Tahar Ben Jelloun - About My Mother

My mother’s tired. The little tour around the house has distressed her. She says nothing. She’s sad, her gaze vacant. She’s gone, eyes wide open. She prays, again and again. As soon as she’s done, she calls out to Lalla Bahia, one of her first cousins, and speaks to her directly: ‘Lalla, ya Lalla, hurry up, it’s a big day, the suitors will be here soon. The most important thing is to wear no make-up. Be modest and keep your eyes lowered, don’t forget. Eyes lowered, I repeat. That’s vital, it’s paramount: you don’t realise, a young woman who stares at guests is shameless, badly brought-up, from a disreputable family. Your honour’s in your demeanour, in your silence. That’s right, look at the floor throughout, don’t look up except to thank your father and kiss his hand. Come on, Lalla, first we’ll go to the hammam, then it’s the henna ceremony.

‘Lalla Bahia’s about to be married. She’s going to leave us and we’ll weep for her. I wept so much over my marriage. How old was I? Fifteen, sixteen? I can’t remember. I was still so young. That was the tradition, we didn’t marry after the age of twenty. Can you imagine the parents’ anguish? Becoming a thing that nobody wants, a h’boura , unsold goods at the back of the shop, oh the shame. I didn’t have the time to get to the back of the shop myself. Now listen to me, Lalla Bahia, we’re not the same age, you could be my daughter. Come and sit down, take my hand and listen to my prayers. I’m going to call Keltum, so she can get the henna ready, then the two of us will go to the hammam. I love going, though I can’t really stand the heat. What luck! You won’t be left in the shop for girls that life has given up on — I mean marriage. I wed my first husband knowing nothing of life. He was a young man from a very good family, not rich but very pious and good. But God took him from me so quickly, He called him back to Him after a high fever. He was so handsome. I was pregnant. I had no time to grieve. My daughter was born and I began to nurse her. I had so much milk that I gave some to my little sister, too, she was barely six months older than my daughter. My father lamented, my mother prayed all day long. You see, Lalla Bahia, there’s no need to despair. You’ll marry and have lots of children, you have a generous belly, that’s very important, and your heart is pure. You haven’t met your future husband? That doesn’t matter, you’ll have all the time in the world to get to know him. What matters is not to lie with him before you are married. By all means lie with him, but on your wedding night. That’s the way, or it will lose its mystery. You see, I hadn’t met any of my three husbands beforehand. I didn’t complain. They’re all dead. At least I think they’re all dead, because I don’t see them any more, but where have they gone? Keltum, have you seen my husband? No, not the last one; no, the second one. No? I’m talking nonsense, that’s what it is. See, she has no respect for me. Did you hear, Lalla Bahia? Keltum’s talking to me as if I’m crazy. How rude. I’ve had enough, I’m going to dismiss her. Call my son. Tell him to dismiss Keltum. It’s quite a big house, there are lots of people, I don’t need Keltum any more. In fact, tell Lalla Batoul to send two servants. You know, Lalla Batoul, the matchmaker, the negafa with the three gold teeth. Why is Keltum laughing at me? What did I say that was so ridiculous? I’m muddling up the present and the distant past? So? Where’s the harm in that? I’m not accountable to her. Talking of accounts, she’ll have to tell me what’s happened to the million dirhams that I hid under my pillow last night. When I woke up, there was only newspaper there. I’d counted the banknotes myself — there were lots, and all different sizes. It was my son in France who gave me that money so I won’t lack for anything. Oh, I nearly forgot: tell the judge to summon my three husbands. They should be looking after me, it’s their duty …’

