Abdellah khammar

Entry bell to class

Novel

 

The first trimester: Innocent or guilty 1

- 46 -

Most of the students were not present on Thursday and they joined it to Eid al-Fitr. We returned to work on Friday. I spent the first day of Eid at my uncle's house where he invited the Arab professors as usual every year. Wajdi, Issam, Kazem Aslan and Mana Saadoun were present. Latifa, Issam's wife, stayed with my aunt Fatima and my cousin Amina, and then she left the following day for Tunisia. The food was grilled lamb, Tlitli and Douara surrounded by a variety of salads.

When I arrived in the morning, I found Wajdi and Faiza in the professors' room immersed in a friendly conversation. The November show and the training that preceded it brought the distance between them one-step or more. Wajdi told me that he had come across Faiza twice at the Egyptian cultural centre and they had exchanged greetings. She was looking in the library for Arabic plays and books on stage direction. The reserve dominated their relationships but the ice began to melt, giving way to the heat in their conversation.

I found in my mailbox a call from the inspector for the seminar next Tuesday at the Training Institute for Teachers of Middle Education in Bouzareah. The seminar program consists of attending a second year secondary level course followed by a discussion on teaching methods. I also read on the bulletin board an administrative instruction concerning the opening hours of the mosque for the noon and Asr prayers. Surprised, the mosque generally remains open all day.

The bell rang and I went with Wajdi to the schoolyard to accompany the students to the class. The secretary suddenly came to ask Wajdi to meet the principal. It is customary that Akli Ait Shaker spends Eid al-Fitr in Tizi Ouzou and, after the feast, visits us in the teachers' room to exchange greetings. What happened today? Why does he ask Wajdi immediately? Two hours passed and I rushed into the professors' room to get news. I found the principal on the spot and with him, Wajdi and Issam, and the sadness is visible on their faces. I congratulated the principal on Eid al-Fitr and asked Issam about the news. He replied, "The ministry decided to transfer Wajdi to the Bouzareah Institute after opening a music class there. The principal tried to cancel the transfer but the academy informed him that the institute needs him urgently because he is a specialist in Arabic music.

I froze in my place and the principal assured me that Wajdi would stay in his apartment. I looked at Faiza and saw her face, which was full of vitality and cheerfulness in the morning, suddenly dried up and yellowed. I knew she heard the news that disturbed her. That means she loves him, even if she doesn't admit it. The principal seemed sad and helpless because he couldn't stop the transfer. I felt guilty about going to the opening of Janine’s exhibit in the evening, and I couldn’t stay with him and comfort him. However, he relieved me by saying, "We will always stay together, we are neighbours in the accommodation and we will not be separated except during working hours, go to your meeting."

- 47 -

I arrived at the exhibition hall of the French cultural centre late due to transportation. The hall was full of visitors. I saw Janine from afar surrounded by staff members of the French Embassy, ​​the Algerian Ministry of Culture, French and Algerian artists and professors. I never imagined having the opportunity to chat with her. I started looking at her with eyes full of admiration. She wore a red dress that barely reached her knees, showing the consistency of her body with her moderate size almost tall. Her thin, white-skinned arms and the upper part of her chest stand out while her golden hair shines under the lights floated on her half-naked back. The sparkling diamond necklace in her beautiful neck was in perfect harmony with the sparkle of her teeth, the radiant of her brighten smile, the sparkle of the bracelet in her left hand and the buttons of the diamond dress, making her a sparkling star around which the crowd of men and women were present. The paintings of four participating artists differed according to their different artistic schools. Janine strolled gracefully between them. She wore red high-heeled shoes in harmony with her dress. She explained her paintings to the public and listened to their opinions and comments. She finished her paintings and moved with the public to the paintings of other artists.

