The Boy Who The Set Fire and Other Stories (8 page)

In a little while some drunken Spaniards came out into the garden. One of them leaned against the wall, and a woman came and put her arms around his neck and began to kiss him. Then they would talk, and then kiss some more. This went on for nearly an hour.

Later the two English women came out. We were wondering where you were, they said, looking at Mr. James, and I could see that they had just been talking about him. Then they went back into the house. A friend of the two who were kissing came and took them into the bar. I was thinking that the English women were crazy. On the telephone they had said they were very angry, but when Mr. James was there with them they talked and joked with him as if they were his friends.

I’m sleepy, I told Mr. and Mrs. James. I’m going to bed. I went upstairs to the room where they had put me. It had a sewing-machine in it, and there were piles of old sheets and towels lying around. I had to go through Mr. James’s room to get into it. I pulled the spread off the bed the woman had told me was mine. There was a dirty blanket under the spread, and no sheets. The mattress was very old and filthy. Then I looked at the second bed. It had one sheet. I lay down on the bed they had given me, but I could not sleep. The room was over the bar, and there was flamenco noise and loud dancing going on. I lay on one side and the other, and on my back, and people cried:
Olé!
and all the time I was wondering if I would ever get to sleep.

A little later I heard footsteps, and someone opened the door of my room. I saw the Englishman’s wife come in. She was holding one hand behind her. She’s got a knife, I said to myself, and she’s coming to use it on me. She walked toward my bed, and I was getting ready for her. Then I saw her other hand. There was nothing in it. But she kept coming, until she was beside the bed. Then she bent over and picked up a roll of electric cord that was lying on the floor. I decided that she was going to pass the wire behind my head and try to strangle me with it. I reached out and pushed away the hand that was holding the wire. She was startled. It’s all right. It’s all right, she said. Go to sleep.

She carried the wire with her out of the room and shut the door. I sat up and smoked a cigarette. The noise down in the bar went on and on. No matter what I did, I couldn’t fall asleep.

Finally the people left and they shut the bar. It was quiet for a few minutes. Then I heard a very loud bang, and voices in Mr. James’s room. I jumped out of bed, and opened the door. I found the two English women, both very drunk, standing over Mr. James’s bed, yelling at him. He had bolted his door, and between them they had broken it open.

Mr. James was sitting on his bed in his pyjamas with his head in his hands. Get up! they were saying. We’re ready to talk to you now. He looked at his watch. But it’s after three, he said. I want to sleep.

Ah, you want to sleep! They began to laugh very loud. But you’re not going to sleep! You think you can just lock your door and go to bed? Put your clothes on, and come outside. We want to talk to you.

Get out of here, you Riffian! Go back into your room and shut the door! cried the mother of the girl.

I looked her up and down, and said: A whole family of whores. If you weren’t whores you wouldn’t break into a man’s room and stand over his bed and scream at him. Only whores do that.

The two women ran out of the room. Mr. James was putting on his clothes. When he was dressed, he went to his wife’s room. She had heard all the noise and shouting, and was calling out to him.

I stood in the corridor, and when Mr. and Mrs. James came out of her room, we all went into the dining-room, where the two women stood with glasses of gin in their hands. Their eyes were very narrow. They began to tell Mr. James that they understood what he was doing, and that he was trying to make his wife sicker than she was, because he wanted to get rid of her. He would not speak to them. He only shrugged his shoulders.

I know what you want, I told them. I told Mr. James when we were on the boat. Those people want money, I said. Even before I’ve seen those English people I don’t like them.

The Englishman’s wife came over to me and said slowly:
Hijo de puta
. Then she slapped me, trying to hit my cheek, but I ducked, and she hit my neck. I punched her in the face with the back of my hand. She fell against the door and came back to hit me again. Then I slapped her hard with my left hand, and she went onto the floor. I lifted her up and pushed her against the table. The dishes broke and fell on the rug. By that time I was angry. There was an Arab sword hanging on the wall. I yanked it down.

