Drum Beats

When I saw it, I told myself it wasn’t possible.

Why the drum beats? Why do I only hear them and nothing else? Maybe there is something. What could it possibly be?

The dark horizon stretches away in front of me. At times a glimmer like twilight carves a space between sky and sea, but for the most part, everything is pitch black. The drum beats come from everywhere and the darkness gives them a special significance. They seem to spread across the sand, forming dunes that I can’t make out very well.

I wanted to smoke, but didn’t have any cigarettes.

“It’s your sister who wanted it,” I heard him say. “I don’t like women that much. She tempted me.”

“I don’t care. You should have done it in the forest or some other cursed space.”

The drum beats inside my head intensified. Those words didn’t emerge spontaneously from my mouth. I had no idea what to say. So much needed to be said: about the dark horizon, the gap between sky and sea, and those dunes and hollows, not to mention the lack of cigarettes. But I still didn’t know which hand had stabbed my sister. Had it really been mine, or was there another powerful force that had managed to manipulate us both?

By now the drum beats had stopped, to be replaced by sounds of insects and splashing waves. A big fish had used a knife to kill a small one. But then, the sea is deep. Anything is possible, anytime, anywhere.

“Since when have you ever been bothered about your sister’s honor?” she’d asked me. “If you were a real man, you’d be looking for a job. Aren’t I the one who’s providing for you?”

I spat in my sister’s face and pushed her away. She was still looking around her and did not react.

“Get that mule out of here,” I told her.

“No,” she’d shouted at me. “You’re the one I’m going to throw out of the house. Go sleep in the street.”

“Since when did he ever pay the rent, you whore?” I yelled.

“Get out of here,” she yelled back, “or I’m going to hit you with the bellows.”

“Make sure you take good care of your sister,” our father had told me before he died. “She’s younger than you. Women know nothing about life.”

“Only marry your sister to a real man,” my mother had said before joining her husband.

But my sister had refused to get married, even though the man who had made her pregnant had been very insistent. That is when the drum beats had started banging inside my head, heralding the realization that a man has to be firm and stick to principles, even though they may be cruel and harmful. Now those drums were beating again as I realized that, in my case, a woman is indeed providing for a man.

“The neighbors are laughing at us,” I told her. “One of these days they’re going to complain to the police.”

“They can all go to hell,” she replied. “I’ve lots of contacts with police officers.”

“I don’t like having a prostitute for a sister.”

“So can you provide for me instead, you lazy. . . . ?”

The sand under my body feels cold. Behind me the voices have almost completely disappeared. They’re all sleeping, but I can’t fall asleep now. It is still too early, and I’ve no idea how it’s all going to end.

I see an image of her lying on the ground, bloodstained and screaming. The man is kicking the door open for all he’s worth and rushing in. The floor is splattered with blood. All of a sudden the blood turns black. She’s fallen to the floor screaming, but I don’t think she’s dead. She’s like a slaughtered sheep that thrashes around and tries to fend off death with its hind legs. Blood is oozing from her open mouth. As I look around me, the entire room is splattered with blood. The walls are red at first, then they turn black. All the pictures on the walls have disappeared; everything has turned red, then black.

All around me drums were beating as though a terrible religious ritual was in progress. Is there, I wondered, a link between death and the drum beats? In my particular condition I wasn’t even aware of what I was doing. I couldn’t hear what either of them was saying. The only thing I heard was the beating of drums coming from afar. To complete the picture, black men in jallabas were crowding around me, gradually diminishing in size until they completely disappeared, leaving behind them only the sound of voices. As I flashed a knife in their faces, I spotted a man rushing for the door.

“The man’s just a moocher,” I heard one of them say.

“Could be,” another one of them said, “but I wish I were in his shoes. He lives like a king. He gets two packs of cigarettes a day and pocket money.”

“It’s still a dog’s life.”

“Enough of that talk. If he was working, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy his sister.”

I pretended not to hear. It was all true, so what was the point of getting so worked up? But sometimes emotions can be too powerful to resist. It was at just such a moment that I grabbed the knife and thrust it into her body—I think it was into her stomach, or maybe her shoulder or neck.

Whenever those drum beats start pounding, you’re totally deafened and can’t control yourself. Now here they come again, pounding near the sea as they rise out of the roaring waves and endless darkness.

My body was shivering in the cold. I could just make out the shape of some rocks. Standing up, I walked toward them.

Out here there’s almost no trace of humanity, just a few vagrants and men who have picked up some women. They take them to caves in those rocks and drink and sleep there. Once in awhile, the police come along to clean things up, but they usually go back without making any arrests. It’s enough to slip them ten dirhams. Other times they’ll take away one of the vagrants, but only to justify the raid.

I checked my pockets, just to make sure I had enough money to give them. When their drums start beating I just slip them the money, then I can relax. If you have money, you can do whatever you want.

Now the wind was blowing hard and it was terribly cold. I buttoned up my coat and held it tight around my throat. When I’d reached the rocks, the weather had been reasonably warm; you could have slept in a crevice between two rocks till dawn. I tried to be careful so as not to fall into one and break a limb. I could hear voices, men and women, and moved a little further away from them. Once they realized there was a human being close by beating drums, they sounded scared and kept whispering to each other. They seemed to prefer silencing their own drums for a while, so as not to mix their beats with mine. They also wanted to find out what kind of tune I was playing—was it just like theirs, or different? I chose a spot between two rocks. The wind was still blowing hard, but it didn’t reach me. It felt less cold.

The specters of men and women started approaching me from afar. I could see cigarette-embers glowing like cats’ eyes, so many that I couldn’t guess their number. Then the glow of a cigarette started moving in my direction. I wasn’t scared; actually, I felt quite safe.

“Are you on your own?” the tall man asked. “Come join us in things that are both sinful and lawful.”

“What kind of law, what kind of sin?”

“Come and see for yourself. Your tune is just like ours. Link your drums to ours, and let’s beat together.”

I stood up and followed him slowly and watchfully. “There are rocks,” the man added, “so be careful you don’t stumble.”

I joined the group, three men and three women, sitting in a circle around a plastic mat. One man had a bag on his back. Taking out a bottle of wine, he started pouring some into a single cup for all of us. Later, when matches were lit, I recognized them all. One of the women looked like my sister; she even had the same voice and smile. I drank the wine quickly in order to erase the image. One of the men looked just like the man in our house. I felt a painfully sharp knot in my stomach, but didn’t utter a word. Another man handed me a cigarette. As he lit the match, he brought it closer to my face so he could see who I was.

“Why are you so quiet?” one of the woman asked. “Do you have problems?”

I didn’t reply.

“Beat your drums. We are in terra incognita here.”

Again I didn’t reply.

“If you don’t want to beat your drum, then tear its skin with a knife.”

With that I drew a knife and stabbed my sister. Maybe it was the stomach, or shoulder, or neck. Maybe I missed her entirely and hit the drum skin instead. In any case, its voice could no longer be heard.