I did not find in me the desire to understand the paintings as I find it now. But I am ignorant in this area, because I was neither interested in painting nor appreciated it. How can I read the paintings and I don't know their codes? I stood in front of Janine's paintings according to the figures in the guide and I found a man explaining the first painting to his wife. The painting bore the name "Natural view of the Jura". He explained to her that "the Jura" is the region in which the town of Besançon where the artist lives is located. The scene was drawn in autumn; the trees are almost bare and the sky covered with clouds. He added that the painting is not 100% classic, but has romantic features, because it reflects in dark colours the melancholy of the artist when she painted it.

I started to be jealous. If I were a painter, there would be a common language between Janine and me like those around her. Painting is a universal language. As for poetry, I write in Arabic, which Janine does not understand. We are all in Boussaâda and generally, in the south poets, we draw from the stock of poetry in us and from those who surround us. We learned the language of prosody and metrics. If we studied the language of shapes and colours, we could reflect the beauty of our nature in the most beautiful paintings.

 The second painting was expressive and represented a dancer at the height of her passion. The facial and body expressions reflected the affection that she had reached its peak. The third is cubism, which is incredibly adherent cubes, which represent the image of the painter. It seems when you see from afar a 3D dimension painting. It is distinguished by its simplicity, agility and beauty. The artist continues to explain to his wife what I listen to and learn. The fourth and fifth paintings are abstract. The first represents two eyes, afflicted and saddened in the centre of the whiteboard, called "suffering". The second one does not have the shape, but the colours: blue, white, red, green and purple speak of a harmony that is comfortable for the eyes who look. The last is the only political painting or let's say humanitarian. Its right half painted in oil, represents a white child full of vitality and health, nibbled on a red apple and behind him a large white palace. Nature is rich in greenery and flowers of different colours. The second half drawn of charcoal depicts a lean black child with protruding bones and thorax. Behind him, we see a small African hut and barren land. The title of the painting "Two children and two continents".

 Suddenly, I found before me Nouara and Dassine. We exchanged greetings. "I didn't know you were interested in painting," said Nouara.

- "An artist invited me; Miss Olivier, my colleague in the English study". I pointed her.

They said "goodbye" and they left.

I walked around the gallery a bit to see the paintings of other artists. Then I approached her to congratulate her. The people around her always occupied her or rather they were occupied by her. The participating artists offered her to stay up late together to celebrate their exhibition. She apologized for a previous date. They were racing to invite her. I was in pain because I cannot invite her like the others. I am out of competition. Compared with them, I’m unlucky. However, she apologized to everyone. No doubt, she's waiting for Jack. I approached her and shook her hand, sincerely saying, "I congratulate you on these beautiful paintings". She smiled and flooded me with the warmth, brightness and sweetness of the sun with her radiant smile, and led me away from the crowd. I felt that she was happy to save her from the insistence of the other artists to accompany her. She asked me, "Did you like the paintings?"

- "They are wonderful. I mean, you are a great artist, with a lot of feelings". I stammered. I extended my hand to her to say good-bye, she grabbed it and she didn't leave it. She asked me, "What is your program tonight?"

- "Nothing important, maybe I'll correct some of the students' sheets".

- "What do you think of celebrating with me the opening of the exhibition?"

I was happy with her invitation, but I felt that I would be a stranger in this atmosphere. I said, "That’s a pleasure for me, but I don't know any of your friends."

- "The invitation is yours alone".

It was a surprise that I did not expect and beyond my imagination. As much as this invitation pleased me, as much as it worried me, I would be alone with her. I am shy by nature with women. I am bold in public, but I am confused when I am alone with a woman, and how to act with Janine? The concern is not to be up to par, not to behave well, to disappoint her and to lose her friendship. My happiness turns into misery.

"We don't need a car, it's close," she said without waiting for my answer. We climbed the stairs to the Grande Poste Square and walked in Didouche Murad Street. She told me about the English lessons I missed during Ramadan until she was near Al khaima's restaurant "the tent" and said, "We have arrived".

The restaurant keeper greeted us with his magnificent white burnouse and his green hat decorated with feathers. The waiter accompanied us to a table that seemed to be the only empty one. The decoration of the restaurant corresponds to its name, where a small tent with two statues represented a couple of Bedouins drinking coffee. A caravan of camels placed in front of them on the ground in the left corner.

