Mohammed Mrabet - M'Hashish

He landed on his belly at the base of a cactus fence, where there were piles of excrement. Strong waves, he thought, and he kept crawling along the street as if he were swimming, until he reached the door of his house. Then he got to his feet and pounded on the door.

When his wife saw him naked, bloody, and smeared with excrement, her mouth fell open and she could say nothing.

Can't you see? he cried. The ocean has come. Look at the size of those waves out there!

She grabbed him and pulled him inside and slammed the door. Then she pushed him into the latrine and gave him a bath with many pails of water which she dashed over him. After that she dried him off and put him to bed.

In the middle of the night he began to call out to his wife: I've brought the oil! You can cook the fish now. I'm hungry.

Two friends, Farid and Mansour, had stalls side by side in the market. Since they both liked to smoke kif and eat hashish, they decided to live together. They found themselves a house with only one room. They had a reed mat, a small table, a chest, a brazier and one cooking pot. They made their tea in a tin can. But they had two mattresses, one for each, and each mattress had its own blanket.

One rainy night in the middle of winter, they ate a big tajine of lamb and quinces. Afterwards, content with the food inside them, they lay back, each on his mattress, and smoked many pipes of kif. Soon Farid rose and brought out a bar of hashish.

It was raining very hard, and the wind was shaking the house. They sat for a long time, nibbling on the hashish and listening to the rain. Finally Mansour turned out the light and they both shut their eyes and began to travel toward other worlds.

The rain kept falling, and the sound it made grew louder. It was very dark in the room. Soon the noise was so great that Farid returned from where he had been.

What a storm! he said. Listen to that rain.

That, my friend, is not rain, Mansour told him.

It's not? What is it, then?

It's water.

Farid laughed. But Mansour said: There's nothing to laugh at. They're not the same thing. Rain is rain, and water's water. And that's water falling onto our roof.

I've got to get some sleep, said Farid. I can't talk all night.

It was you who started, said Mansour.

They were quiet. The storm grew worse. Mansour lay on his back. He was almost asleep. It was then that the roof sprang a leak. At first there was only a drop now and then. It fell directly onto his left eyelid. But soon it began to drip faster. And the drops spattered onto his eyelids, and ran down his face and neck. He tried to travel toward other worlds again, but the rain kept him nailed to his mattress.

He called out finally. Farid!

Farid only groaned.

Farid! Do me a big favor. Come over here and move my head a little. The water's falling into my eyes.

Farid groaned again.

Then Mansour said: What's the matter with you?

There's a rat on my pillow, and every little while he starts to bite my ear. Couldn't you take the cane and get rid of him?

Mansour lay still. What a storm! he sighed. The rain went on dripping into his face, and soon he was asleep.

When the rat finally drove its teeth through the lobe of his ear, Farid managed to move his hand and drive it away. Then he too fell asleep.

There were two young friends, Hamed and Mustafa, who had been living together for several years. They had a three-room house, and each one paid half the rent. They both worked in the Fondouk ech Chijra weaving rugs. In the evening when they had finished their work, they went together to a cafe or a cinema, and then they went home. Whatever they did, they did together.

Mustafa, however, had once lived in Casablanca, and he still had friends there. One of these was a boy named Abdeslam whom he had not seen in two years, but who suddenly wrote him a letter saying that he would like to visit him in Tangier.

Mustafa knew that Hamed could not get on with the people of Casablanca, and so he spoke of the letter to him, to see what Hamed would say. He was not sure that Hamed would agree to having Abdeslam in the house.

Hamed only shrugged and said: He's coming to see you, not me. Mustafa decided that it would be all right to tell Abdeslam to come. He wanted very much to see him.

The day Abdeslam was due to arrive, they went down to the beach and waited for the bus to come in. When it drew up, Abdeslam was the first one out. He jumped down and hugged Mustafa and kissed him on both cheeks.

Abdeslam, this is Hamed, my friend.

Hamed and Abdeslam shook hands. They all got into a taxi and went to the house.

There Mustafa made tea for Abdeslam, while Hamed went out to the market to buy food for dinner. When he came back, he sat down and had tea with them. He took out his sebsi, and they began to smoke.

After they had talked a while, Mustafa could see that Hamed did not like Abdeslam at all, and he hoped there would be no trouble. It was not long before Mustafa got up and went out to buy a pack of cigarettes. When he came back he found the two glaring at one another angrily, and he felt that if he had come a moment later they would already have been fighting. However, they went on talking, and soon Hamed went out into the kitchen to cook the dinner. When it was ready, he brought it into the room and set it on the taifor. Then he cut the bread.

The three friends sat down to eat, but Hamed was not hungry. He could not swallow his food. He felt that inside him everything was shut off.

Hurry and finish, he told the others. I'm invited to the Marshan to see some Americans, and you're coming with me.

When the meal was over, they took a taxi up the hill to the Marshan. There were lights in the garden around the house. Hamed rang a bell, and an American with a glass in his hand came and unlocked the gate.

He introduced Mustafa and Abdeslam to the American.

In one room several Americans were sitting with their feet up on the tables, drinking and laughing. The three guests shook hands with all of them and sat down in a row together on a couch.

Hamed was sitting next to the door that led into the garden behind the house. He looked out at the trees and saw several large daturas there, with hundreds of big white flowers hanging down from their branches.

The American came in with pastries and coffee for the three friends, since they did not drink whiskey like the others. Hamed took out his sebsi and smoked four or five pipes of kif. After that he began to stare more intently into the garden. He was thinking of the insults Abdeslam had given him while Mustafa had been buying cigarettes.

He sat looking steadily out into the garden where the breeze made the shadows move in the leaves, and it seemed to him that behind the trees he saw the form of a woman. She was wearing a white haik, and she was waving to him.

He set the kif pipe on the table and stood up. Mustafa stared at him, seeing the expression on his face, and watched him as he walked slowly out into the garden.

Hamed never looked away from the spot where he had seen the woman. When he was under the datura trees he stood still for a long time, looking into the shadows where he knew she was standing. The white flowers gave off a strong, sweet smell.

After a while Hamed's American friend came out to see what he was doing alone in the garden for such a long time. Hamed did not realize that the man was there until he touched his shoulder. Then he jumped.

What's the matter? said the American.

Nothing. You startled me.

You look strange. What's happened?

Hamed turned around, shook his head slowly, and said in a low voice: I never knew my mother. Then he began to walk toward the door.