Bensalem Himmich - My Torturess

While the judge was involved with his various phones, my mind kept swinging to and fro between an effort to pick up as much as possible of what he was saying and the thought of that lovely, gentle, and sweet secretary I had just met. The very thought of her provided a ray of sunshine and hope in the long night of my stay in this awful center — all of which calmed my much troubled spirit.

Here’s part of what the judge was saying on the phone:

“Quite right, Your Excellency. What they’re telling us is true: prisoner number 67 behaved in a disgusting and debauched manner in the cafeteria. He exposed his bottom in public and then started waving it around. He must be punished and made an example. But it shouldn’t be by castration, something about which I’ve expressed my strong reservations to Your Excellency before. Above all, unforeseen consequences. . Yes, that’s true, there have been eunuchs throughout the course of history, and it’s also the case that failures in such cases have been rare, and so you can’t judge things on that basis. So your opinion in this matter is the one that counts. . Exactly so, Your Excellency. So farewell, and my warmest regards to you!”

I have no idea whether this was a real conversation or the judge was faking it. At any rate, once it was over, the judge kept talking to himself.

“My predecessor in this job, Judge Faysal al-Hawi, declared castration to be legal and justified its practice on the basis of precedents whose only possible rationalization involved the use of entirely arbitrary judgment and coercion. He claimed that the arguments were definitive, whereas in my book they’re speculative. The use of the tradition of castrating eunuchs in the harem and slaves goes back to an era that is long past. The fact that the Turkish soldiers brought in by the Abbasid caliphs decided to castrate the caliph of one day and night, Ibn al-Mu‘tazz, is a decision that will work against them rather than for them on the Day of Judgment. In short, I don’t go along with that judge’s mode of reasoning or its application. .”

He suddenly stopped his ruminations and addressed me directly.

“What about you?” he asked, staring straight at me. “What do you think of castration as a punishment?”

“Invalid both intellectually and legally,” I hurriedly replied. “A heretical act that rides roughshod over the rights of men. Anyone who orders its implementation will go straight to hell — and ‘evil is the resort.’”

“Bravo!” he responded. “So you agree with me and support my views. Na‘ima, come back in here. .”

The secretary came in with a washing bowl and started pouring water on to her boss’s hands. He kept rubbing them with soap over the bowl. When he had finished, he dried his hands with a towel. She handed him a bottle from which he sprayed his bald pate, and his neck, back and front. She then carried the bowl out of the room.

The judge now noticed that I was there and told me to come over and sit by him.

“Wow,” he yelled, “just look at Hamuda! Unbelievable! The new look Hamuda, I do declare! All praise be to Him who changes conditions and faces! What’s brought you here? But first of all, tell me how the soccer game went. People tell me your star was in the ascendant during the game!”

“My dear Judge,” I responded, unable to conceal my sarcasm, “my team used a good deal of bodily skill to score a large number of goals through clever passing and powerful shots at goal, but we were eventually defeated through an overwhelming force. My sandals were ripped apart, and I was subjected to all kinds of physical violence. You now see me before you, my body completely crushed and my feet bare. Only God is the victor. .”

“I’m going to get you some Nike sneakers as a gift,” he responded sympathetically, “and some vitamin pills to build up your strength again. Na’ima, come back in. Do you want tea or coffee?”

I indicated that I did not want either of them. She came quietly over with a nice smile.

“This young lady, Na‘ima,” he told me, pointing at her, “knows the language well — a bounty from God in person! — and does not pronounce words oddly. Thus far, Hamuda, you’ve met two secretaries, one of them debauched and fierce, the other modest and malleable. In this young lady I have at last discovered the prize jewel in the necklace — that center wherein lies my own faith and my legal focus. Nothing excessive or negligent, nothing too strong or too weak, neither recklessness nor cowardice. She is no spendthrift, but no miser either. And, Hamuda, something that concerns you a lot, she neither chatters needlessly nor remains silent.”

He now stopped this flow of verbiage and busied himself lighting his pipe. I glanced at the girl and noticed that her eyelids were closed and her lovely smooth cheeks were blushing bright red because she was so embarrassed. Even so, I was able to enjoy looking at her until the pipe-smoking judge decided to resume his salvo of verbiage, projecting sentences in all directions without anyone having the vaguest idea about either the thoughts that were supposed to tie them together or the logic involved.

“Yes indeed,” he said, “I mustn’t forget. This girl and you are both fellow citizens of the Arab country of Morocco. If you asked her now to sing the national anthem, she could do it with a military salute and with unparalleled enthusiasm. She can remember by heart the names of hundreds of dancing and singing stars, both Arab and worldwide. But she’s a believing Muslim, so she never hangs any pictures of them around her neck, or any talismans either. We’re short of time, or else I’d allow her to tell you the life story of one of them. .”

He paused for a moment to refill his pipe.

“Na‘ima has a burning and defiant nationalist sentiment,” he said as he continued smoking. “No sooner do I provoke her by saying something like ‘Egypt is the mother of the world’ than she immediately reacts by saying: ‘And Morocco is its father!’ I never argue with her. Today I’m an Egyptian on the surface, but an Arab nationalist in essence. A while ago, Egypt was indeed ‘the mother of the world,’ but today, well. . oh dear! You’re telling me that a country seething with downtrodden, unemployed layabouts is the mother of the world?! A country that fosters groups such as al-Takfir wa-al-Hijra* and Brotherhood this and that, a state that is in such straits, the mother of the world?! When a country shows no comprehensive growth and cannot present a democratic ideal, how can we term it ‘mother of the world’? No, no, it’s better to say no more. I can no longer enter Egypt safe and sound. I should go back to our sister land, Morocco. Now there’s a country — all praise to the all-powerful Creator! — just a stone’s throw from Europe but with roots firmly in Africa — both steeped in tradition and contemporary in its values, a land that can bring opposites together and reconcile the irreconcilable. Just to give one example, this young woman has two separate degrees, she prays the five daily prayers — even though she may do them all at once or delay them; she fasts during Ramadan, although, in accordance with the demands of her job or her monthly course she may arrange things as required. She does not earn enough to give alms and has never performed the pilgrimage to Mecca because of a lack of means. But, in spite of it all, Na‘ima is not shy in seeking her share of this life on earth. Previously, she’s worked in publicity organizations, danced at weddings and receptions, and embellished her résumé by being crowned beauty queen in. . Remind me again, which city, Na‘ima?”

I suspect that, like me, Na‘ima was about to explode in anger. Even so, she managed to reply.

“Sefrou, Your Excellency,” she told him. “If I remember correctly, it’s in the southeast, in the province of Fez.”