The waiter pulled Janine's chair to sit down. I sat on the chair across from her and she motioned for me to sit next to her. Right now, I imagined that I saw Nouara and her sister Dassine at the entrance of the restaurant. I looked again but I saw no one. Without looking at the menu, Janine asked for couscous with the meat and I asked the same thing. She asked me, "What are you drinking?"

- "Mineral water" Saida ".

- "I mean wine, don't you want a glass with food?"

- "No, I don't drink, but you can drink what you want".

- "I never drink wine and my family supports the fight against alcohol".

This coincidence made me happy. The waiter brought the salad, a big bottle of water and a bottle of Selecto Hamoud ordered by Janine. After the couscous, we had the fruit salad.

Janine enjoyed the food and I enjoyed her company and her conversation. She appreciated the success of the exhibition and the distinction of her paintings. She was delighted with the audience attended, Algerians, French and foreigners. We were ecstatic, even if we did not drink a single drop of wine. As for Janine, the ecstasy of her success mingled with the ecstasy of the evening. As for me, I was in an ecstatic state by her company and by her choice of me to celebrate her success together. It almost made me exclaim and dance with joy. How can I find myself alone with art and beauty? It's something I didn't dare imagine even in the dream, and here it is. My senses all appreciate her presence. I smell her scent, the aroma of her body and the flavour of her mouth. I feast my eyes on her beauty, I enjoyed listening to her voice, and almost my skin feels her soft skin. Even food has a special taste and flavour in her presence, mixed with its good smell and whispers. This is how the waves of ecstasy led us to the heights of the clouds.

We stayed like that throughout the evening, looking at each other with a drugged or enchanted look. Our murmurs become poems and our revelations turned into perfumes. I couldn't figure out how we were holding hands or who held first the other's hand. She said coquettishly, "Did you like dinner?"

I replied in a sincere tone, "I liked the company".

- "Why?"

- "Because I ... because I ... because I ... love you."

I blamed myself for my haste in admitting that I love her. I was afraid she was angry but she said, "So quickly".

- "But from church day".

- "Why didn't you tell me before?"

- "I thought you were related to Jack".

- "That’s why you don't come with me after class?"

- "Yes".

I almost asked her about him, but I changed my mind.

She looked at me and said with a tone of coquetry, "Do you see me beautiful because you love me, or you love me because I am beautiful?"

I replied surprised, "What is the difference?"

- "The difference is that beauty is linked to time".

- "Is beauty limited to the body?" 

- "Do you believe in the beauty of the spirit? Do you like the ugly or old woman if she has a beautiful soul?"

I replied honestly, "All I know is that I love you, whether you are beautiful or not".

Janine laughed and I felt that she wanted to say to me, "Me too" but she didn't say it. I drank the coffee alone because she doesn't drink coffee at night. I tried to pay the bill, but she insisted that she invited me. "If you want us to go out together, let me pay this time and you pay another time, and you invite me next time", she said.

I discovered that she was not the kind of woman who strains the budget of the man and pushes him to give the blood of his heart for the pleasure of her good company by choosing the most luxurious restaurants and asking for the most expensive dishes. She was practical. She knows that the relationship does not last between two if one of them alone carries the material burden, and that both are employees with limited wages. We left the restaurant in the direction of her apartment. She said, looking me in the eyes to see the answer before hearing it: "Can you be my guide in Algiers?"

I was happy and my eyes began to say, "When are we going to start?"

- "What do you think of Saturday, but not tomorrow, I have an appointment at the high school".

- "So, our meeting is next Saturday?"

We arrived near her building and she indicated the floor where she lived. I said to her, "You will find me at nine o'clock near the building".

- "But are you attending English class this week?"

- "Certainly".

- "Then, we will meet at the institute". She said to me, "goodbye" and went up to her apartment.