‘It’s hot, very hot. That’s how it is in Fez, it starts getting hot from the beginning of summer. The winter’s very cold and the summer’s very hot. I’m sweating, pass me a little orange-blossom water, it’s so refreshing. What do you mean there’s none left? I bought the flowers myself, I dried them on the terrace and, with cousin Lalla Maria, I made about ten bottles from one litre. I’m dreaming, you say? That was thirty years ago? All right, fine, but is that any reason not to let me have the orange-blossom water? What kind of thinking is that? And if I want to eat khli — you know, dried meat — if I ask you to make me a little khli tagine, you’re not going to refuse me that? The doctor says it’s not good for my diet. But what diet? I haven’t eaten anything sweet in thirty years, there’s no sugar in khli . Oh, you mean the fat, but I have a good recipe with lemons that gets rid of all the fat. Where did Keltum go? And the other woman, what’s her name? She pretends she hasn’t heard me. People are strange. The moment you need them, they turn into ghosts. Oh well, we’re in Fez, at home, Father’s come in, his face is all lit up. He’s always like that, his face is full of light. He looks happy, and tells us he’s just bought a camel. We must prepare for the slaughter. We’ll call for Larbi, the butcher, the one who married my last husband’s first wife. You know, you remember my husband, who was Fattouma’s husband, she couldn’t give him a child. He was looking for a wife, to have children, that’s why my uncle suggested he take me as a wife, even though I’d been widowed twice. He must have hesitated, because you never know, who is this woman, this bringer of doom? In the end, as luck would have it, he took me and kept poor Fattouma just in case. He repudiated her when I fell pregnant … Ah! I’ve already told that story? No, it wasn’t me, it was someone else that made it up … so Larbi, who was to have thirteen children with Fattouma, slit the camel’s throat right there in the middle of the yard. The beast shrieked like a human being. My father loved this ritual, it meant he could gather the whole family together. We knew that at the start of spring, Moulay Ahmed would go and buy a camel. Mother didn’t even need to invite anyone — as soon as the camel entered the narrow alleys of the medina, relatives would turn up and move in with us for a few days. My father adored those days. In the evenings, he’d play cards with the men, and in the daytime he’d tell the local shopkeepers how he won at cards. He was a holy man, a wonderfully sensitive man, who knew the Qur’an by heart, but he didn’t understand why women should inherit half a share and men a full one. He always spoke his mind. We were treated as equal to my brothers. What a remarkable man. I’m waiting for him, don’t go. You know, he loves you very much. You’ll see, he’ll be here in a minute and he’ll bring apples from Spain, as usual, and bananas, nuts, and dates from Arabia, as well as toys for you and your brother. He has a magnificent beard, all white, you’ll see. We must tell Keltum to bring me the pot so I can start on lunch. I can’t get up any more, but when he’s here, he’ll say a prayer and my health will be back to how it was before …’

Keltum had someone dial my number for her this morning: ‘I can’t do this any more, your mother kept us awake all night again. Not only did I not get a wink of sleep, but I had to listen to her raving, answer her, pick her up when she fell out of bed because she wanted to go to the cemetery and wake the dead who are pretending to be asleep, the dead who spend all day with her, then abandon her at nightfall. No, that’s it, I’ve had enough, I’ll end up like her, loopy and deranged. But if I fall over in some corner of the house, there’s no one to look after me. I’ve got my children and my grandchildren but they’re all thinking of themselves, I could die for all they care. No, come quick and talk to her, or send her to a head doctor so he can give her pills to calm her down and, God willing, make her sleep. Do you know, she spent the whole night looking under the bed for Mokhtar. You’re wondering who Mokhtar is? He’s the baby she thinks she had last month. In fact, he’s the nurse Halima’s little one, or rather her sister’s — she recently gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. She brought him to show us. She’s so proud of her first child, you see, she couldn’t know she was going to drive your mother crazy, because as soon as she saw him, she thought he was her own child. She wanted to feed him and started to sing a very old lullaby, then she refused to hand him back to his mother. We had to trick her into letting go of him. Halima cried and she hasn’t come back. Your mother’s obsessed with the baby, she calls him Mokhtar and she keeps asking for him. That’s what’s going on. She cries and says that the dead have gone, and taken the baby with them, that’s why she wants to be carried to the cemetery, to look for Mokhtar. That’s what I’m having to deal with. I come and go, in and out of this madness, and I don’t get a moment’s rest. I know she’s attached to me, as I am to her, but sometimes, like last night, I run out of patience. The water heater needs repairing, there’s a leak. The plumber says it needs changing, replacing with a new one, which costs money. And the pharmacist won’t give us credit any more, he won’t take cheques, he wants to be paid in cash. And I don’t know how to go to the bank. Your cheques are sitting here, what am I to do? You need to come and sort out all these problems.’