Horses of God

14

ONE EVENING, HAMID arrived at the shack to tell us the good news: Abu Zoubeir was treating us to a holiday. Now that was a word that didn’t figure in our vocabulary. It sounded so sweet to our ears! Although, to go on holiday implied we’d been working hard and our bodies were crying out for rest, which hadn’t been the case for some time now. Life in the garage was easy: we recited the Koran, we prayed, we listened, we ate properly, and we slept. We were outside the world, as if in a chrysalis, attuned to the master’s wisdom and our own untroubled hearts. But the decision had been made and we were thrilled. Everything had been arranged and thought out down to the last detail: a small van would come to pick us up the next day to take us to the mountains, because Abu Zoubeir wanted to thank us for our diligence in his classes. Nabil started dancing in the middle of the room; he couldn’t express his joy any other way. Hamid said that we were all invited and that it would last a whole week. Khalil and Fuad were immediately given leave from the printing press and the Internet café without any deduction from their pay. “A present is a present!” Hamid added. Nabil, Blackie, and I had trouble sleeping that night, we were so excited by the idea of the trip. We’d packed our bags, remembering toiletries, kimonos, and our djellabas, in case it was cold up there. It was the first time I’d be leaving Sidi Moumen, or riding in a van. Seeing as he was no stranger to police vans, Khalil couldn’t say the same.

The minibus turned up at seven in the morning, as arranged, outside the Oubaida brothers’ café. We were on time; none of us was going to miss this. We boarded the bus and took our places behind Emir Zaid, who’d been concealing from us his skills as a driver. There were three rows of black leather seats. I sat up front to get the best view of the countryside. The journey would take all day. “The Middle Atlas isn’t exactly round the corner,” the emir had explained. We were soon out of Sidi Moumen. It was getting hot already but not in our air-conditioned vehicle; that meant you could go from summer to winter at the flick of a switch. We drove through Casablanca and the emir made a detour through the big boulevards to show us Anfa, the poshest neighborhood in the whole country. It’s hard to describe that part of the city, as we couldn’t see much. We could barely make out the lavish houses through the walls of thick foliage, which was dotted with curious flowers, like purple, red, and yellow bells, and farther off, brightly colored sprays with complicated shapes; I had a weakness for those little white flowers with the surprising scent. I opened the window to inhale the smell. The emir, who knew everything, told me they were jasmine. I thought the name suited the flower and said: “I love jasmine.” I wondered why these pretty plants didn’t grow where we lived, since we had the soil and the water; a few cuttings would be enough to cheer up our lives. Quite a few people grew plants in front of their shacks, but they were never so beautiful, or so sweet-smelling. Maybe it wouldn’t suit jasmine to be so close to the dump. A flower as delicate as that would commit suicide, the stink was so suffocating. It would be almost an insult to its sweet fragrance.

We seemed to be flying as we drove. We didn’t feel any jolts, as there were no potholes in the freshly tarmacked streets. The roads were wide and clean. Cars straight out of the future were parked here and there. The emir cruised along slowly, letting us take in the beauty all around us. Then he headed for the coast road and we saw the sea. It was an extraordinary sight. This different air was making me dizzy; it had a funny smell. I shivered, staring at the infinite silvery blue, with the white sun floating above. Seagulls, craftier than the ones in Sidi Moumen, were trailing a boat that must be taking people to Spain. Khalil was gazing at the ship and I think in his mind he was on it. People told so many stories about stowaways who hid in the cargo hold to flee the country. But he’d have wanted to be standing on the deck, in full sunlight. The whole atmosphere radiated happiness. Yet we weren’t so far from Sidi Moumen: a quarter of an hour by car, at most. Of course, our buses didn’t go to the rich parts of town, so our kind of people wouldn’t pollute this elegant environment. Which I completely understand, because we were incapable of keeping a place as clean as this. And the jasmine, like the bellflowers, would have been picked and sold by the bunch. Or just uprooted for the fun of it. All the houses would have been burgled, in spite of the security guards with their big sticks who watched over every one of them. And no doubt envious people would have gone and set fire to them. Emir Zaid said that we were in the stronghold of Satan’s lackeys, that the infidels who shut themselves away here owned three-quarters of the country’s wealth. And the fact that we lived in utter destitution was because of these leeches, who’d made pacts with the Western devils to exploit us and keep us in a state of total dependence. Without them, we die. But without us, they too are doomed to certain death. Because they need a docile workforce, and blood to suck. They kill us by degrees. But if we have to die, we might as well take them with us and have done with it, once and for all. .

We’d never seen the emir get so carried away. He realized this, and went on in a more subdued tone, but the light still gleamed in his eyes: “We must join forces and ask for God’s help. They are already trembling at the sight of our beards — let us flaunt them! Let them hide away in their gilded cages with their vile offspring, their depraved wives and corrupt morals. They can slob about on their silk sofas with their fat pig bellies all they like, getting drunk on the sweat from our brows; the streets will be ours in the end. And they’ll have to be accountable one way or another, down here or in heaven! We will not forgive them.” Then together we recited a graphic verse detailing the horror that awaited unbelievers in hell.