- 48 -

I arrived late at my apartment because I wandered the streets despite the biting cold. I could not restrain the explosive energy that was in me and the ecstasy that I felt for sleeping early as usual. I cannot show my happiness to Wajdi, instead of showing my sadness for his displacement. In my mind, the idea of ​​a poem for Janine was matured. When I woke up, I enjoyed retrieving the memories of the previous night and stayed in my bed. I remembered every word Janine said every movement and every smile and tried to explain it. I came to the only conclusion that she loved me the way I loved her, even if she didn't say so explicitly. However, she honoured me and she chose me from among all these high officials and artists, French and Algerian. She chose me, the professor of Arabic language, the son of Boussaâda city and I had become very proud.

I heard the doorbell at Wajdi's apartment at quarter past nine. It rang several times. I assumed he was a salesperson, and then the doorbell rang again after a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes before I entered the bathroom. I left my apartment at ten o'clock, so I found the door to Wajdi’s apartment open. I rang the doorbell and knocked on the door and no one answered. I called Wajdi and when no one answered, I entered the apartment and was surprised by a woman lying on the floor in the living room. Her blond hair stained with blood caught my attention. The apartment was upside down. Everything is scattered. There are some items collected and ready to be carried. I knew the woman was dead. I picked up the phone to call the police. I remembered that Françoise had cut the phone before she left. I went down quickly and went to the police station near the building, without thinking, telling them what I saw. They came and took my testimony. I went to high school to call Wajdi, who only works two hours in the morning. I was surprised that he gave a class at eight o'clock and then he left. The science professor took his second lesson to make a test for the students with the approval of the administration.

I returned to the apartment. The body was removed after being examined by the medical examiner and the forensic experts took fingerprints. I found the police superintendent interrogating Wajdi, who arrived a few minutes ago. We found in the apartment a small bag where the victim's clothes are stored. She is apparently European but the police did not find any indication of her name, identity or nationality.

Wajdi showed his surprise at the presence of the deceased in his apartment, the existence of her luggage and he indicated that he did not know her. The police superintendent ordered his arrest and I could no longer bear the scene. Tears ran from my eyes and I couldn't control them anymore. I wiped them with a handkerchief. Wajdi was calm. He did not fear or protest. He was confident of his innocence. Instead of encouraging him, he encouraged me by saying, "Don't worry about me because God is with me". He gave me the key of the apartment. I felt helpless when I saw my friend arrested that he is far from his family and I can’t do anything for him. I felt guilty for informing the police about the crime. If I waited for his return, we could find a way out together.

I asked the police superintendent to speak to him to ask if he wanted anything. He replied, "Not now, but you can bring him a blanket, underwear, pyjamas, and shaving tools". I did not have lunch that day. I went to high school, found Issam, and told him what had happened. We looked for the principal and found him walking around the restaurant. He went with us to his office and called the police superintendent, who said to him; "He is not yet charged, we arrested him because the victim was found in his home and could not prove where he was from 9 am to 11 am. He confirmed that he went to buy musical instruments at Tanger Street but the store was closed and unfortunately no witness saw him". The superintendent gave him an appointment at 2 p.m.

The principal’s emotion was clear on his face and in his words and his defence of Wagdi to the police superintendent. I waited for my uncle in the professors’ room. He came at 1:30 p.m. to look for me after the principal told him the details of the incident. He was very touched. He tried to comfort me when I told him of my feelings of helplessness and shame at informing the police. He said, "Don't blame yourself; it's your duty to help your friend even if he's guilty, but you shouldn't be his accomplice in the crime".

- "Our friendship is limitless".

- "There is no limitless friendship, and the limits of ideal friendship are divine law, morality and law. A friend cannot ask his friend to violate one of them in the name of friendship, or help him in this".

- "But I denounced the crime and I am convinced that he is innocent, I thought he was in class at the time of the crime".

- "You did not report him, you reported a crime and we will help him prove his innocence".

