Mohamed Choukri - For Bread Alone

The key turned in the door and I sat up. El Kebdani came in first, then Qaabil. They looked tired.

What news? I asked el Kebdani.

He turned down the volume on the phonograph.

It’s all over, he said. A lot of Moroccans are dead or wounded.

Qaabil went into the bedroom. El Kebdani sat down facing me. Sallafa came out of the latrine.

Where have you been? she asked el Kebdani.

We had something to do.

Why don’t you admit you went to a whorehouse? she said, laughing. You went to Seoudiya el Kahala’s. Or else it was Zohra el Hamqat’s.

Before el Kebdani could answer, Qaabil shouted: Are you going to shut that dirty mouth?

Whose dirty mouth? Yours?

She went into the bedroom. El Kebdani got to his feet.

Let’s go out for a little while, he said. We can come back later.

We went out through the other door that gave onto the cliffs and the beach below. The cold wind slapped my face. We lit cigarettes and stood there. The lights of the ships anchored in the harbour were brilliant.

I’ve got something important to tell you, said el Kebdani.

What is it?

Qaabil has agreed to let you work with us tomorrow.

Yes. That is important, I said.

But on one condition. You have to stay up here at the shack tonight and all day tomorrow. At least, until the time comes to go to work.

I was thinking: That’s just what I want. It’s a condition that’s fine with me.

To him I said: But why?

I’ll tell you why. Qaabil doesn’t know you yet, and he’s afraid you might talk to somebody.

And you? You think –

He interrupted me. No! But then, I know you. I told him about you, and that persuaded him. I said you were serious and honest and tough.

Good, I said.

You see, he’s had a lot of trouble with his cargadores . He’s sure the only reason he had this run-in with the Customs and the secret police was that he used new cargadores . Half the time it’s the police themselves who send out the cargadores to work with the smugglers. That way they find out where the work’s going to be done, what time it’s going to happen, and even what’s going to be moved in. The police give them three or four times as much as the smugglers do.

I didn’t know that, I said.

They feel protected, you see. After a pause he went on: Qaabil’s a good man. The only trouble with him is that he’s stingy. If you want to get what’s coming to you, you practically have to steal it from him.

I laughed.

He’s only generous with women. With girls like Sallafa, for instance.

We both laughed. Is he jealous of her? I asked him.

He knows she’ll open her legs to anything. Even a monkey.

And in spite of that he loves her?

That’s right.

But why did he shave off her hair?

He’s crazy about her. He cut off her hair and eyebrows so she wouldn’t go very far from the shack. Sometimes she’ll wander off and stay ten days or more, and he’s like a maniac the whole time.

Where does she go when she runs away like that?

She gets drunk and stays with friends. Where would she go?

Do you think she loves him?

He laughed. Yes, she loves him, he said with irony. Does a woman like that love anybody? All she wants is the cash. I’ve heard her say it straight out. One day I heard her tell him: You’re wasting your time with me. Look for another one to love, she said. Get it into your head that I don’t love you!

And what does he say when she talks to him like that?

What do you expect him to say? Either he doesn’t answer, or he threatens to beat her up. But I’ve never seen him lift a finger to her.

I’ve noticed. But in spite of all she says, he still loves her. He’s a strange one.

He thinks she’s worked magic on him.

And you? Do you think she’s got him under a spell?

I don’t believe in spells, he said. He loves her, and that’s all there is to it.

But how did he ever manage to cut off her hair?

He got her drunk, and then he put hashish in her tea. When she passed out he got to work on her with the razor.

And when she woke up?

She smashed a few dishes and swore she’d get even with him. But she’s like him. She won’t do anything.

And Bouchra?

Bouchra’s her best friend. Sallafa goes crazy when she’s separated from her.

Hasn’t Bouchra got a lover?

I don’t know, he said slowly. I think the only one she likes is herself. She’s hard to get on with. But she’s a nice girl. Not a mean bone in her body. She only talks when she has to.

I saw that.

We lighted more cigarettes. I thought of telling him what had happened between me and Sallafa, but I was afraid he might turn out to be jealous, or might envy me for my good fortune. Or he might go out of loyalty to Qaabil and tell him.

When we went back into the shack the penetrating voice of Om Kaltoum was singing:

I’m jealous of the lucky glass that touches your lips .

And I would stop it from reaching them .

All morning Sallafa and I stayed at the shack. Qaabil and el Kebdani had gone without giving me any idea of their plans. Bouchra had decided to visit her mother, whom she had not seen in several days. I assumed that Qaabil and el Kebdani had gone to arrange for the passage of the contraband that we would be moving later.

Sallafa was cleaning the bedroom. I reclined in the sala smoking, uneasy in my mind. I called out to her: Have you got a glass of wine in there?

She loomed in the doorway. Wait a minute. We’ll open a bottle and drink it together. She smiled and disappeared.

We’ve really begun a game of love, I said to myself. The present situation here in the shack made me think of the morning long ago when the owner of the pear tree in Aïn Ketiout had shut me into his storeroom. But I also saw differences. At least I am free now to decide whether to stay or leave, even though leaving would mean breaking down the door.

I rose and stood on the divan, leaning out of the window and looking down at the sea below. The sky was cloudy and the water was rough. A few ships, both large and small, were going by. She came up and stood behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders.

What are you looking at? she murmured. I could feel the heat of her breath in my ear. Have I become her lover? Poverty and love go together. What a world!

I’m looking at the ocean. I’ve never been on a ship in my life, have you?

Who, me? Ask me instead if I’ve ever been outside Tangier. I’ve never been anywhere at all, either by land or water.

You’ve never been out of Tangier?

Never! Why would I? Where would I go? Who would I go with? I’ve got a feeling that if I should leave Tangier I’d never come back. Never! No, I’d never come back.

Why not?

I don’t know.

I turned to face her, and her eyes opened very wide, as if she were going to say: Isn’t that the right answer?

I could not go on looking at her, and I let my gaze drop. This girl was beginning to worry me. I looked at the door instead. Then she too turned towards the door, and said again: What are you looking at?

I’m looking at the door.

Why? What’s wrong with it?

Nothing.

What are you thinking about? You’re thinking of something.

I’m thinking of the door, I said.

What’s the matter with the door?

I don’t like to be locked in.

We sat down. She had put two glasses and a bottle of wine on the taifor .

It used to bother me to have somebody turn the key on me, but I’ve got used to it. She smiled.

I’m not used to it, I said. And I don’t want to get used to it, either. I might as well be in jail.