Abdellatif Laabi - The Bottom of the Jar

Another spectator took the joking further and belched, emitting a stupendous burp, letting everyone know — all messages were coded — how he would have loved to feast on such a fleshy-looking bird.

The images that followed made the audience shut their beaks. The magic of the incomprehensible. They spoke of troubles in faraway lands: a flawlessly choreographed military parade, a grand dame baptizing the hull of a ship with a bottle, important men shaking hands, a factory where machines had replaced workers, a castle ballroom where a dance was being held, an ancient street where a blind man was playing the accordion. The rooster then crowed again before moving on to local news, where the images became more familiar. The audience loosened up and reacted to the images ad hoc. The appearance of a fellow Moroccan astride a donkey that was trotting along in the open countryside caused an outburst of hilarity.

“ Cha !” someone shouted at the donkey.

“ Rra !” another shouted.

“ Tikouk, tikouk !” cried a third with a straight face, convinced that he would be able to startle the beast of burden.

Snap! It rolled to another scene. The donkey driver was now in a room, bare-chested. A French doctor was examining him. He made him open his mouth, pressed down on his biceps, turned him this way and that, and then finally swabbed his forearm. Snap-snap! A ceremony taking place in front of a caid’s tent. An officer heavily decked out in insignias and with a kepi on his head was pinning a medal to an official sporting a djellaba and a burnous. The voice-over specified that the Moroccan man in question was a close friend of France.

“Boo! Boo!” resounded through the room, then followed by a “Hush!”

Unable to hold it in any longer, some foolhardy loudmouth broke the silence and shouted, “Long live independence!”

The audience held its breath.

The next reel brought some much-needed relief before sparking allout jubilation. Could it be? Fez’s municipal stadium came into view followed by a few highlights from the match between MAS and Roches Noires. The reel focused primarily on the goal scored by the visitors and accorded only five seconds to Couscous’s equalizer. The whole room broke into the MAS chant to celebrate his feat:

We’re going to the stadium

Oh champions of ours

Pass us the ball

Don’t forget about us. .

The trailer advertising the following week’s film restored a tenuous calm. Then came the long-awaited moment. The opening credits rolled, the atmosphere began to heat up. Thanks to his reputation as a man of the law, Gary Cooper was greeted as a hero. Regardless of his actions, as far as the public was concerned he could do no wrong. They urged him on whether he killed bandits or Indians. They warned him about gunmen lying in ambush that he hadn’t spotted, especially when they would sneak up on him from behind. When he gained the upper hand in a brawl and dealt his adversaries a decisive blow, they started to count the punches: five, six, seven. . Needless to say, they were impatient to see the kisses too. Whistles and sucking sounds could be heard as soon as the heroine made her appearance. And when she hit it off with Gary Cooper and their lips drew close, most either sighed longingly or made quick-witted remarks that were accompanied by heavy slaps on their thighs.

“Drink up, cousin.”

“Oh take pity on me, little mother.”

“It’s God who provides.”

Namouss didn’t join in with these verbal excesses, but neither did they bother him much. He was a prude, though without being conscious of it. He would get swept away by the action, sure, but in between the shooting matches and fistfights, he’d take in other elements offered up quietly during the horseback rides and the dismounts: breathtaking mountains and rivers, the chiaroscuro sculpting faces at a campsite, and — why not? — the feelings that emerged, knotting and unknotting as the characters interacted on an emotional level. How free they were, tied down to nothing but where their thirst for adventure might lead them next. Could he not compare them with Driss, Ghita, and all the others? Which of these characters did he resemble the most? Who should he aspire to be? Not for a single moment did he question the reality of what he saw on the screen. In that sense, he wasn’t that far removed from the others in the audience all around him, who took this theater of shadows at face value.

CHANGE OF SCENE. Destination: the Boujeloud cinema. A different kind of atmosphere, and the venue for a very special occasion: Ghita’s initiation into the world of cinema, which Namouss witnesses in the company of his sister Zhor.

Driss spared no expense this time. He gave his wife enough money to purchase tickets for balcony seats so she could avoid mixing with the clientele on the ground floor, which consisted only of men. Namouss could hardly believe his eyes when the usher led them into an honest-to-God box, where seats upholstered in velour were waiting for them, and where he had an armchair all to himself that was larger and softer than the mattress he slept on. This uncustomary luxury was not without consequences. For a good part of the show, Namouss had to struggle against falling asleep and was only able to follow the narrative — and his mother’s reaction to it — intermittently.

When the lights went out and the first images flashed across the screen, Ghita’s reaction to it made her cinephile son smile.

“ Wili, wili !” she exclaimed. “A power cut! We’re off to a good start. Are we going to watch the show in the dark or what? It’s as if we were at the hammam.”

Displaying a remarkable aptitude for pedagogy, Zhor shed some light on the situation.

“They have to switch the lights off at the cinema, Mother, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to see the images.”

“Oh good, I didn’t know that. But the dark makes my heart race, sweetheart.”

“Just be patient, dear Mother. Look, the film is starting. Here’s Farid al-Trash.”

“Is that him? That’s not how I imagined him. He has a crooked mouth. And he’s cross-eyed, too. You see that?”

“Stop it! He has a golden voice. Just wait until he starts to sing, then you’ll see.”

“What’s he waiting for then? He’s just babbling on and on and on. I can’t understand a word he’s saying.”

“He’s telling his friend that he’s going to meet a girl who has stolen his heart.”

“Where is she?”

“She’ll show up soon. It’s Samia Gamal, the dancer. You’ll spot her.”

“Finally someone’s going to show up! If you say he’s doe-eyed, then she must really be something.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet. Just wait until she starts dancing.”

“Why didn’t they start with that? Singing and dancing is what I like, it soothes my heart. I’ve had my fill of idle chatter. Come on, fellas, get a move on and treat us to some hypnotic dancing!”

“Here we go! Look!”

“Allah, that’s what I wanted! Oh yes! We haven’t wasted our money. Give thanks to the Prophet! Her skin is like ivory and she’s as slender as bamboo. Look at how she sways her hips! It’s as if she didn’t have any bones. May God make sure her parents guard her. But, tell me, is she going to marry that man with the crooked mouth? What a shame! He doesn’t deserve her. His friend would be a better match for her.”

“He’s already married, Mother.”

“So what? All he has to do is get divorced and marry Samia Gamal instead.”

“But she’s in love with Farid.”

“Girls today don’t have any taste, even when real beauty is right in front of their eyes. But it’s true, greed can blind you. That Farid must be very rich, that’s why she prefers him.”