I was waiting with Issam for the principal to meet the police chief. He told us when he returned before 4 p.m. that the police had identified the victim from a document found in her jacket. Her name is Brigitte Fleuriste. She was a French teacher in Blida, friend of Françoise and she used to visit her at home and in high school. It is clear that the apartment was stolen, but the stolen items that were collected and ready to be carried remained in the apartment. This weakens Wajdi’s position; he can be accused of letting the police believe the theft to cover up his crime. The principal assured me that he had met Wajdi. He is in good health and in good psychological condition. He added, "We will never give him up".

I stayed with Issam late at night to analyse what had happened and try to find a logical explanation for it. We asked ourselves, "Who came to ring several times at nine o'clock, and who rang twenty minutes later? Who was inside? How did Brigitte enter the apartment? Who opened the door for her? Who were the thieves and how did they get in?” We left without finding convincing answers to these puzzling questions, but we did not doubt his innocence or assumed for a moment his guilt.

-49-

Most professors and students were unaware of the crime and Wajdi's arrest until Monday morning. The newspapers Al-Shaab in Arabic and El-Moudjahid in French published the news of the discovery of a body of a 25-year-old European woman in the apartment of an Egyptian professor who was arrested. They said that the investigation was under way to find out the identity of the victim and the reason for the crime. The professors surrounded me when I entered the room to make sure the professor was Wajdi. Among them were Makadri, Hakim, Ammar, Faiza and Nadia. I told them what had happened and the identity of the victim. Students rushed to express their sadness and disbelief at Wajdi's accusation. When I went to the professors' room at the tenth recess, I saw the fake blonde accountant who was talking to the librarian and I heard what they said by chance,

- "I know people and my opinions on them are always right. I guess this Egyptian is bad".

- "But the investigation hasn't proven anything yet, he may be innocent".

- "Do you think that? A corpse in his apartment, you don't know what these singles do in their apartments: if he was innocent, they wouldn't have arrested him: no smoke without fire."

Suddenly the fake blonde accountant saw me. She stammered saying,

"We were talking about your Egyptian friend. I am confident in his innocence".

The professors' conversation in recess was about Wajdi and the victim, and the reason for her presence at his home. They have split into a majority of them who believe in his innocence and a small minority have criminalized him and seized the opportunity to attack the Arabs, the Middle East and the Egyptians in particular. I sat down with Issam and looked around the room. I saw the assistant principal stood with Jack, Hakim and Ammar. They were busy in a very serious conversation. Then I saw Ammar point his hand in protest against what was said and he withdrew. I saw Sardi and Makadri plunged into a heated discussion. Faiza came up to me and eagerly asked me, "Where is he now?"

"I don't know if he can still be detained at the police station or possibly handed over to the prosecution". She stammered a little, blushed, regained her courage, and said in an imploring tone, "If you visit him, please convey to him my greetings and my conviction of his innocence". She left quickly to hide her confusion.

Martha was not there in the morning. When she heard the news, she came to me and I told her what had happened. She shook her head and said, "It is a mystery and it has to be revealed, but I am confident of the innocence of the Egyptian professor. I heard him play. His fingers are magic and are not of our world. His fingers that bring life around them cannot kill".

Today, the police has not allowed me to visit Wajdi. My evening with Issam was like yesterday's evening full of sterile hypotheses and analyses, which came to nothing.

-50-

The typical lesson, which is presented by an Arabic professor at eight o’clock, ended at nine o'clock. The theme was the poem of Abu Tammam, "The sword is more credible in its news than those of the books". We were about forty professors seated in the last rows of the great room, while the students were at the front. The students went out and some professors filled the front seats. The inspector and the professor were sitting on the platform behind the table waiting for the discussion. Above their heads, on the wall, is the only panel in the room that says, "Remember, we are raising our children for their own time, not for our time".

The small body of the professor in front of the large size of the inspector, even seated, suggests that they belong to two different races: the dwarfs and the giants. I sat in the third row and intended to listen and record everything that was said, in accordance with my uncle's advice he had given me last year: "If you want to learn, listen more than you speak. You are new and you should benefit from the experience of your predecessors. Do not criticize for the purpose of provocation. Your manner of criticizing is very important. If you do not have arguments supporting your speech, silence will do you good".