I’m going to finish you off, you and your race! I told her. We’ll all go to jail tonight except you. You’re only an English whore and I’m a Riffian!

The woman’s sister screamed and ran into the lavatory. She shut the door and bolted it, and began to pound on it with her shoe, screaming all the time. The Englishman’s wife ran into the kitchen. I ran after her, trying to chop the top of her head with the sword. Then Mrs. James came up to me and took the sword out of my hand.

I went to my room and threw my clothes into my suitcase. I heard the English woman calling: Rifi! Rifi! If you’re a Riffian, speak Riffian! What kind of Riffian are you?

When I came out into the corridor I saw her at the other end, peeking around the corner. I’m a Riffian! I shouted. What are you? An English Jewess, that’s what you are. That’s nothing much.

Jewess! she screamed. I’m not Jewish! I’m English!

The girl came up the stairs. The banging in the lavatory went on, and she could hear her mother shouting: Help! Help! The girl stood a minute, and then went and told her mother to come out. The woman cried and laughed, and her face was very white. At the same time the Englishman came downstairs reading a book. I stood with my valise in my hand, and looked at his head. It was like a watermelon, and his nose was like a rhaita. His wife said to him: Here he is! Speak to him in Riffian and see!

He looked over his glasses at me and said:
Mismiuren?
Mismiuren means: What’s going on? But I did not want to speak Riffian.

I don’t understand what you’re saying, I told him.

He hung his head, and his wife cried: You see? He’s not a Riffian.

I’m not like your husband, I told her. I haven’t eaten donkey’s ears. Look at him. He can’t even lift his head. Any other man, when he hears his wife insulting somebody, speaks to her and makes her stop.

The woman began to shout:
Mierda! Mierda!

I spit at her three times. She only shouted at her husband: Why don’t you speak to him in Riffian?

I said to him: Yes. And why don’t you speak to her in Hebrew? You need a lot more time if you want to learn Riffian. You think you know something about the Riffians? All you ever saw of them was their teeth when they smiled at you. They never let you find out the important things.

I went into Mrs. James’s room and helped her pack her bags. I squeezed them all shut, and then I went to help Mr. James. When all their luggage was in the corridor, the girl came upstairs and told me: Wait. I’ll turn on the light. I carried everything down and put it into the car, started the motor, and drove around to the front door. It was half past four in the morning, but I began to blow the horn, over and over. The Spaniards leaned out of their windows to watch. I looked at the house and said:
Inaal din d’babakum
.

Mr. James came down with his wife. I helped her into the front, and he got into the back. I shut the car door and spat at the house. Then I drove off.

I was very nervous going through Granada, and Mr. and Mrs. James were afraid of an accident, because they saw how I felt. We drove out of the city, went a few kilometers, and stopped for gasoline. It was still dark.

Mr. James got out while the Spaniard filled the tank. Then I asked for some water. He gave me a clay jar to drink from. The water was cold and sweet.

We went on our way. I was driving slowly, the way they liked me to drive. It began to get light. This is a good trip, I told them. It’s cool and there are trees everywhere, and the wind smells good, and you can see the mountains far away. It’s a good place to be driving through.

They both said I was right.

We came to a village and stopped. There was a café that was open. We all went in. Mr. and Mrs. James were very tired, and they sat down at a table near the door. I went and ordered a
café con leche
and a pastry for each of us. I started with a glass of orange juice, and Mrs. James gave me her pastry. We talked about the English people. Mr. and Mrs. James both said I had been right, but Mrs. James told me: I thank Allah you didn’t manage to hit the woman’s head with the sword.

Then we started to drive again, still very slowly. We were all so sleepy that our eyes were ready to shut. The road was nothing but curves. When we got to the mountains above Malaga it was full of trucks coming up and going down. A dangerous road. The foot brakes were not working at all, but we got to Malaga and went to the hotel. It was not yet seven o’clock.

