A Riffians Tune (16 page)

The thought of buying a hamster the next day, Thursday, made Kamil happy. He fell asleep over his jotters. I picked up a dictionary and concentrated on learning a few Arabic words. Forced to comply with the landlord's rule, I stopped at ten o'clock. The light went off, and in the darkness of the room, I rolled myself in my blanket and went to sleep like a dog.

Thursday was my first day off school, and I went out scavenging for second-hand books. Returning to the
funduq
at lunchtime, I found Kamil full of excitement. Moussa's corner had been turned into hamster-land. Before a hamster had even been bought, he had named it Kizzy. He wanted us to dedicate a quarter of the room to Kizzy.

‘Kizzy needs a cage,' I argued.

‘Yes, but also a playpen, and I would make sure it couldn't get out,' he said.

Kamil might have been clever and might soon be a teacher, but there was something about him I didn't understand.
Finding other accommodation is the only way for me to survive
, I decided.

Going with Kamil on Thursday afternoon to buy a hamster was an expedition. I was hit by the complexity of Fez's population. We left the old town and headed toward Malah, a Jewish ghetto, a society with no restrictions on women. Beautiful, portly women were walking about freely with no scarves or veils. The merchants struck me as entirely different from those in the old town; jewellery, clothes and stationery were the main wares. There was a completely different dynamism from the old town.

Beside the Jewish quarter was the French ghetto for the well-to-do. The area between the two ghettos was open, dusty and used as a bus station. Within this area, there was a big gambling stall with Indian music, deafening even to the already deaf, and a red light flashing every second. Traders came to the pitch to sell their goods and avoid heavy taxes. Bananas, oranges and grapes were sold far cheaper than in any shop in the town. Hot fried chickpeas and salted nuts were the favourite snacks of the shoppers. Pet lovers like Kamil had a number of choices: caged birds of all sizes and colours, caged hamsters as well as other animals.

The choice was easy for Kamil; he hated all animals except hamsters. A shrewd trader with two hamsters and several caged birds quickly caught his attention. Kamil fawned over two baby hamsters sleeping on top of each other in the corner, but he couldn't decide which one he wanted. To give himself time to decide, he bought a snack of fried chickpeas and moved around dreamily.

By this time, I had had enough of looking at the rodents. ‘I'm going home, Kamil,' I announced.

‘Yes,' he said, flustered. ‘I'll buy the beige one!' Going back to the trader, he found the beige one had already been sold. Kamil took the news gravely, biting his wobbling bottom lip. With no choice left, he bought the white one. Happy after his initial disappointment, he cradled the cage close to his chest all the way back. Going back to the
funduq
with Kamil carrying the hamster, I felt embarrassed. I pretended that I didn't know him and wasn't with him whenever possible, but Kamil kept talking to me enthusiastically and ruining my disguise.

I spent the rest of the day tidying the room and cleaning my one shirt. Fortunately, I didn't have any underwear to wash or worry about.

Kamil soon happily settled into a daily routine with his hamster. I heard him many times in intimate dialogue with his pet, as if he were asking Kizzy questions or answering hers.

My second day in school began with Professor Allawi, who taught us maths. He was a very big man, very round and always happy. His one flaw was his habit of showering all those around him with saliva whenever he boomed out his explanations. He brought fruit and vegetables to explain mathematical concepts to us and cut an apple into many pieces to demonstrate fractions.

To make sure we could hear him and not miss any of the words coming out of his mouth, we all rushed in and fought to sit closest to the pulpit, facing him. Two boys in front of me quarrelled about space; they exchanged insults and elbowed each other, but that wasn't enough. They stood up to fight. One of them threw his
jellabah
off to fight unrestricted and, to our horror, he wore no trousers. All he had been wearing was his
jellabah
and a worn, torn shirt. Naked, he continued to fight for the best spot to face the teacher.
What a society!
I thought.
It can't even provide trousers for its most ambitious children!

I
t was holidays and Christmastime, but without Christ; Christmas meant nothing to me. All the students went home except Kamil and me. Kamil's hamster, Kizzy, drove me crazy. Dead during the day and alive during the night. I tried to keep her up during the day in the hope of a quiet night, but always failed.