The discussion took place under the supervision of the inspector and the professors began to evaluate the lesson systematically, the preamble, the presentation, the method, the professor’s comments and his relations with the students. However, the difference in the evaluation criteria between them sometimes reached 180 degrees. What surprised me was that a professor arrived late and evaluated the lesson according to what his colleagues said. When the audience discussed the meaning of the text, most of them felt that supremacy is for the force whether it be blind or seeing. Their argument was that Algeria and Vietnam liberated by force and that it is the only way to liberate Palestine and the occupied Arab lands. They added that it is the only way to achieve what people want in life. I did not participate in the discussion, but their opinion excited me. Strength is the only voice heard at this time.

Some voices that drew attention to the role of pen and thought were lost and were not allowed to show their views. Their words interrupted and cut by almost warlike speeches that determined that the ball was worth millions of words. One of them was my neighbour seated on my right, an Iraqi in the early 50s. He said to me, "Demagoguery has won, force is equal to the jungle, and professors do not differentiate between empty and sterile words and fertile words that have built civilizations and established great states. Fertile words have also built minds and spread knowledge. Sincere words are the expression of the noblest thing of man, of his high values ​​truth, kindness and beauty. They are the messages of the prophets, the thoughts of the philosophers and the creations of the poets. Blind force is the expression of the lowest thing in man, of his instincts of domination, tyranny and injustice. Nevertheless, the seeing force is a servant of the truth, it recognized its authority, and the truth is a word. Force cannot always be victorious; otherwise, the human being remains an animal governed by instincts. It is unfortunate that the professors chose force and despised the pen and the word, and these are their weapons to enlighten the minds: where will they take the generations? "

I felt he slapped me across the face when he said that. He added, "There were a lot of sterile words and empty talk, and the right word became rare. Then he warmly added," The professor who does not believe in word value is a false teacher".

The inspector ended the discussion at 10:30 am and adjourned the session for a coffee break at the institute club. An Algerian professor in his thirties was sitting to my left. He finished his secondary studies in Kuwait and his university in Iraq at the time of the Algerian revolution. He now works with the Iraqi professor at al-Idrisi high school. He blamed me for the level of students in our high school and he asked me with reproach, "How does a weak student like Samer Abdul Azim pass his second year at your high school? He doesn't deserve to be at primary school". I replied with surprise, "But this student failed the first year".

"I saw the document of his success with my own eyes," he replied. I knew that the assistant principal was able to falsify the transfer document to serve Mr Abdul Azim and, of course, to take the prize. I decided to tell the principal.

Discussion of the curriculum began after the break and three main trends emerged. The professors all agreed on the organized attack against the programs and the books with different motivations. Most of the interlocutors agreed that they did not have clear goals and that they had almost completely neglected Algerian and Maghreb literature, except for certain Andalusian texts in the second year and Algerian in the third year.

The first trend concerns professors who have taught in free schools or former imams, of different levels. Some of them are graduates of Zaytouna, others have studied there but have not finished their studies, and others are former students of Algerian zaouïas. This group criticized the lack of religious and ethical texts in the books and recommended paying close attention to grammar. Young Algerians graduated from the University of Algiers, Arab universities and professors from the Middle East represent the second trend. They criticized the program and the books because of their distance from the reality of the student. In addition, they are not modern or attractive. They suggested teaching modern literary arts such as the novel and drama and replacing the literary age with the method of axes or themes. The Iraqi professor sitting next to me and an Algerian professor teaching at the Institute represent the third tendency. They stressed the need for the curriculum to include translated world literature, Algerian literature written in French, and the need to train teachers and professors. They also called for the separation between religious education and language education. The Algerian professor defended the teaching of Algerian literature written in French, saying, "I will not disagree with you on the name", he said, "it is an Arabic literature or an Algerian literature written in French, but you cannot take away its Algerian character. It is shameful that the students of Arabized classes know nothing about Mohammed Dib, Mouloud Pharaon, Malik Haddad, Mouloud Mammeri and Asia Jabbar, however they are known abroad".

