Mohamed Choukri - For Bread Alone

It’s not my fault.

The waves had begun to spill into the boat.

Listen, I said. You take care of bailing it out. I’ll tie the other oar at the stern and try to steer.

The current is taking us towards El Menar. We’ll hit the rocks there unless we’re lucky.

We’ll take care of that when we get near the shore, I said.

My whole life depends on this boat, Boussouf declared.

The current’s not going to take us any farther than Villa Harris, I told him.

You’re trying to tell me what the current will do around here? You don’t know anything about it. But tell me this. How much are you going to pay me if my boat gets smashed up?

We’ll try not to let that happen, I said.

I want to know now. How much are you going to give me?

I’ll give you twice as much as we agreed on.

What? Six thousand francs?

That’s right.

And for six thousand francs –

The boat tipped violently, and he fell over backwards. Quickly I brought the oar-handle down on his left shoulder, and then on his right one.

You damned coward! he roared.

Shut up, or I’ll throw you in.

You’ll see later.

I cupped my groin in my hand and shook the mass at him.

You’ll suck this for me! I cried.

He lay back on the seat-board of the prow, without trying to get up again. I busied myself taking off my belt, and started to attach it to the oarlock at the stern. At that moment he came at me with the oar-handle. I ducked, and the oar slipped out of his hands onto the floor of the boat. We grappled, and I kneed him in the groin. Then I pushed him backwards.

I grabbed the oar-handle, and he began to yell: No! No! His eyes looked as though they would pop out of his head, and his face had turned very pale.

Sit still, or you go into the water, I told him.

The oar I had been trying to fix to the stern was now floating far behind us. Keeping the oar-handle in one hand, I began to scoop out the water with an oil can. The boat was turning round and round as it went along on the current. After a moment I tossed the can at him.

It’s your turn now.

He took the can and set to work silently bailing out the water. I thought of Naima. Perhaps she is still asleep. She’s up there dreaming while I’m here fighting with this bear. I don’t know why I keep her with me. It’s not love, that’s certain. It may be just habit. Perhaps it’s merely her indifference. She has no blisters on her palms, no beer bottle has hit her hand, she does not know the sweet salt taste of her blood in her mouth. When she wakes up she will wash and go downstairs in her nightgown to talk with the night-watchman or the proprietor. If one of the clients of the hotel invites her into his room I think she is not likely to refuse. She once said: The only excuse for love is marriage. I replied: I’m afraid marriage would mean the end of love. What keeps us together is the fact that neither of us belongs completely to the other. Thus there is always that element of uncertainty between us.

We were drifting nearer to the beach at Villa Harris. The waves rise and crash before rolling onto the shore. The water is full of sand. Fishermen have often assured me that sharks never go near cloudy water. We got ready to jump out. I was the first overboard. I swam underwater for as long as I could hold my breath. Then I raised my head above the water and turned. Boussouf was coming close behind me. The waves would raise me very high, and then let me drop straight down, into what seemed like an abyss. I’m carrying my death on my shoulders now, I thought. Once I had gone to visit my friend Manolo in the hospital, and he had cried out: Oh, my God! Take me out of this suffering! He had tried to commit suicide, because he had a fatal disease of the lungs. But the nuns in the hospital had managed to keep him alive.

I swallowed some water, and for an instant began to dog-paddle, as if I were swimming in a well. I got my breath back, and explored the bottom to see how deep it was. My feet touched the sand, and I stood up. A wave pounded over me. I swallowed more water. Then I ran up onto the beach.

Stand up! I yelled to Boussouf. It’s shallow! I did not know whether he had heard me or not. He kept swimming until he had landed on the beach. The boat was grounded a good way down the shore.

Boussouf stood up, looked first at the boat and then at me, frowning. He’s looking at me now as if I were a lamb he was getting ready to roast. If I let myself be afraid of him, it’ll be the end of me. If he beats me up he’ll take everything I’ve got on me. He’ll go off and leave me here naked.

He came nearer, and I backed up. Let’s go and see how the boat is, I said.

He began to walk along the beach, a few steps ahead of me. The boat was touching the sand and moving with the waves. We worked a while trying to pull it further up onto the sand. It was hard work.

When we had finished, he stood looking down at it. There must be some broken places, he said.

Where? I don’t see any.

I know! he cried. I know my boat!

What’s the matter now? I said.

This is going to cost you ten thousand francs!

Why should it cost ten thousand francs?

Are you going to pay me or not?

No, I’m not. I told you I’d give you six thousand.

All right!

His fist hit the left side of my face, and bright lights exploded in my eyes. I backed up a few steps so as not to fall. Then he attacked like a bull. If I let him get hold of me, he’s going to break my ribs, I thought, jumping out of his way, so that his attack ended in a clumsy swinging at the air. It had suddenly begun to rain, and it rained harder each second.

Come here, you son of a whore! he bellowed. Do you think you’re going to catch me off my guard now? Like you did in the boat? Come on!

I kept ducking his lunges, and he continued to follow me along, shouting and gesticulating. I mustn’t waste my energy, I thought. I’ve got to let him be the one to do the attacking.

He had begun to laugh and make gestures to entice me nearer to him, so that we would fight hand to hand. You’re a coward! he yelled. But who’s going to help you now?

I did not answer.

Suddenly he sprang forward and grabbed my hips. I seized his neck between my hands. Then I brought my right knee fast up to his face. He raised his head. I began to pummel his face. Suddenly he yelled and bent down. Then he fell over, holding his foot with both hands. The blood ran not only from his nose, but also from the under part of his foot. Then I saw something that glistened. It was a broken bottle buried in the sand, like an artichoke. The cut was very deep. I have no idea why it made me happy to see the blood being absorbed by the sand in the pouring rain. It made me feel that the rain itself was the sky bleeding. I thought of the sheep whose throat they had cut, back in the Rif, when they had filled a bowl with its blood and made my mother drink it. I counted out 6,000 francs in wet bills, folded them, and tossed them onto the sand beside Boussouf. Then I turned and walked away. Behind me I heard him crying: Come back here, you son of a whore! Come back here and I’ll spit up your ass!

As I got to the highway, I saw the bus from El Menar coming. I began to wave, and it stopped. The rear door opened. I got in and handed a wet 1,000-franc bill to the conductor.

What’s the matter? he said. What happened to you?

No. Everything’s all right, I said.

The passengers turned to stare at me as I went forward along the aisle. There were only seven or eight of them. I looked out of the window towards the beach. There he is, only now limping towards the rowboat.

After I got off the bus in the Zoco de Fuera I noticed many people staring at me. Two women walking under one tiny umbrella behind me were discussing me. One turned to the other. That poor boy, she said. And the other replied: Yes. What do you suppose could have happened to him?