MADEMOISELLE FRANÇOIS, one of Doctor François’s numerous daughters dressed all in white, looked at me the way Fary Thiam had looked at me the night when she wanted us to make love beside the river on fire. I smiled at Mademoiselle François, who was a very beautiful young woman, like Fary. Mademoiselle François had matching blue eyes. Mademoiselle François returned my smile right away and her gaze lingered on the middle of my body. Mademoiselle François wasn’t like her father, the doctor: God’s truth, she is full of life. Mademoiselle François said to me with her matching blue eyes that she found me very handsome from top to bottom.
But if Mademba Diop, my more-than-brother, were still alive he would have said, “No, you’re lying, she didn’t say you’re handsome. Mademoiselle François didn’t say that she wanted you! You’re lying, it’s not true, you don’t know how to speak French.” But I didn’t need to speak French to understand the language of Mademoiselle François’s eyes. God’s truth, I know I’m handsome, everyone’s eyes tell me so. Blue eyes and black ones, women’s eyes and men’s. Fary Thiam’s eyes told me so, as did those of all the women of Gandiol, whatever their age. The eyes of my friends, girls and boys, always said it when I was near-naked on the sand during a wrestling match. Even the eyes of Mademba Diop, my more-than-brother, that weakling, that scrawny thing, couldn’t help but tell me during a wrestling match that I was the most handsome.
Mademba Diop had the right to tell me anything he wanted, to make fun of me, because the rules of joking relationships made it permissible. Mademba Diop could be ironic, could tease me about how I was, because he was my more-than-brother. But God’s truth, Mademba could never say anything about my physique. I’m so handsome that, when I smile, everyone—except those men who have been sacrificed to no-man’s-land—smiles back. When I show my teeth, which are very, very white and well aligned, even Mademba Diop, the biggest scoffer the earth has known, couldn’t help but show his own foul teeth. But, God’s truth, Mademba would never admit that he envied me my beautiful and very, very white teeth, my chest and my very, very broad shoulders, my waist and my flat stomach, my very muscular thighs. Mademba was happy to let his eyes tell me that he envied me and loved me at the same time. When I had won four wrestling matches in a row, glistening in the moonlight, a hostage to my admirers, Mademba’s eyes always said: “I envy you, but I love you too.” His eyes said: “I would love to be you, but I am proud of you.” Like all things in this base world, the look Mademba gave me was double.
Now that I am far from the battle in which I lost my more-than-brother Mademba, far from the little malicious decapitating shells and the big red seeds of war falling from the metallic sky, far from Captain Armand and his whistle of death, far from my elder Croix de Guerre Chocolat Ibrahima Seck, I tell myself that I should never have made fun of my friend. Mademba had foul teeth, but he was brave. Mademba had the rib cage of a runt, but he was brave. Mademba had absurdly narrow hips, but he was a real warrior. I know, I understand that I should not have pushed him with my words to demonstrate a kind of courage I knew he already possessed. I know, I understand that it was because Mademba envied me and loved me at the same time that he went out first, as soon as Captain Armand blew the attack whistle on the day of his death. It was to show me that you don’t need beautiful teeth, you don’t need beautiful shoulders and a broad torso and very, very strong arms and thighs to be truly brave. So in the end I think it wasn’t just my words that killed Mademba. It wasn’t just my words about the Diops’ totem, as hurtful as those grains of metal that fell on us from the sky of war, that killed him. I know, I understand that all of my beauty and all of my strength also killed Mademba, my more-than-brother, who loved me and envied me at the same time. It was the beauty and strength of my body that killed him, it was the way all the women looked at me, at the middle of my body, that killed him. It was the way their eyes caressed my shoulders, my chest, my arms, and my legs, the way they lingered on my well-aligned teeth and my proud, hooked nose that killed him.
