‌Black Sun

And so it was that I left for the red-walled city many years ago and grew into my father’s robes. And Ahmed departed for Fès soon after and was able to provide for himself over time, just as I’d predicted. But Mustafa went in the opposite direction, as it were, and confirmed my father’s worst fears. Something about him changed fundamentally after the death of my wife and child, and his irrepressible good humour gave way to long and frequent spells of anger, a trait quite alien to our family and one he seemed to relish stoking until it had hardened into a set feature of his personality. Ahmed, who had the misfortune of being at the receiving end of that temper on more than one occasion, once mourned to me the presence in our family of that stranger, our brother.

Once, when we were meeting at my uncle Mohand’s house in Marrakesh, Mustafa made a remark to Ahmed of such unusual harshness that Father said gravely: I will not let you turn this meeting into a battleground. Ahmed is older than you and deserves your respect. Either apologize to him, or leave this instant.

Why must I respect him? Mustafa demanded.

Father turned pale with anger. Barely able to control himself, he said in measured tones: Because he is worthy of your respect. Because it is your obligation. Because he is doing something valuable with his life. Because I am telling you to.

I will not apologize to him, Mustafa said obdurately, rising to his feet.

At this stage, my uncle intervened. Speaking rapidly and in a voice pitched high with displeasure, he said: Does nothing matter to you, boy? Obey your father and let’s be done with it.

Mustafa stalked out without a backward glance.

Father gazed at the open door through which his son had left and said, disconsolately: That boy was born under a black sun.

We learnt subsequently that Mustafa had walked all the way to the Supratours bus station in a rage, bought himself a ticket for Essaouira, and departed without a second thought. We next heard from him after four months, but only after my father had written to a mutual friend asking him if he knew anything about Mustafa’s whereabouts.