Everyone was silent and no one discussed this subject, which was completely ignored. As for the Iraqi professor, he expressed his opinion on the separation between religious education and language education, stating, "Literature and religion are two different subjects, and Muslim theologians of the Arab-Islamic civilization had their domain and men of letters their domain. The professor cannot teach both subjects because he is forced to harm one of them. If he is closer to religion, he neglects literature and vice versa. It is therefore necessary to separate their teaching in high schools to give the required importance to each subject". He could not complete his idea; a whisper began to murmur around him:" Communist". The whisper became an accusation aloud. He had to be quiet and sit down. The inspector silenced the voices, and asked the Iraqi professor to continue his speech, but the professor refused and apologized.

Young Algerian professors recognized the merit of former professors who taught Arabic in free schools during colonialism. They also recognized the positive role of the zaouïas in the preservation of the Arabic language. However, they aspire to renew the curricula and modernize their teaching methods to make Arabic a modern language. The old professors are aware of this and are not against it, with the exception of a small group resistant to all innovations represented by Makadri. He usually took his place in the centre of the room, surrounded by his supporters. If he speaks, they support him and if someone answers him, they interrupt him, they comment and speak to frighten him and silence him. I noticed it at last year's seminar that if one of the Arab Middle East professors discussed with him, he said, "We know better than anyone what we need". If one of the Algerian professors who studied in the Middle East discussed his idea, he said to him, "The Middle East has corrupted your minds". Finally, if one of the young graduates of the University of Algiers disagreed with him, he reprimanded him, saying, "We respect our elders and we do not speak in their presence”.

Nevertheless, this time the inspector did not allow him, or his group, to pursue their intellectual terrorism. He was able, in his calm and his intelligence, to make this seminar a free platform on which the professors could express their points of view. He eased their tension and the intensity of their tone with his light comments that softened the charged air.

The discussion heated up and the temperature rose in the room. Some teachers asked that the windows be opened, while others demanded that they be closed. The reasonable solution was to open some windows and close others. The inspector took off his white burnous and looked elegant in his European costume, wiping his white face mixed with red. He was a former professor at the association of Ulema and he masters Arabic and French. He has a traditional heritage culture and a modern culture, a true professor skilled in leadership. Despite his aging, he maintains his physical form, his psychological vitality and his intellectual purity. We all respected him. He was like the conductor of a simple orchestra, which competes obligatorily with a modern symphony orchestra, while the musicians he directs have old instruments. They vary in skills and do not follow the same rhythm.

The inspector adjourned the session at 1 p.m. for lunch. The Iraqi professor whispered in my ear,

"People think that the inspector has the power to make decisions and hold him responsible for the entire education system. As a commander, he can only walk in accordance with the energy of his soldiers". I said to myself, "It is true that, as a caravan leader, he can only walk at the speed of the slowest of his camels, as the Saharawi dictum says".

The seminar resumed after lunch and the discussion has now resulted in the criteria for the selection of texts. The struggle began between those who want to adopt ancient texts in poetry and prose, and those who want to link the student to the literature of the times of the novel and to theatre and free poetry. Religious, nationalist, and international trends have emerged, trying to impose their colours on these criteria.

The majority of the professors were at the end of their nerves. The voices raised and the accusations exchanged. The participants then reached a theoretical agreement on the diversity of texts between intellectuals that move the mind, poetics that touch feelings, morals that shape consciousness and descriptions that develop observation and awaken the senses. It is necessary to choose among the old and modern Algerian literature and the Arabic literature the texts that allow the students to know their Algerian and Arab writers.