We carried the luggage into the hotel, took three rooms, and went to bed. At noon we had to get up to go and see the doctor. I was up at eleven thirty, and I called Mr. and Mrs. James. We had some coffee and went out.

At the doctor’s office Mr. and Mrs. James sat down to wait, and I went to look for the agency to return the car. I couldn’t find it, no matter which street I took. Finally I parked the car and went to ask a policeman. He explained where the place was. I walked there, and told them they would have to go with me to get the car. A Spaniard went out with me, and we walked to where I had parked the car. He drove it back to the agency. On the way at a cross-street he put on the brakes. We kept going, so that he hit another car. I began to laugh, because he had found it out himself. When we got to the agency he went in and scolded the girl. Why do you go on giving cars to people without checking on the brakes? They might have had an accident.

It was lucky the car had a good driver, I told him.

He gave me the change and apologized. I went back to the doctor’s office. They were talking with him. When they finished we all got into the elevator, and a nurse came along with us. We managed to get a taxi at the door, and drove to the hospital. It was outside the city in an orchard. Some nuns led Mrs. James away, and Mr. James stood talking to the Mother.

When Mr. James and I got to the port in Tangier, the sun was very hot and there was a strong wind blowing. He said he was glad to be on the other side of the water from the women in Granada. We passed through the customs and I drove him home.

T
HERE WAS A YOUNG MAN
named Qaqo who lived in Tchar ej Jdid with his mother. The woman spent her days gathering wood in the forest. She would load it on her back and take it to the town, where she sold it to the bakers for their ovens. While his mother was in the forest looking for wood, Qaqo stood near a café selling pastries for a peseta apiece. If there were any left over at night, he would get up at six o’clock the next morning and sit in the doorway of the café, and the men who were having breakfast there would buy them all. Then he would go home and make fresh pastries. He took them to the oven to have them baked, and when they were done he would pile them on a tray and go to stand outside the café. By the time he got home his mother would have sold her wood and be in the house cooking dinner.

One evening when Qaqo got home she was not there. He waited a long time for her, and when she did not come, he started out to look for her. He climbed up the mountain to Sidi Amar, then by Rmilats and Donabo, and from there to Ain del Ouis and the entrance to Mediouna, and up to Bouiba del Hallouf, at the highest part of the mountain.

In the moonlight there on the trail he saw something dark. Then he heard a voice crying: Ay yimma! Ay yimma! and he knew it was his mother lying on the ground.

What’s the matter?

I’m sick! she said. And nobody came by to help me.

He unstrapped her from the pile of wood, lifted her up, and carried her on his back until he got to the highway. There some strangers passing by in a car helped him get her back to Tchar ej Jdid.

Qaqo put his mother to bed and made her a little harira. After she had drunk it, she fell asleep. And he spent the whole night sitting beside her and wondering.

In the morning she awoke, and saw Qaqo sitting there.

How do you feel? he asked her.

A little better, son.

Shall we eat? I’ve got everything ready. He brought her a bowl of harira, and mint tea with bread and honey. He watched her happily while she ate and drank. Then he said to her: Tell me all about it. What happened yesterday?

Yes, son, I’ll tell you. Yesterday I didn’t go where I usually go to look for the wood. I climbed down by the ocean and found a new place where there was wood everywhere. But there was a big hole in the ground near it, and when I looked down in I saw piles of bones. I went on as fast as I could and turned to the left, and I came to two big boulders, and the top of the mountain was above my head, very high, and the rocks went straight down to the sea on the other side. I went nearer, and between the two boulders there was an old woman with long white hair. She called to me, so I stopped. Then she came out, and I ran back. And she came running after me. I got out of the forest and ran toward the little farm up the road. There were two dogs, and they came out and began to bark. I turned around, and I saw her going back into the woods. Then I felt very sick, and walked around, and fell down. And it wasn’t a woman that came after me, either. It was an affrita.