In the Middle of Nowhere
10 p.m. Outside, everything was white, and the snow was still falling. Inside the freezing cold café, Ahmad had managed to wrap himself up in his overcoat like a hedgehog. There were very few other customers. The glass windows were all fogged up, which gave the illusion of actual warmth even though the café still wasn’t at all warm.
“There’s no way of avoiding the cold,” said the girl behind the counter. “This place is between mountains, and it’s always snowing. Besides that, we can’t afford to heat the café; it’s too expensive, especially now that the number of customers keeps dropping.”
“This weather makes the place look deserted and gloomy.”
“Not entirely,” she said. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Please, and pour yourself one, too, if you want to stave off the cold. It could well give you a bad case of flu.”
“I’ll have a whiskey. The bar-owner refuses to let me drink cheap stuff.”
The café was pretty empty: just eight people scattered along the length of the bar or sitting on chairs to the side. The door and windows were shut and the lighting was dim. Through the kitchen door came the sound of plates clattering and glasses being washed. Once in awhile, the girl brought them out and stacked them under the counter.
Sitting in a corner by the door, a woman had lifted her veil, revealing a tattoo that covered her face in the Zammori style. She was drinking one glass after another. At the same table, the man who was with her was completely drunk. The edge of his turban dangled over his shoulder and forehead, and his lower lip drooped, as well.
“The whiskey’s bad for me,” the barmaid said. “But I have to drink it.”
“Try red wine instead.”
“I can’t. Look at that woman over there. She only drinks red wine, and she’s stronger than a devil.”
“Her husband’s gotten drunk just on beer.”
“He gets drunk easily,” she replied. “But he’s not her husband. He’s married to two other women.”
“Lucky man! He must be rich.”
“He sells cattle and owns two trucks. Even the Caid’s scared of him. His two wives know about his relationship with this woman.”
The girl heard a cup being placed on the bar and went over to dry it.
Now two men came in, their hats pulled down firmly over their ears. Their hats and clothes were white, and their bodies were covered in snowflakes. One of them, his greasy face shrouded in steam, started rubbing his hands together and blowing on them. He was clearly a mechanic, while the other one looked like a truck driver. They both went straight to the bar, stood by Ahmad, and ordered two cups of hot coffee. They whispered to each other, drank their coffee quickly, then left, but only after pulling their hats down firmly and opening the glass door. A freezing cold draft blew in, which made the customers shift their positions and bundle up in their clothes.
Ahmad took a cigarette from his pack, thinking he could at least warm the space around his face. Emptying the rest of his glass, he tapped it on the bar. The girl came over, refilled it for him, then served herself. She said she might get drunk tonight; it was a really good idea, especially in such awful weather. “It is very cold,” she went on in Berber, “Do you know Tashelheet?”
“No, but I understand you. Are you Amazigh?”
“My late father was, but my mother was an Arab from Doukkala. Sometimes I have to speak Tamazight because most of the people here are Amazigh.”
“So why have you exiled yourself to this place? You don’t seem to be from these parts.”
“No, I’m not. That’s a long story, a very long story. Anyway, I can’t go back to my own city. He keeps threatening to kill me.”
“Who?”
“Him.”
“But what about the authorities?”
“Oh, I know all about that!” said the barmaid. “Might as well not even mention it. I’m living a fairly happy life here, in spite of the isolation. By now, I’m used to the place, but I’m afraid I may be spending the rest of my life here.”
“Anyone else in your situation would dread the idea, too. Can you see the moon, high above the snow-capped peaks?”
“The window’s fogged over,” she replied. “I can’t see a thing.”
“Me neither. I only imagined it. Give me another drink. I’m extremely tired. I don’t know where I’m going to sleep tonight in this freezing cold. You say there’s no hotel here.”
“That’s right, there is no hotel. We only have three rooms, but tourists have already booked them for four days. Drink up, and we’ll think of a solution later. I know, it’s hard for you. The nearest city is eighty kilometers away. Not to mention the foul weather.”
“Yes. Not to mention extreme fatigue. I can’t drive my car now. Do you understand?”
“Very well.”
She poured herself another drink, served another client in the corner, then with a cough she came out from behind the counter and went over to the jukebox. It started playing a tender American ballad. The man with the dangling turban woke up and started singing in Tashelheet. The girl told him to stop. It wasn’t the right time, she told him, but promised that they would all listen to him later.
“Give us something to drink,” the man told her. “Life is short. I’ve got to sell a whole truck full of cattle next Saturday. What a deal!”
“Don’t assume that other people are begging,” replied the barmaid. She turned to Ahmad. “He only brags about his money when he’s drunk,” she said.
“He’s right,” said Ahmad. “Life is short. It’s freezing cold, and I need to get some sleep. How about me spending the night with you and paying you?”
“I don’t know about that. It’s never happened with any customer here before.”
“So then, let it be the first time! Empty your glass. Life is short. Uuh, everything is tiring, even sleeping with a woman. Don’t think I’m like the others. I’ll just sleep. If you don’t want it, I won’t even touch you. Even so, it’ll be better to sleep in the same bed tonight.”
“You drink too much. Have you had anything to eat?”
“I ate some sardines and half a kilo of bananas, but that was hours ago.”
“That’s not enough. Do you want me to order you a sandwich? I need to eat before I go to bed, too.”
“OK, just as you like. Pour me a drink. It’s not so cold now; I feel warmer.”
“But your nose is red.”
She heard a customer calling her and went over to get the bill. Three men left the café, but he didn’t even feel the wind that blew in again. He watched as the thick flakes kept falling in the light of the streetlamps. The empty street was completely blanketed in white. The glass door closed by itself.
“Are you a government employee?” Ahmad heard her asking.
“No.”
“Businessman?”
“No.”
“Oh, I see. A drug smuggler? They pass by here a lot.”
“No, I’m not a drug smuggler, but I do other things in life. Do you work with ‘Them’?”
“Drug smugglers?”
“No. ‘Them.’”
“Who are ‘Them’?”
“‘Them.’ Don’t you know ‘Them’? The police.”
“Impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s the way it is,” she replied. “I’ve ordered two sandwiches. Can I get myself another drink? You’re very generous.”
“I just want to get some sleep.”
“It’s possible, but still difficult. You don’t know the region. I can’t take a client home with me. Tomorrow everybody would be talking about it.”
“But it’s just one night in your life here.”
“I see. You’ll have to wait for me for two hours or more till the bar’s finally empty.”
“I’ll try. Will you take me with you?”
“I only have a small bed.”
“That’s even better.”
The wine made Ahmad’s head feel heavy. He closed his eyes and slumped back in his chair.
“Go and wait for me in your car,” said the girl. “I’ll join you when I’ve finished. That way, nobody will know.”
He paid the bill, grabbed the sandwich, and walked out chewing. The wind was freezing cold, blowing in from far away. He was shivering all over and found it difficult to run because his legs wouldn’t obey him. He fell on the snow, struggled back to his feet, and headed for the car. He closed the door and tried to eat the sandwich, but found it impossible. He felt his hands letting the sandwich drop on to his thighs, but could not manage to bring it back up to his mouth. As soon as he started to feel warmer, he started snoring loudly, head down. At the same time, the girl had started dropping glasses between her feet at the bar. There was just one drunk customer left.