Leaving Tangier

28. Azel

‘MY SISTER, BIG SISTER, my friend, you must listen to me, I need you, this can’t go on, I’m sinking into a hell like nothing you could ever imagine. I’m failing at everything. Last week, I went to see my friend Siham who works in Marbella. We really like each other. I’ve always enjoyed her company… Forgive me, sister, I must speak to you about things that brothers and sisters don’t talk about. The relationship between Siham and me — it was about sex more than anything else, and I needed that so as not to lose my virility, and she was getting what she wanted as well, we were partners, helping each other, and it gave us pleasure. Well, last week, walou! You know what that means, walou? Rock bottom. I was unable to be a man, forgive me, but I have to say this, it has to come out, the shame — the incredible shame, the hchouma! Siham was so nice, she didn’t say anything except that it wasn’t serious, the problem was simply fatigue, stress, the change in climate. What fatigue, what stress? And why not the dollar exchange rate and a plague of migratory locusts? I’m done for, I can’t be a man anymore, I don’t know what to do; yesterday I went to see the Moroccan girl who’s been whoring since her Kuwaiti ‘husband’ ditched her, I can’t remember her name anymore, I just remember that she used to explode with me, screaming when she came, so, well, I saw her last night, I’d had a bit to drink to give me some confidence, I was afraid of washing out again, and when I undressed, she burst out laughing! She said, ‘Where’d your friend go?’ I asked her, ‘What friend are you talking about?’ ‘Man’s real best friend,’ she said, ‘the one who wakes up when he sees a woman, who says hello and gets all stiff to drive her insane…’ Walou! Walou! I’ve become a walou, a nothing, an absence, the memory of a man, a shadow… I’m sure it’s that bitch Carmen, the old woman, the one who bullies Miguel and controls his life — she never could stand me, always looked at me as if I were an intruder, a thief; she must have gone to her magicians and witches to put a spell on me, that sort of thing happens not just with us, even Europeans use stuff like that, except no one ever suspects them, people think they’re rational, civilized and all that, but at bottom they’re like us: as soon as sex and money are involved, they react in exactly the same way!

‘I know precisely when it all started. One evening — an absolute nightmare — Miguel had some Brazilian friends over, total sex maniacs, and he asked me to make love to a gorgeous woman who was actually a guy: it was dreadful, I was disgusted, they were watching me do it while we were in the middle of the living room! At first it amused me, I was playing along, in top form, but then the she-male told me in Portuguese to piss on him, and when I didn’t understand, he grabbed his dick, acting it out, so Miguel told me, ‘Do what he asks, piss on him, urinate, it excites him, and you don’t give a damn, no one’s asking you to drink it, just to give him a golden shower!’ It was revolting. I didn’t feel like pissing, my penis wouldn’t cooperate — I shouted and left the room. They were crazy, those Brazilians. Why did Miguel ever invite them? Forgive me, but it’s a relief to talk to you, that’s how low I’ve sunk, I’m dirt, worthless, no self-respect at all. After that episode I went to see my Moroccan pal, you remember, the guy who always knows what to do, the neighbourhood big shot; I didn’t dare tell him about this, but he could see I was miserable, so he gave me something to drink and some smoke, I don’t remember exactly what anymore, result was, the police scraped me up off the sidewalk at ten at night, they thought I was experiencing some sort of malaise. In a sense they weren’t wrong, but it’s an ancient malaise, very ancient, a malaise that’s been going on for a long time, a massive malaise, something that hurts, like needles playing with my heart, my liver, and griping pains, like wanting to vomit. The police tried to question me but I was dozing; then a doctor gave me a shot, that woke me up a bit, but I felt awful, so awful, I wanted to die, to throw myself under a bus …That’s when they called you. And luckily, they found you, big sister!

‘Can I sleep here?’

Kenza was shocked; she’d never imagined that one day her little brother would tell her such things. She didn’t know what to say, what to do, but she could clearly see that Azel was in a bad way. After a long pause, she stood up, went to get her purse, and told him that she could not let him stay at her place indefinitely. He would have to seriously consider going back to Morocco. Azel screamed and started weeping like a child. Kenza simply had to go to work. She asked him not to answer the phone, and above all, to get some sleep.

She called Miguel from the Red Cross office. He was in bed, laid low by bronchitis. He was the one who brought up Azel, but Kenza didn’t want to upset him, since he was sick.

‘He’s not doing well, is he?’ asked Miguel. ‘It had to happen, unfortunately… You know, I feel somewhat responsible; I thought he was mature enough, knew what he was doing, when he left with me… But his longing to leave Morocco was so strong that in the end it blinded him and corrupted everything he did. I don’t want to see him anymore, he went way too far. I never admitted as much to you, but he stole some precious objects from me that he must have resold at ridiculous prices, and he behaved like the worst kind of creep. He knew that money was not a problem between us, but he wanted more, he wanted to humiliate me. One evening with friends, he was appalling, he insulted them, broke a bottle of wine, and tried to pick a fight. No, Kenza, my Kenza, my friend, my dear wife, your little brother is a lost cause, and you’re right to say that he’d be better off going home, where he could find his bearings. Here, he had everything given to him too easily, he has no idea how hard I worked, how I suffered to get where I am today, but, well, when you’re in love, you don’t think straight, you follow your feelings, your emotions. I was in love with Azel; he never was with me, and he acted as if I didn’t realize that he was pretending. Well, I’m a clever old monkey, as you know, and nobody fools me! All right, let’s stop talking about him for a moment. When are you going to come fuss over your poor husband? That reminds me, I haven’t told you yet, but congratulations! Thanks to a few well-placed interventions, your case is closed, you’re Spanish now, a citizen of Europe: the notice from the ministry arrived yesterday, so all you have to do is go sign and claim the document that will allow you to apply for that wine-red passport stamped with gold letters that spell ‘European Union’! Afterwards, we’ll get a divorce whenever you like — I adore you, my lovely, you’re a wonderful woman!’

Before going home, Kenza made a detour to visit Miguel. When Carmen told her at the front door that Miguel was sound asleep, Kenza bowed her head and went on her way. Then, remembering that she had promised to dance that evening at the restaurant, she hurried directly there to arrive on time. She took pleasure in letting herself go in front of her audience, turning her body into a superb metaphor for eroticism and dreams. She performed several times that evening, and took home quite a bit of money.