The Bottom of the Jar (4 page)

Her feelings changed, however, as soon as she paid a visit to our new lodgings. She discovered the charms of these homes, built in the ancient style, where the artisans hadn't skimped on the mosaics, the stuccos, the engraved woodwork, the painted panelings; where the high-ceilinged rooms were spacious and whose fountains, decorated with the utmost care, allowed a murmuring trick of water to escape from their leather spouts; where provisions had been made for a real kitchen, despite the fact it was dimly lit; and where there was a vast open-air courtyard in which one might find some fresh air and respite from the heat waves.

“It's true,” she admitted, “the house is beautiful for those who have the time to while away on beauty. But it's another matter for those who have to spend the whole day sweeping, scrubbing, kneading dough, cooking, and feeding hungry mouths. The courtyard is so huge you could gallop horses around it. An entire morning wouldn't suffice to clean it. And the rafters are so high we'll need to tie two ceiling brushes together to get at the cobwebs. But there we have it, what's done is done.”

The house was readied for our move. Plasterers were called in to freshen up the walls. For the cleaning, Driss called on one of his friends,
a tanner, who enlisted the help of a couple of colleagues. In no time, the three strapping lads, armed with leather-rimmed wooden buckets, had washed the house from top to bottom. Driss further ensured that the men took particular care with the courtyard, just so Ghita would find no cause for complaint.

A
FTER HAVING MANAGED
our own move, we looked forward impatiently to installing the furniture and personal effects belonging to Lalla Zineb, which should have been on par with the dowry that Si Mohammed had paid in hard cash, an amount that Ghita had deemed extravagant once the sum had been disclosed.

“They want to strip us to the bone and reduce us to beggary!” she'd exclaimed. “Curse them, as if we were marrying the sultan's daughter! She's made of flesh and blood, not gold after all. She acts like her shit doesn't stink.”

Yet as soon as Lalla Zineb's belongings arrived and were unpacked and set up in her rooms, Ghita had to admit that the money spent hadn't been thrown out the window. Lalla Zineb's family had at least matched the money we had spent to furnish the new lodgings. The traditional mattress for the living room as well as the “arm and back” cushions – according to Ghita – were filled almost to bursting with wool, and the brocade that covered them was in the latest fashion. My father, who knew his fabrics, reckoned they were from Loondoon, as in Britain. The benches were simply marvelous. They were exquisitely sculpted, and the delicate layer of varnish that had been applied to them wasn't lost on Driss, who knew how to spot fine workmanship when he saw it, and noted: “These are craftsmen who really know what they're doing. There's no doubt as to the quality of the merchandise.”

And what could one say about the fittings, the red-and-green velvet wall hangings that few families could afford to own outright and therefore
contented themselves with borrowing them for special occasions, the hand-embroidered curtains, the machine-woven carpets covered with a transparent protective plastic coating?

Praise and admiration soon gave way to amazement when it came to inspecting the bedroom. The bride's father, a cabinetmaker by trade, had outdone himself. The furniture was all European, which was one way of saying it was modern. There, our eyes fell on something unique: a wooden wardrobe with a lacquer finish and a huge mirror set in its middle. Ghita, who applied her makeup using nothing but a small, round looking glass the size of a douro, couldn't resist the temptation of immediately rushing toward it to gaze at her reflection, at which point she burst out in a guffaw. Each time she laughed, she instinctively raised her hand to her mouth, as if to hide – or so I assumed – her rows of golden teeth. Visibly disappointed, she shrank away, remarking, “There's not much worth looking at in that face. Oh fair days of my youth, where have you gone?”

We remained spellbound as we discovered the other pieces of furniture: a chest of drawers that matched the wardrobe, and above all a peculiar sort of bed, which was far lower than the four-poster beds we were used to. It was “naked,” and the headboard and legs were made of lacquered wood. Highly innovative, it was flanked by a pair of nightstands, the purpose of which eluded us, and on each nightstand was a lamp, whose shade diffused a warm, wan light. This novelty left us flabbergasted since, when it came to lights, we were used to the sixty-watt bulbs that hung starkly from the ceiling, and did not figure out until much later in life how to hook up the green or red little nightlights by tying the wire around a nail. There were two finely wrought chairs situated in front of the bed. Even though we were not oblivious to their purpose, we did not find those chairs alluring and deemed them particularly uncomfortable. On this subject, we would always poke fun
at the outsiders who came to the house. Perched on those chairs, the poor things had no idea of the delights prompted by their choice of seat. Sharing our opinion on the matter, Ghita summed up the oddity of the situation fairly well.

“Just who are those chairs meant for?” she observed. “Spectators? It seems like a crazy extravagance to me . . .”

All in all, though everyone agreed that our family had made an advantageous and above all honorable match, our satisfaction came part and parcel with a certain apprehensiveness: Didn't this flood of novelties betray a weakness on the bride's part for liberties incongruous with our traditional way of life? We prayed for God's protection from the devil's works . . .

T
HE WEDDING NIGHT
finally arrived.

Nothing will be gleaned here about the unfolding of the wedding ceremony and its various protocols. There are plenty of films for that, as they say, full of colorful descriptions left behind by colonial authors of the old guard, not to mention by the nationalists that followed in their wake, who while sharing their prejudices were perhaps even less talented.

We will therefore elide the following details.

On the bride's side:

the scene involving the ritual waxing and grooming

the henna ceremony: its application and removal

descriptions of the dress, jewels, and assorted fineries

presentation and “exhibition” of the bride, as well as the collection of the wedding gifts, either in cash or in kind

the singing of the
neggafate
³
in honor of the bride, where the words
are always the same, regardless of whether the woman in question is ugly or beautiful, tall or petite, skinny or rotund, clever or asinine

last but not least, the displaying of the sarouel splattered with the postcoital blood after the consummation (which is stipulated in the marriage contract)

On the groom's side: nothing in particular. At most there is the night before the wedding, where it seems the groom is dragged by his friends to visit women of ill repute for a demonstration of their practical skills. Yet I never actually saw any of this – and like Ghita, I never speak simply on hearsay.

What I did see and hear, however, is this.

It had been two or three hours since the married couple had retreated to their bedroom, yet our pricked-up ears hadn't detected any noises or reassuring cries. In the drawing room where we had all assembled, the tension had become unbearable. Ghita could no longer sit still.