Even before the war started, even before we left, Mademba Diop and I together, for the war, people tried to divide us. God’s truth, the bad people of Gandiol had decided to separate us already by telling Mademba that I was a dëmm, that I was consuming his power and vitality little by little in his sleep. These people of Gandiol said to Mademba—I heard this from the mouth of Fary Thiam, whom we both loved—they said, “You see how Alfa Ndiaye is blooming with beauty and how you are skinny and ugly. It’s because he’s absorbing all of your power and vitality to your loss and his gain, for he is a dëmm, a devourer of souls who has no pity for you. Drop him, abandon him, or you’ll be heading straight for your own dissolution. The insides of your body will dry up into dust!” But Mademba, despite these terrible words, never abandoned me, never left me alone with my resplendent beauty. God’s truth, Mademba never believed I was a dëmm. To the contrary, when I saw Mademba come home with a busted lip, I believed that he’d been fighting to defend me against the bad people of Gandiol. It was Fary Thiam who told me this, just before we left, Mademba and I, for the war in France. It’s thanks to Fary whom we both loved that I understood that despite his chest being narrow as a pigeon’s, his arms and thighs being scarily thin, Mademba, my more-than-brother, didn’t fear the punches of young men who were stronger than he was. God’s truth, it’s easier to be brave when you have a broad chest and arms, and thighs as thick and strong as mine. But the truly brave like Mademba are the ones who aren’t afraid of punches even though they’re weak. God’s truth, now I can admit it to myself, Mademba was braver than me. But I know, I have understood too late that I should have said this to him before he died.
SO EVEN THOUGH I don’t speak Mademoiselle François’s French, I understood the language of her eyes on the middle of my body. It wasn’t difficult to understand. It was the same as with Fary Thiam and all the other women who have wanted me.
But, God’s truth, in the world before, I would never have wanted anyone other than Fary Thiam. Fary wasn’t the most beautiful girl in my age set, but she was the one whose smile most moved me. Fary was very, very moving. Her voice was soft, like the lapping of the river against fishermen’s canoes on quiet mornings. Fary’s smile was the dawn, her ass round as dunes in the Lompoul desert. Fary had eyes that were both doe and lioness. At times an earth-shattering tornado, at others an ocean of tranquility. God’s truth, I would have lost Mademba’s friendship to win Fary’s love. Luckily, Fary chose me over Mademba. Luckily, my more-than-brother deferred to me. It was because Fary chose me in front of everyone that Mademba stepped aside.
She chose me one night in deep winter. Among my age set we had planned an all-nighter, a vigil, a night without sleep to be spent dazzling one another with clever talk until dawn at Mademba’s parents’ place. We would drink Moorish tea and eat sweets with the girls in our age set in Mademba’s compound. We would speak of love in surreptitious terms. We pooled our money and bought three packs of Moorish tea and a large cone of sugar wrapped in blue paper at the village store. With the sugar we made a hundred small millet cakes. We spread out wide mats on the fine sand of Mademba’s compound. When night fell, we set seven small red-enamel teapots on the glowing iron cradles of seven small coal fires crackling with sparks. We had carefully displayed the small millet cakes on large metal platters, imitation French faïence borrowed from the village store. We had put on our most handsome shirts, the lightest ones possible so we would be resplendent in the moonlight. I did not have a button-up shirt. Mademba lent me one that was too small for me, but I was resplendent anyway when the eighteen young girls of our age set made their entrance into Mademba’s family’s place.
We had lived sixteen years and we all wanted Fary Thiam, though she wasn’t the most beautiful. And Fary Thiam chose me from among everyone. As soon as she saw me sitting on the mat, she came to sit cross-legged next to me; God’s truth, right next to me, so that my right thigh and her left thigh touched. God’s truth, I thought my heart would break my ribs from the inside, the way it beat, beat, beat. God’s truth, from that moment I knew what it meant to be happy. There is no joy greater than the joy Fary caused when she chose me beneath the shining light of the moon.
We had lived sixteen years and we wanted to laugh. We took turns telling short funny stories full of double entendres, we invented guessing games. Mademba’s little brothers and sisters, who had been asleep, heard us and came to join us, one by one. And I felt like the king of the world because Fary had chosen me and not anyone else. I took Fary’s left hand and pressed it in my right hand and she let me have it, confident. God’s truth, Fary Thiam has no equal. But Fary didn’t want to give herself to me. Each time I asked her to let me enter the insides of her body after that night when she chose me over everyone in my age set, she refused. Fary always said “no,” “no,” and “no,” for four years. A boy and a girl from the same age set do not make love. Even if they’ve chosen each other as intimate friends for life, a boy and a girl of the same age set must never become husband and wife. I knew this, I was aware of this peasant law. God’s truth, I knew this ancestral rule, but I did not accept it.
Maybe I began to think for myself long before Mademba’s death. As the captain liked to say, there’s no smoke without fire. And as the Fula nomads’ proverb says, “At dawn you can already know if the day will be good or bad.” Maybe my mind began to doubt the voice of duty, too well heeled, too well dressed to be honest. Maybe my mind was already preparing to say “no” to the inhuman laws that pass for humane. But I held on to hope, despite all her refusals, even if I knew, I understood why Fary always said “no” up until the night before we left for the war, Mademba and I.