‘Why were you so late yesterday?’
‘I’ve told you a thousand times: don’t meddle in my business.’
Thus began a fierce argument between Abd al-Ghani and his brother Abd al-Rahman.
‘If you’re that late again, I’ll complain to your father. Then you’ll see how he’ll punish you.’
‘Sneaking and complaining is all you’re good at! Isn’t there something else you could be doing?’
‘Your tongue needs cutting out. You’ve started defying even those who are older than you.’
‘If you’re older than me,’ Abd al-Rahman answered angrily, ‘then you should have more respect for yourself and stop harassing me.’
‘I’m older than you, and it’s my job to keep you in line.’
‘You’re always giving yourself responsibilities that aren’t yours. You’re my brother, not my father.’
‘Your elder brother is like your father. You should do what he says.’
‘Do what he says?’
Abd al-Rahman’s guffaw was both sarcastic and defiant. Abd al-Ghani could not stand his younger brother’s insolence; he saw himself as the eldest brother and the most sensible, thus regarding himself as his father’s deputy with regard to all his responsibilities.
Abd al-Rahman made a threatening gesture, and his brother raised both hands as he confronted him. Abd al-Latif, their younger brother, who was watching the squabble with a certain amount of curiosity and sympathy, let out a loud laugh. Whenever one of them threatened the other, he was delighted by the thought that he could be about to witness a major or minor fight. What made him even happier was the idea that Abd al-Rahman was able to demolish the superiority that his eldest brother was claiming for himself, something that he tried to exploit to lord it over his younger brothers.
Abd al-Ghani had inherited his father’s domineering personality. Ever since he had been aware, his entire mental outlook had been focused on Hajj Muhammad. Since his early teenage years his father’s august demeanour, remarkable piety, and infinite influence had dazzled him, and he looked up in awe at the face of a hero who managed to combine heroism, audacity, and manliness.
That explains why he decided to exert the paternal role in those areas where his own authority might be effective. However, in doing so, he clashed with a stubborn brother, someone who was delighted to pose a challenge.
Abd al-Ghani felt that his sense of honour had been insulted by Abd al-Rahman’s scorn, not to mention the obvious malicious pleasure that Abd al-Latif had shown. He was anxious now to reestablish his status and dignity.
‘You’ve turned into a vagrant!’ he yelled at Abd al-Rahman. ‘I’m going to see how to put an end to this behaviour.’
‘You’ve turned into an old man,’ Abd al-Rahman scoffed. ‘We’re going to see how to bring you back to your youth!’
Abd al-Ghani started yelling even louder, and this attracted Khaduj’s attention. She was worried and wanted to know what the argument was about. Bitter experience had taught her that it was yet another disagreement between Abd al-Ghani and Abd al-Rahman.
‘Again!’ she shouted, totally out of patience. ‘You’re having another fight, as though you were enemies!’
Abd al-Rahman was keen to dispel any accusation of enmity. ‘He’s been hounding me again, spying on me, and threatening to betray my secrets.’
‘You need to know the reason,’ said Abd al-Ghani. ‘He was out late last night—’
‘I was out with my old friends in Makhfiyya Square.’
‘And who gave you permission to mingle with those types?’
While they were arguing like this, Khaduj looked from one to the other.
‘I don’t need your permission. I’ll tell you yet again that you’re not my father.’
‘And I’ve told you that I’m just like your father.’
At this point their mother ran out of patience, like a judge when confronted with two opposing parties.
‘You’re the one causing all the problems!’ she yelled at Abd al-Ghani. ‘Why do you have to harass him with this police inquiry?’
‘That’s exactly what I’ve been saying,’ said Abd al-Rahman, interrupting them both. ‘He’s behaving just like a policeman: “Where have you been? Where have you come from?”’
Khaduj now turned to him, and Abd al-Ghani got the impression that his mother was giving him the opportunity to defend himself.
‘I’m not going to leave this reprobate alone,’ he yelled.
‘Say “reprobate” again,’ Abd al-Rahman interrupted, ‘and I’ll bust your teeth for you!’
Khaduj now realised that there was no end to this argument. She did her best to use her maternal authority to bring the dispute to an end. She ordered them to stop arguing and to stay away from each other.
She decided not to take Abd al-Rahman’s side so as not to inflame things even further. Even so, she was extremely unhappy about the kind of personality that Abd al-Ghani was showing; the attitude he was adopting disturbed her greatly.