The winter was harsh and wet; it poured more than the land could absorb. Local people had never seen weather like this, with such rain and clouds. The flooding and mountains of mud made streets impassable. The few tethered horses in the
funduq
were sunk in water and mud up to their knees. ‘This is the second and the last flooding after Noah,' said the landlord. It was, however, a paradise for skiers; the Atlas Mountains were all covered with thick, powdery snow.

After New Year, exam results came back and were alarming. To stave off the calamity of failing, Faissal, Marnisi and I decided to meet each day after school in the mosque and work as a group. To revise, we picked a quiet corner far away from worshippers and sat on the freezing cold floor. Nothing was between our bums and the floor except a paper-thin rug made of jute, which provided neither heat nor comfort, nor did it stop the rising dampness.

Faissal, Marnisi and I hailed from different regions. Each of us carried heavy baggage: regional tradition, family background, humour, mood, accent, personal prejudice and temperament. Fruitless arguments started; competition and jealousy quickly bloomed, which wasted a lot of time. I suggested working more quickly and sticking rigidly to the school syllabus.

Marnisi agreed, but Faissal didn't. Full of idealism, he hated the West and all its products, even aspirin and penicillin. The West, according to him, justified their own thievery and crime. We spent hours debating our different views on stealing, adultery and the punishments for committing crimes. ‘Cutting a thief's hand off for stealing doesn't fit the crime,' I argued.

Faissal was outraged at my comment and bellowed, ‘Both the arm and leg should be cut off!' Marnisi showed real disgust.

Weeks later, all the students were surprised to be issued a card and number to attend a mobile clinic for x-ray screening. Six boys in my class tested positive for tuberculosis. Kamil, in a different class, was also positively diagnosed.

Kamil was ordered, as were the others, to not attend classes and to present himself to a specialised hospital for isolation and treatment. The hospital was the most hated in the town. It was a coffin before the grave. Kamil refused to go. For a few weeks, he did nothing except cuddle his hamster. Kizzy had lived in a cage, but now Kamil gave it full freedom to move around in the room, until one evening it ventured out. A hungry cat was waiting and snatched it away. Kamil and I watched what was happening, rushed out, chased the cat and I nearly killed myself tumbling down the stairs. The cat, like lightning, jumped on the roof with Kizzy still dangling from its mouth. Kamil blamed me for having an evil eye and never showing any affection or tenderness toward Kizzy. He went into a deep, strange bereavement. He refused to eat, to talk to me, to go out or wash himself. He became smelly, and the room with him.

A few days after the tragedy, at lunchtime, the
funduq
caretaker came up and gave a hard knock on the door. ‘Kamil! Come down! Two French nuns are asking for you!' he shouted.

‘That seems very odd,' I told Kamil. Curious, I went out first. Two middle-aged Catholic nuns in black cloaks stood beside each other. They were standing like statues, in complete silence, holding some envelopes like corpses in their hands. Kamil, peering down the stairs, came down hesitantly. The two French sisters didn't speak the Moroccan Darija, but they knew enough to get by.

‘Are you Kamil?' asked one of the nuns.

‘Yes,' Kamil answered.

‘This is a letter ordering you to go to the hospital. You are very ill and a danger to yourself and your friend. You might die if you refuse treatment,' said the nun, while the other quietly looked on with a fixed smile on her face.

Kamil fell to the ground in a faint. For a moment, the sisters stood watching the scene, as did the caretaker. I had previously learned that a person or animal is only dead and ready for burial when the breathing stops. Kamil's chest was going up and down.

The two sisters left and the caretaker scurried off, leaving me behind with Kamil lying on the ground.

* * *

JANUARY LEFT US BEHIND,
and February loosened its grip. The severe winter was showing decisive cracks; days were visibly longer and the sky noticeably clearer, but winter was not completely defeated. It felt cold. The spring holiday was in everybody's mind.

Kamil, frightened of a second visit from the nuns, decided to go home. ‘Going home won't help,' I argued.

