The Snake Pit

The tractor stopped on the road running along the foot of the hillside. It was pulling a cart with three sturdy workers on it. The road stretched away toward the sea, traversing another hill that was covered with short trees. Hous Obaha stopped the engine and looked back at the three men.

“Get off,” he told Tazeroualt. “And go tell him.”

“I can’t go into the café looking like this,” he replied. “People who are as dirty as me don’t frequent such places.”

“Just knock on the window. When he comes out, tell him.”

“I can’t even walk across the café courtyard. Just look how clean it is. If I do, he’s bound to curse me. In fact, he may well deal with me the way he did with the others. I don’t want him to throw me into the snake pit. I have a wife and kids.”

The Blue Shark was a café-restaurant at the top of the hill. It looked like an impregnable castle, surrounded on all sides by flowers and trees. Through the window you could see waiters in their tidy matching uniforms making their way between tables. They had epaulettes on their shoulders and shiny, golden numbers on their chests. On the opposite side the sea was visible, vast and expansive. On the cliff some long-necked backhoes were visible, working in slow and continuous motion.

“Why don’t you go tell him?” Hous Obaha repeated.

“I can’t.”

Then Hous Obaha turned to someone else. “You go! Tell him we’ve thrown ‘him’ in the pit. He’ll be happy to hear that. He may even give us a reward.”

“I can’t go. When he drinks, he gets wild.”

“Are you that afraid of him?”

“Go tell him yourself! In just these few hours he’ll have drunk a bottle of whiskey, for sure.”

“He can’t hurt me,” Hous Obaha replied. “He’s a coward. I’ve worked with him for more than ten years, so I know him well. If he didn’t have authority on his side, I’d have killed him long ago. And he knows it. In any case, he can send anyone he wants to prison and throw anyone he feels like into the pit. What matters to me is that he keep out of my way and give me my pay every weekend.”

With that, he jumped down from the tractor’s seat. He was wearing a pair of black rubber boots that were plastered in black mud. He started climbing the steps toward the Blue Shark. On either side were displays of neatly cut flowers and shrubs. The three men watched him anxiously. He was really brave, the only man who could look ‘Abiqa straight in the eye.

All the workers in the gardens and fields, both male and female, were scared of ‘Abiqa. He was on good terms with all the authorities. He could kill or jail anyone who tried to oppose him or look him in the eye. Any worker he did not like would find himself transferred or fired within twenty-four hours. Even so, he was a coward, and he was particularly scared of Hous. But who knows, maybe one of these days he’d be preparing a “special kind of party” for him, too.

The men kept watching anxiously as Hous’s hulking frame made its way up the steps, leaning forward and taking them two by two. By now he’d reached the courtyard in front of the Blue Shark. He stopped for a moment, then stretched his arms in the air. The sunshine was reflecting off the café’s windows, so nothing inside was visible. When Hous Obaha reached the door, he paused for a moment. However, as it happened, ‘Abiqa came out. The three men watched as the two of them walked across the courtyard, then stopped. Only their heads and shoulders were visible. ‘Abiqa seemed to be showing little interest as he listened to Hous Obaha talking. Finally, he lifted his hand and pointed toward the sea. His arm stayed in that position for quite some time, then he slowly lowered it. Hous went on talking. The three other men kept trying to guess what they were talking about.

“If I were in Hous’s place,” Tazeroualt said, “that bastard would be kicking me or spitting in my face.”

“He can do even worse things than that,” said one of the others.

“I know,” the other man replied. “Anyone who can throw a poor man into the snake pit is capable of doing absolutely anything.”

People were always talking about the snake pit that ‘Abiqa used to punish his enemies. That included everyone, whether they were from Suq Sebt, or Tlet Lawlad, or Jorf Lasfar. In addition, his father had a big open courtyard for whipping people. Every evening, he used to whip a peasant, his wife, or his son. Once in a while, the French military commandant or governor would enjoy strolling around the courtyard so they could watch the whipping in process. They used to laugh and show not the slightest sign of pity or concern. ‘Abiqa used to invite them for dinner—grilled lamb, shikhat, and couscous. Once the dinner was over, another private party would begin. Those private parties gradually developed and expanded. Instead of the French, it was the Caid and the Super Caid, the Governor, and the District Attorney who would attend. However, barns and shacks were put up in the courtyard where calves, cattle, and men all lived together. His father never drank, but ‘Abiqa was hardly ever sober. And, in spite of everything, his fortune kept growing.

Hous left ‘Abiqa and began to rumble his way back to the tractor. He walked effortlessly down the steps two at a time, his rubber boots spraying stone chips all over the place.