After the satanic paradise of Anfa, we drove through the chaos of the city. My only memories are of frazzled people in a hurry, endlessly blaring their horns. Drivers argued and shook their fists. Those on foot crossed wherever they could, however they could, and were quick to complain, too, when no one gave way. Police officers blew their whistles left, right, and center and the motorists couldn’t care less. The emir was calmer now and drove carefully. I noticed that city people weren’t that different from us. Then we took the road to Fez, which went via Rabat. I must have been pretty tired because I slept almost all the way. When I woke up, I found Nabil’s head resting on my shoulder. He was snoring lightly. I didn’t move, so as not to disturb him. He hadn’t slept a wink all night either. After Fez, we turned onto a small road that led to Imouzzer, a strange town where the houses had slanting roofs. The emir explained to us that winter was harsh in this region and these roofs allowed the snow to slide off. I thought that if there was a hole, it couldn’t be plugged with branches or a plastic bag, because of the angle. We made our way to a thick forest, along bumpy tracks, and stopped in the middle of nowhere. We walked for a few hundred meters and suddenly came upon a lake. An impressive stretch of water, like a small sea imprisoned by possessive mountains. The emir said: “This is Dayt Aoua. The most beautiful place in the country.” I thought to myself that besides his religious qualities, the emir was a poet, too. He had us take several tents out of the minibus and showed us how to put them up, using stakes. It was hilarious; we were helpless with laughter when our first attempts proved far from adequate. Eventually the emir gave us a hand and we organized a proper camp. Since we had to sleep two to a tent, Nabil and I naturally chose to share. Blackie objected because he didn’t want to share with Fuad, claiming he snored, but he had no choice, since Hamid and Khalil had already paired up. We spread out our blankets. The shadows were so soft inside the tent I didn’t want to leave it. Blackie was keen to light the fire. Even without coal, he managed it in no time at all. Most of us set about cooking the meal, as we were so hungry. And so began our holiday by the lake at Dayt Aoua.

The time we spent in the mountains will always be one of the happiest memories of my short life. I’d never seen so many trees in just one place; they were tall and majestic, their green branches caressed the scattered clouds. The emir knew all their names. He pointed out the umbrella pines; the eucalyptus, its bark streaked with sweet-smelling resin, whose roots could go very deep in search of water; and so many other kinds that lived serenely by the lake. We’d wake early in the morning. After prayers, which went on a long time, we’d make coffee and drink it together round the fire. We’d climb to the top of the mountain and do our exercises. That lasted several hours: warm-ups, kata, and combat. Then prayers and more prayers. Our exhausted bodies were at one with the sky, the earth, and the sparrows that dropped in to keep us company. We were so close to God and we could tell by their chirping that the birds felt it too. The more verses we recited, the louder they’d sing. And it all formed a kind of offering we’d humbly place at the feet of our Lord. As the emir finished his speech and, one after the other, we all took turns to insult Satan and his cronies, he’d ask us to follow him on interminable runs. We’d be out of breath but none of us could match his pace; we’d crawl back to camp. Khalil ran off toward the water and plunged in like a fish. The others all followed him in, yelling wildly, and I was envious because I couldn’t swim. I’d just paddle and wet my face. Emir Zaid would see me on my own and come to sit down beside me on the bank and I’d listen rapturously to his accounts of the brave deeds of the Prophet and his companions.

On the third day, some friends of the emir joined us. We didn’t know them, but they seemed to know us. They stayed with us all day and part of the evening and then left, returning at dawn the next morning. They trained, ran, ate, and prayed with us. We went for walks in the forest and friendships were formed. Initially, Jaber, a very tall man with a square face and gimlet black eyes, didn’t seem at all trustworthy. And yet he was friendly and seemed almost apologetic about his massive build. He became my friend. Saad, his cousin, had a distinctive beard down to his belly button. He got on well with Nabil. The other two, whose names I’ve forgotten, teamed up with Khalil, Blackie, Fuad, and my brother Hamid. In a few sessions, Jaber taught us to handle a knife like the warriors in the days of the Jihad; he showed us the different positions to adopt in case of attack. And also how to anticipate a potential assault. The way to stick the blade in and which way to turn it; a twist of the wrist at a precise moment determined the degree of punishment inflicted on the infidel. We were exhilarated, and fully alert, because this was a matter of life and death. First we trained using reeds as knives, but by the end of the week we were fighting with real daggers. It was so exciting. We got a few scratches, but nothing serious. We were such good pupils that we were each given a knife of our own with a blade that flicked out from our sleeves if we pressed a button. It was a real gem; the knife I’d always dreamed of.

Night was quick to fall on Dayt Aoua. When the cicadas awoke, a black veil studded with jewels covered the mountains, the lake, the trees, and the birds’ eyes. We’d gather round a campfire and sing praises to God. We’d pray and listen to the emir hold forth on the glorious epics of the past, on the battles we’d wage in order to raise the flag of Islam, which was constantly trampled underfoot all over the world, on the struggles the Lord demanded of us so that we might recover our dignity and restore our crumbling empire’s prestige. And at the end lay paradise. As we went back to our tents to sleep, I saw, high up in the sky, split by a thin shaft of moonlight, an angel who was smiling at me.

In all this time, there was only one false note, which I deplore, because I let down my guard in the face of Satan’s trickery. I ask God for forgiveness, because Nabil and I had sex. I’m not quite sure how it happened. We hadn’t planned it, but there it was. To warm ourselves up, we’d huddled together in that tent where the ceiling was as low as a tomb’s. I don’t know if we were asleep, but our dulled minds were far away. The mountain air had something to do with it. Nabil’s body brushing against mine gave me a shameful erection. He took my cock in his hand quite naturally and we kissed. We undressed and made love, without thinking. In silence. There, I’ve said it.