Mohamed Choukri - For Bread Alone

Faouziya, go down to the kitchen and put some water on to boil, said BouChta. At that moment Zailachi noticed the rip in my trousers at the knee.

Come into the other room with me, he told me.

We went into his room. He took a pair of flannel trousers from his bag and held them out to me. Wait until Faouziya comes and washes your cuts, he said.

I told him to bring me a glass of cognac. He went back into my room. The door into the corridor opened, and Faouziya came in carrying the tea-kettle.

Here’s the cognac, said Naima.

Take off your clothes to wash, Faouziya told me. Are you afraid of us?

I took my jacket and trousers off in front of them both, and stood in my underwear. My left elbow was skinned and bleeding. I let the two girls rub my wounds with hot water and cognac.

Zailachi was busy opening another bottle of cognac. Suddenly there was a loud knocking on the door. I started to get up to open it. The girls had finished taking care of me.

Stay where you are, said Zailachi. He set down the bottle and rose. The knocking went on, very loud.

Who is it? said Zailachi.

A hoarse voice cried: Open the door!

Naima and Faouziya grew pale. The police! murmured Naima. Only the police knock like that. They’re the only ones who ever pound that way.

Hide the bottle somewhere, said BouChta.

I was sitting on the couch. I reached out and took the bottle. I sat there holding it. Then I got up and looked out of the window. Two policemen in uniform stood in front of the entrance door downstairs.

Zailachi opened the door, and we saw two secret policemen standing there.

What took you so long? Why didn’t you open up? one of them said. Well, say something.

He slapped Zailachi. The two came into the room. I still held the bottle in my hand.

Girls and liquor, is that it? Give me that bottle.

I handed it to him. He looked at it.

So you drink Terry, do you? Your papers.

I have no papers.

He turned to BouChta. And you?

BouChta took out his identity card and handed it to him. The man glanced at it and slipped it into his pocket. Then he turned to the two girls and said: Put on your djellabas . Quick!

The other one handcuffed Zailachi and me together.

We all went downstairs to the first floor, where we found three young men and two girls with another secret policeman. Two of the young men were handcuffed together, and the third had them hanging from one hand. The officer shut the open handcuff on BouChta’s wrist. The four girls walked out first and the rest of us followed. When we were outside, the police pointed in the direction of the Place de la Casbah, saying: That way.

Two of the youths were whispering behind us. No talking! yelled a policeman.

There were two jeeps in the Place de la Casbah. The girls got into one, and we got into the other.

They’ve caught a lot of game this time, I thought.

We were sitting very close together in the jeep. When we got to the Souq ez Zra, the other car continued down towards the Zoco de Fuera. Ours stopped there at the Brigada Criminal. There in an office they searched us one by one, taking away our belts, shoestrings and money. All they left us was our cigarettes and matches. One of the three other youths had a small knife in his pocket.

What’s this supposed to be for? asked the policeman who was searching him. No? All right, we’ll see about that later.

After they had taken down our names they turned us over to a man with keys in his hand. Zailachi and I followed him down a narrow corridor until he stopped in front of a door. As he was opening it, one of the men who had brought us in the jeep came up. He pushed us through a doorway into a room where a light bulb hung down from the ceiling. Three other prisoners sat in the room, but one of them was asleep. The policeman unfastened the handcuffs, stepped outside, and slammed the door.

Everything they do here is part of the punishment, I thought. My left wrist hurt a little, and I rubbed it. I looked at the door that was reinforced with metal plates, and reflected that this door was stronger than any of the doors that had shut me in before. The doors are getting tighter. Here I am, finally, in a real prison. Zailachi sat down on the floor with his arms on his knees. Sit down, he said.

I sat beside him facing the two young men who were awake. The floor was cold as ice. Great spots of dampness covered the walls and ceiling. In one corner of the room was a latrine hole with a water tap directly above it. Whatever they give you here they give in a way that makes it all a part of the punishment, I thought. I glanced at the hole in the corner. The stench that came up from it made me feel sick to my stomach. Zailachi brought out a pack of cigarettes and passed it around. The one who was sleeping sat bent over with his head resting on his folded arms.

Zailachi pointed in his direction. What’s the matter with him? he asked the others.

He’s drunk.

He’s better off like that, in this cold, said Zailachi.

The two young men were shivering.

How long have you been in here? Zailachi asked them.

The same one who had spoken before answered now. They arrested us this afternoon. We were playing cards in the Café Debbou.

The other one smoked silently, looked at the floor. He raised his head only to take a long pull on his cigarette from time to time. Then later, his head down, he would exhale, and the smoke would look like someone’s breath on a cold morning.

By the time morning came, we were all shivering with the cold. Each time one of us got up to use the latrine the others crouched further forward, staring at the floor. And the smell grew worse. The young man who had been asleep during the night drank a great deal of water, the same as Zailachi and I. It was the great thirst of the morning after drinking. Zailachi stood up and began to do exercises. He was in a good mood.

Get up and do this if you want to get warm, he told me.

No, I said.

Each time he made a vigorous gesture the others glanced up. I watched him during the entire time he did his gymnastics.

Get up! he said. What’s the matter with you? There’s nothing better if you want to stop feeling the cold.

The cuts on my knee and my elbow hurt. They’ll begin to bleed again if I start doing that.

He did not say any more. He was beginning to pant, and his motions were growing slower. He walked over to the latrine hole and spat into it. He turned on the water tap and washed his hands and face, wetting his hair and smoothing it back. He squatted, urinated, washed his sex, and then washed the hand that had washed the sex. He drank a little more water and came back to sit in his place on the floor with his hands on his knees. Drops of water ran from his chin and from the tips of his fingers. He bent his head forward. Little by little he began to breathe normally. Then he raised his head towards me. We looked at each other smiling for a moment, and then he burst out laughing. This made me laugh too.

The sons of whores! he said. They caught us the way a cat catches a mouse.

Where do you think they’ve taken the girls? I said.

The Zoco Chico police station. Where else would they take them?

Do you think it will be a morals charge? I asked him.

I don’t believe so. We weren’t making any trouble. They found us drinking with two whores, that’s all.

How many days do you think they’ll keep us here?

Not later than Monday or Tuesday, he said. Today’s Saturday. After a pause he went on: You’re lucky. BouChta too. He’s just a tailor.

I’m lucky? I cried, astonished.

Yes. You’ve never been convicted of anything. You’ve never been in jail. But I have, and they may accuse me of a new robbery or something.