He noticed the three men on the cart; they were staring at him, awestruck. He could picture them saying, “He’s really brave.” He didn’t care what they thought of him. What really mattered was for ‘Abiqa to pay him his salary every weekend and never stand in his way. Even the snake pit didn’t scare him. He knew he’d be able to kill an entire tribe before ‘Abiqa had a chance to throw him in the pit.

He jumped up on the tractor without saying a word. He tried to start it again, but the engine stalled at first. Once it started, he moved off along a winding road toward the sea. At the top of the hill, right in front of the Blue Shark, ‘Abiqa watched as they left. Rubbing his hands and kicking the ground with his foot, he burst into laughter as he shook his fist in the air. Going back into the café from the restaurant side, he made for the bar and almost collided with one of the tables, but it just wobbled, rattled, then settled back into position. He didn’t even bother with it. The waiter stared at him with a mixture of disgust, respect, and fear. He went over and joined two men who were perched on stools by the bar. He gestured to the bartender, who filled two glasses with whiskey.

“Next time” ‘Abiqa said, “I’m going to win the parliamentary election.”

“No one deserves it more than you,” one of the two men replied. “That mule only won by using fraud, bribery, and negative campaigning,” the other one added.

“I did all that too,” ‘Abiqa answered. “Can you imagine? The peasants, those dogs who work for me, they campaigned against me!”

“Did you throw that particular dog into the snake pit?”

“Of course. Tonight they’ll start biting him. Next time no one in the entire region will be able to campaign against me.”

He raised the glass to his mouth, and the others did the same. The bar was almost empty. In the corner the barman was listening, but pretending not to care about the world around him. Nevertheless, he was well aware of the story of the snake pit; everybody used to talk about it, but in a very guarded way. They always talked about ‘Abiqa and his father, but in fact they were afraid for themselves. Even the district governor himself was afraid of ‘Abiqa. He didn’t want problems. If the stench spread far enough, it would register disgust in Rabat.

‘Abiqa emptied his glass and signaled again to the barman. “Drink up!” he said.

He took a deep breath. “I swear,” he went on, “even if General Oufkir himself were to rise from his grave, he wouldn’t be able to stand against me. This time I’m going to teach a hard lesson to those pigs who keep eating my leftovers, then campaign against me in the elections.”

The others said nothing but kept nodding their heads. Even if he was wrong, they were doing their best to take his side and support him. After all, they were eating his leftovers, as well. One of them was the manager at a farm of his; every year he embezzled half the revenue. The other one was simply an admirer. Why not? The governor himself was afraid of him, and, even if General Oufkir did arise from his grave, he would not be able to stand against him.

Sunshine made its way across the café floor, then across the tables as well. Only two families were eating there. They seemed to have arrived late for lunch and were now ready to pay the bill.

‘Abiqa’s head started spinning, but it was unusual for him to feel dizzy when he had not drunk a lot. It was driving him crazy.

“Let’s keep drinking,” the man on his right said. “Just imagine you’ve won the elections.”

“Don’t you think it’s the governor who pulled this dirty trick?” the other man said.

“Don’t say that!” ‘Abiqa replied. “He can’t have done it. He’s eaten all my sheep. If he did it, his stomach would surely explode from eating too much. In his sleep, my grandfather would be standing over his head; he would certainly cause him no end of grief. He knows that. That’s why he can’t possibly have done such a thing.”

The two big families left; there were a lot of them. For a while the sun went behind some clouds, then re-emerged to cover the floor and tables, then spread toward the kitchen on the left. The barman raised his head and stretched up to glance out the window.

Outside in the square the gendarmes’ jeep was seeking a suitable place to park. The driver found a spot right in front of the café door. The lieutenant looked out his window, opened the door quickly, and was followed by four gendarmes with rifles. They all rushed into the café. When ‘Abiqa saw them, he felt more at ease. He knew the officer; he had eaten his sheep, as well.

“Well, you rogue, who are you looking for?” ‘Abiqa asked, “Throw those bastards out and come have a drink. No one in the café is dangerous enough for all this bother.”

“How can there be any dangerous men when ‘Abiqa’s around?” his farm manager asked.

“Call me ‘Si Abdelkader,’ you dog.”

“Sorry. Si Abdelkader.”

However, the officer’s expression did not change; he still looked severe. When he gestured with his hand, the four gendarmes moved toward ‘Abiqa, their rifles aimed straight at him.

‘Abiqa was confused. At first, he did not believe it.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Don’t play with fire.”

“I’m not playing or joking,” said the officer. “It’s an order. I’ve been told to arrest you.”

“Like this, you dog!”

“It’s your mother who’s the bitch.”

One of the gendarmes pounced on him, twisted his arms behind his back and handcuffed him. He frog-marched ‘Abiqa over to the jeep and shoved him inside. ‘Abiqa was frothing at the mouth and cursing, but it was all useless. The gendarmes’ ears were sealed shut.