Street of Thieves

We would exchange our castles in the sky, trade Meryem’s breasts for emigration; we would meditate this way for hours, facing the Strait, and then we’d go home, on foot, him to evening prayers, me to try and catch one more glimpse of my cousin. We were seventeen, but more like twelve in our heads. We weren’t very clever.

A few months later I got my first real beating, an avalanche of blows the like of which I had never experienced before, I ended up half unconscious and in tears, from humiliation as much as from pain, my father was crying too, from shame, and he was reciting phrases of conjuration, God protect us from evil, God help us, There is no God but God, and so on, adding hits and belt lashes, while my mother moaned in a corner, she cried, too, and looked at me as if I were the devil incarnate, and when my father was exhausted, when he couldn’t hit me anymore, there was a great silence, an immense silence, they both stared at me. I was a stranger, I felt that these looks propelled me outward, I was humiliated and terrorized, my father’s eyes were full of hatred, I left at a run. I slammed the door behind me, I could hear Meryem crying from the landing and shouting through the door, the sound of slaps, insults, bitch, whore, I ran down the stairs. Once outside I realized I was bleeding from my nose, that I was in my shirtsleeves, that I had only twenty dirhams in my pocket and nowhere to go. It was the beginning of summer, fortunately, the evening was warm, the air salty. I sat down on the ground against a eucalyptus tree, I held my head in my hands and I bawled like a baby, until night fell and there was the call to prayer. I got up, I was afraid; I knew I wouldn’t go back home, that I could never go back, it was impossible. What was I going to do? I went to the neighborhood mosque, to see if I could catch Bassam as he came out. He saw me, opened his eyes wide, I motioned for him to give his father the slip and follow me. Shit, have you looked at your face? What happened? My old man caught me with Meryem, I said, and the mere memory of that instant made me clench my teeth, tears of rage filled my eyes. The shame, the terrible shame of being discovered naked, our bodies exposed, the burning shame that paralyzes me even today — shit, Bassam hissed, what a beating you must’ve got, yep, I said, yep, without going into detail. And what’re you going to do now? I have no idea. But I can’t go back home. Where’ll you sleep, asked Bassam. No idea. You have any money? Twenty dirhams and a book, that’s it. He passed me a few coins that were in his pockets. I have to go. We’ll see each other tomorrow? As usual? I said okay, and he left. I walked around the city, a little lost. I walked up Pasteur Avenue, then down to the edge of the sea by the steep little streets; there were red lights in the hostess bars, seedy-looking guys sitting in front of the windows. On the promenade, couples were strolling calmly, arm in arm, it made me think of Meryem. I went back to the harbor and climbed up to the Tombs; I sat down facing the Strait, there were beautiful lights in Spain; I pictured people dancing on the beaches, freedom, women, cars; what the hell was I going to do, without a roof, without any money? Beg? Work? I had to go home. The thought immediately destroyed me. Impossible. I stretched out and looked at the stars for a long time. I slept until the cold of dawn forced me to get up and walk around to warm myself up. I hurt everywhere, from the blows, but also from the ache of sleeping all night on the rock. If I had known what was to come, I would’ve gone meekly back home, I would have begged my father for forgiveness. If I hadn’t been so proud, that’s what I should have done, I would have avoided many more humiliations and wounds, perhaps I’d have become a grocer myself, perhaps I’d have married Meryem, perhaps this very instant I’d be in Tangier, dining in a fancy restaurant by the sea or giving my kids a thrashing, a whole litter of bawling, starving pups.