast with his wife, and then began to smoke kif mixed with qoqa. His wife, seeing what he was doing, objected, saying: Why don't you smoke tobacco in the morning, and leave kif and qoqa until the afternoon at least? You haven't even gone to market yet.

But he said he was only going to smoke a pipe or two before he went to the market. He smoked two pipes and got up and went out. He bought the vegetables for the day, and everything that he and his wife needed. Finally he went to the fish market, where an old friend of his had a stall. They greeted one another, and slapped each other on the back.

How's your kif today? asked the fish-seller, who had none in his stall with him.

My kif is always number one, said the man. I cut it myself every day.

Fill me a pipe, will you?

The man filled his sebsi and the fish-seller smoked it. Come inside, he said. I've got some hot tea for you.

The man stepped inside the stall and sat down, and his friend poured him a glass of tea. They sat for an hour or so, talking and smoking and sipping the tea. Then the man bought a kilo of swordfish, paid for it, and went home, his head singing with the kif he had smoked.

His wife opened the door. You were so long, she said. Lunch is going to be very late today.

Think of it, he said. I met a man I hadn't seen in years. We began to talk, and it got late. Are you hungry?

I ate a little, she said.

Here's the food. He spread it out. Why don't you cook it?

Where's the oil? You didn't bring any oil.

Give me a bottle and I'll go and get it, he told her.

She brought him an old French wine-bottle with a deep depression in the bottom. He took it and went out to a shop not far away.

The bacal was behind the counter, holding his kif pipe in his hand, being just about to light it. Instead, he greeted the man and handed him the pipe. The man smoked it and sat down on a crate inside the doorway. He filled the pipe and passed it back to the bacal. Give me a limonada, he told him. I'm thirsty.

The bacal opened two bottles of limonada, and they began to smoke and talk together. The empty wine-bottle lay on the floor, and the wife went on waiting for the oil.

She sat a while, and then she grew tired of waiting. She decided to go to a neighbor's house to borrow the oil. When she got back home she waited a while longer. Finally she was so hungry that she cooked the fish and ate it.

The man went on sitting with the bacal, talking and laughing. When customers came in, the bacal would wait on them, and the man would fill his pipe and smoke while he waited for the bacal to sit down again.

It grew dark. Suddenly the man looked up and cried out.

What's the matter? said the bacal.

Give me a liter of oil, he told him. My wife's waiting for it. He handed the bottle to the bacal, who filled a liter measure and began to pour the oil into the bottle. Soon the bottle was full, but because of the false bottom, there was still a good deal of oil in the measure.

You've got some more here, the bacal said. Where do you want me to put it?

The man stood for a moment looking at the bottle in his hand. Then he felt the depression in the bottom, and turned the bottle upside down.

Here, he said, showing the depression to the bacal. Pour it in here.

The bacal stared at him, and at the oil which was running all over the counter and onto the floor. Then, having a great deal of kif in his head, he poured what was left of the oil into the depression in the bottom of the bottle.

The man paid him, said good-bye, and went out of the shop. It was evening, and the east wind had risen a little. As he stepped into the open and felt the fresh air inside him, all the kif he had smoked suddenly blossomed in his brain.

He came to the street where he lived, and stood still, looking at the street stretching away from him into the distance. Instead of the street, he saw the sea, with high waves rolling toward him in the moonlight.

What a sea! he thought, and he shrugged. He took off his jacket and trousers, and his shirt and his underwear. When he was naked, he carefully wrapped the bottle of oil inside his clothing, and tied the bundle to the top of his head so that he could swim. Then he gave a great leap and plunged into the waves.