Street of Thieves

Before I went to see Bassam, I remember, I took a swim. It was a fine spring morning, I had slept in a crevice at the bottom of the cliff, toward Cape Spartel, a few miles away from the center of Tangier, after downing a can of tuna and a heel of bread, sooty from a fire made from a wooden crate and some newspapers. I had wrapped myself up in the long wool coat stolen from a market that had accompanied me all winter, and I had dozed off, lulled by the surf. In the morning the Mediterranean was calm, calm and dark blue, the rising sun gently caressed the sandy places between the rocks. I was freezing, but I desired this beauty, this liquid rest too much. The water was terribly cold. I warmed up a little by swimming fast to the north, a few hundred feet maybe, the current was strong, I had to struggle to get back to the coast. I collapsed on a stretch of sand, in the sun; there was no wind, just the warm caress of the silica, I fell asleep again, exhausted and almost happy. When I woke up two or three hours later, the April sun was beating down and I was starving. I ate the rest of the bread from the day before, drank a lot of water; I folded the coat up in my bag, put my clothes into some sort of order — my shirt was torn in the armpit, and it had grease spots on the back; my pants were completely threadbare at the cuffs; you could no longer make out the stripes on my grey jacket, which I got from an Islamic solidarity center for the poor. I felt in shape, despite everything. Bassam would slip me a clean shirt and a pair of pants. I hadn’t seen him since the end of December, since I left for Casa; he had helped me as much as he’d been able, by giving me a little money, some food, and even, once, news of Meryem: her mother had sent her to live at her sister’s house in the remote depths of the Rif. Might as well be in prison. Bassam was still making castles in the sky about going to Spain, and the last time we’d seen each other, still in the same place, facing the Strait, facing the unattainable Tarifa, he had said to me Don’t worry. Go to Casa and when you come back I’ll have found a way to get us to the other side. I still didn’t see what we were supposed to do in Spain without papers and without money, aside from begging, ending up getting arrested, and deported, but still, it was a nice dream.

I went to his house around noon; I knew his father would be at work. Rediscovering the neighborhood streets stung my heart. I walked very quickly, taking care not to pass by the family grocery store, I reached Bassam’s building, ran up the steps and knocked on his door like a madman, as if I were being followed. He was there. He recognized me right away, which reassured me about my looks. He had me come in. He sniffed me and told me I didn’t stink too badly, for a bum. That made me laugh. That might be true, but I’d still like to take a shower and eat a little, I said. I felt as if I had finally arrived somewhere. He handed me some clean clothes, I stayed maybe an hour in the bathroom. I’d never have thought that having as much water as you wanted could be a heavenly luxury. In the meantime he had prepared breakfast for me, eggs, bread, cheese. He was smiling the whole time, with a conspiratorial air. He barely asked me what I’d been up to these last three months, just: So, how was Casa? — without insisting. He was excited, he kept getting up and sitting down, still with a smile on his lips. Come on, out with it, I ended up saying. He made a face as if he’d been caught stealing a chicken. What do you mean — out with it? Why are you saying that? Fine, okay, I’ll tell you, I think I found something for you, a place where you can lay low, where they’ll take care of you. He resumed his smiling, conspiratorial air. What kind of place is it, an asylum? I thought that behind it all was a plan for a crazy adventure, one of those Bassam affairs. No no, my friend, not an asylum, not even a hospital, even better: a mosque.

What the hell do you want me to do in a mosque, I asked.

It’s not a place like the others, Bassam replied, you’ll see, the people are different.