‘He’s just a young man,’ she told herself. ‘Not only that, he’s just like his father in the way he dresses, his posture, his gestures, and his interests. As day follows day, his speech sounds more and more like Hajj Muhammad’s; the same topics, the same mode of argument, and the same issuing of instructions; and the same nosiness about everything involving personal behaviour, the household, food, and servants. His voice has even started to sound like his father’s, as though their vocal cords come from a single nerve.’
Khaduj now turned in order to leave the field of battle.
‘Listen, you!’ Abd al-Ghani shocked her by saying, ‘O she who is leaving—’
This made Khaduj furious. ‘Don’t I have a name?’ she yelled at him as though scorched by a hot coal. ‘Aren’t I your mother? What’s this “you” and “she” all about? Don’t you know how to say “Mother”?’
This shocked him, and he said nothing. The only thing on his mind was that his mother was supporting Abd al-Rahman.
He had not realised yet that he was imitating the way his father addressed his mother. He had started saying ‘you’ and calling her ‘she’, and hardly ever used ‘Mother’ or called her by name because Hajj Muhammad did not do so. Like all husbands, he never called his wife by her name; it was not socially acceptable or appropriate, just as it was also wrong for a wife to call her husband by his name. To do so would arouse the amazement and disgust of the entire community. ‘You’, ‘he’, and ‘she’ implied husband and wife whenever he was talking about her or she about him.
Abd al-Ghani had no intention of insulting his mother or degrading her status. He was simply using Hajj Muhammad’s mindset, talking like him, and adopting the same internal logic. For that reason his mother’s remarks surprised him. He tried to rescue the situation by saying, ‘My father says “you” when addressing you and calls you “she” when talking about you. Why don’t you get mad with him too?’
Abd al-Ghani’s stubborn attitude made Khaduj even more furious. ‘So here’s a little boy,’ she went on, ‘whose clothes, stride, and mode of talking now turns him into a man of his father’s age!’
Abd al-Rahman and Abd al-Latif both had to suppress their giggles, but a dagger-look from Khaduj had them both raising their hands to their mouths to throttle the laughter in its cradle.
‘Wake up,’ she told Abd al-Ghani, to conclude what she wanted to say. ‘Try to imitate your colleagues and take a look at young men like yourself. I refuse to hear you say “you” or “she” to me ever again. You call me “Mother”, and you should be proud of it!’
Khaduj now withdrew, but she had managed to open a window for Abd al-Ghani on to a different world. He had been following in his father’s footsteps unconsciously, but now he had clashed with his mother, whom he loved just as much as he did his father. He had thought that she approved of his behaviour, but now she had opened his mind to new vistas with regard to his peers – new thoughts about the way he walked, dressed, and talked, and the kind of things that he thought about and that interested him.
‘My father never talks to me about such things,’ he told himself, ‘when he takes me to the mosque, or to the homilies in the Qarawiyin complex and Mawlay Idris.’
In his mind’s eye he saw Abd al-Ghaffar and Mawlay Abd al-Tawwab as they repeated the homiletic lessons at the shrine of Mawlay Idris and the Qarawiyin Mosque. The words of the homilist rang in his ears, aspiring to heaven and avoiding hellfire.
‘My mother’s an ignorant woman,’ he told himself. ‘If she saw Sidi Abd al-Ghaffar and Mawlay Abd al-Tawwab, she would not be so disapproving of my clothes, my walk, and my mode of talking.’
Hajj Muhammad had been thinking about his sons’ futures. Because Abd al-Ghani was the eldest, Hajj Muhammad had been planning a future for him that closely mirrored his own ideas. It simply involved a clothing shop that would guarantee the continuity of a profession that the Tihami family had inherited for generations, from grandfather to father to son.
Until it was time for the first stage on this long road, Abd al-Ghani had had no job, since he had grown too old to stay with the other children at the Qur’an school run by the jurist from the south. This was why he was always so keen to fill his time by following all the activities of the household, the family, and his brothers. But now the day had come when he had clashed with his own mother. She had opened his eyes to the fact that he was now a young man, like other boys his age. Her very words kept toying with his feelings. They were knocking on the door of a closed soul, one that had never launched itself into the welcoming world whose adventures his mother had now shaken him into exploring.