A resolute fatalist, he said, ‘Everything is decided.'

Two days later, with a heavy heart, I accompanied him to the coach station. That same afternoon, I was supposed to meet Faissal and Marnisi, but emotionally upset and frightened about what would come next, I didn't. I went to the
funduq
straight from the coach station. When I opened the door, the room looked unusual, immensely big and with many shadowy corners.
The room is jinxed
, I thought to myself.
Everyone who has lived in this room has met his demise, including even innocent little Kizzy.
I had been taught in the past to recite verses from the Holy Koran whenever I felt in imminent danger, which I did immediately and aloud. I tried to trick myself into being a big brave boy, living as if the room were the same and nothing had changed, that Kamil and even Moussa and Samir were still in the room. A few hours later, the landlord rapped on the door.

‘Kamil has left. The full rent is expected next week,' the landlord demanded. Now I found myself all alone in the
funduq
with no one to share the overwhelming burden of the rent.

I went to sleep but couldn't close my eyes, haunted by the fear of what might happen if I did. An object might fall from the ceiling or someone might stone me from any corner; every bizarre thing I had heard in my childhood and hadn't believed came alive in my mind. Even the small, crooked table looked sinister with the white strip of moonlight falling across it. To shut me up, my mother used to terrify me with the
Mo-Mo
, who would pull me out by my feet and gobble me up. No walls or doors could stop the
Mo-Mo
, an abhorrent beast that could go wherever it liked. The night dragged on and by the morning I felt physically aged by the ordeal.

At long last, morning arrived and the sun shone brightly all over the town. I left the room and felt a rush of happiness, a renewed love of life and relief at being out. I arrived at the school, where the first person I happened on was Bozaid, sitting cross-legged, surrounded by books and jotters, and eating Moroccan donuts. Before the lesson, Faissal and Marnisi arrived. They were furious with me.

‘Where were you yesterday?' they asked. ‘We waited and waited.'

‘I was out of my mind. I have an accommodation problem,' I said. ‘Kamil has left.'

* * *

UNABLE TO PAY THE
rent, I had no choice but to join the homeless in the Mosque Rssif. I left the
funduq
and handed the keys to the caretaker, who looked at me carrying two sheepskins on my shoulder and several bags in my hands. He gave me a mean look and turned his back. He despised me as I did him. I looked like a tramp, but he looked and lived like a hyena.

On my way to my new home a dreadul image of my cousin Ahmed clutched my mind. Without intending to, I had now outwardly become like him, a tramp.

The mosque was huge and open with towering ceilings that seemed to stretch to the heavens. It had no heating and with no warm carpets, only tiles, it was a very cold place to be at night. However, what it lacked in heat, it made up for in beauty; right in the middle of the mosque stood a magnificent mosaic fountain from which, day and night, huge streams of water soared into the air and smaller jets flowed all around as if dancing in watery precision.

After a struggle with the mosque's caretaker, I was allowed to sleep there, but during the day my belongings had to be out of sight so that respectable worshippers would not be deterred from worshipping there. The mosque was tidy during the day and a chaotic mess during the night. The students' presence was not to the liking of every worshipper; for some, we were cursed rats, and probably we were.

For peace and safety, I occupied a corner far from everybody and hid all my belongings in two bags. During school hours, I left them piled one on top of the other. At night, coming back late after revision with Faissal and Marnisi, I spread my two sheepskins and rolled up in my blanket. My pillow was my thin elbow. As the space was immense, drafts came from everywhere.

Though we were united in misery, the homeless, like jackals, scavenged whatever they could. Coming back from late revision one night, I found my blanket had been stolen. I felt a deep loss, plunged into panic and moved around, looking for it. Suddenly, a voice reverberated through the huge space.

‘This is the third time you've passed me!' said an annoyed student.

‘Give us peace!' grunted another.

‘My blanket has been stolen,' I said. I spent a shiveringly cold night, despite layering every piece of clothing I had.

I didn't go to school the following morning, but to two letting agents. The first was not far away. The boss, well past middle-age, was clothed in a white
jellabah
and wore a tall red Fezzi hat with a tassel attached to the front.