The session was closed at 5 p.m., and the Iraqi professor whispered to me again, when we left the room, "The specialty of some of these professors is to kill the literary texts and empty them in the analysis of any content. They turn the book of Kalilah and Dimnah into funny stories, the literature of Al-Djahiz into jokes and the story of Hayy Ibn Yaqzan into an adventure. They also transform the poems of Al-Mutanabbi and Al-Maari to the lesson of recitations and loving and tender poetry to the lesson of grammar and grammatical analysis. They do not move the mind, do not arouse any emotion, do not awaken a sense and do not refine a conscience".

The Iraqi professor was busy with his colleague and I grasped the opportunity and asked the Algerian professor about his political tendency,

- "Is he a communist?"

- "He is not a partisan, he is a free teacher. He is imprisoned in all times, in the time of Nouri al-Said, the time of the Communists and the Baathists, because he calls for the freedom of education. He does not accept tyranny, intellectual terrorism and the cult of personality. He moves from one country to another, and in each one, he is considered a disruptor and is expelled. I don't know how long he would stay in Algeria. "

I left the institute and I completed with my colleagues professors of Arabic a training that lasts one day each year. English professors are sent to England and English specialists come to Algeria to help with their training and promotion with the help of the British Council. French professors take language courses and follow teaching methods in France. The training of Arabic language professors is limited to an orphan seminar in which everyone speaks and no one listens.

I now understand why most foreign language graduates work in important government and foreign affairs departments, cinema and television, while most of us graduates in Arabic work as imams, teachers or marginal workers. We live at the margin of our time.

-51-

I will not go to English class this evening, although I really want to see Janine. I cannot meet her under these circumstances as I will look dark and heavy in front of her and I cannot ignore what happened to Wajdi. Issam was waiting for me in his apartment. I suggested that we go out and walk around town. As it was not too cold, we walked along Hassiba and Didouch Streets; He told me what happened in high school this morning, "Jacques and Hakim made a petition on behalf of the professors to demand the cancellation of Wajdi's contract and his revocation of teaching as well as the speedy prosecution of his heinous crime. Jack's eyes shone with a malignant glow and a gleam of hatred shone in the eyes of the Hakim. It seems to me that hatred has distorted their faces and turned them into frightening wild beasts ready to attack the prey. Jack tried to persuade Martha to sign the petition and pass it on to the professors. She refused and said, "I don't know him very well. I spoke to him twice in English, but I am confident in his innocence". Hakim tried to persuade Ammar to sign and he replied, «It is a question of justice and he is one of our colleagues. How can we criminalize him before trial? What do we say if his innocence is proven? "

   The assistant principle was playing a double game. He encouraged and supported them, but apologized for not being able to sign because he is part of the administration. The interesting position was that of Faiza. When the petition presented to her, she read it, then nervously wrapped it in her hand and threw it on the table. She spoke to Jack and Hakim in an angry tone. Her anger was like an overwhelming torrent, nobody could face, "You, the two racists, you hate the Arabs, if the accused was French or European, you do not think of intervening".

I followed what had happened with Algerian and Arab professors and we applauded her. Jack Le Petit took the paper and went out with Hakim from the room. We went under the presidency of Laroussi and with Makadri to see the principal. We asked him to warn Jack Le petit not to meddle in what didn't concern him and not to provoke our feelings. Sardi apologized for coming with us. The principal assured us that Wajdi was on forced leave and that the ministry had cancelled his transfer after what had happened. Another professor was appointed to the Bouzreah Institute. "We are all in solidarity with him until his innocence appears", he said.

We arrived in a small street flowing from Didouch Murad, and we saw from a distance Manaa Saadoun and Kazim Aslan entering one of the bars. Issam said to me, "This is the Trio bar where they spend every night with Iraqis and Algerians". Strangely enough, Hakim and Ammar spend every evening at the same bar but on the upper floor. They never meet at one table".

Our walk was short and I slept early that night, I was exhausted the previous two nights. The next morning, I resumed my work in high school. I was surprised after class that the positions of some students changed regarding Wajdi. I concluded from their comments, "Music calls for degeneration and perversion", "Music causes impulses, so Islam forbids it". "The victim was at his appartement, he was arrested and the matter is clear". These comments came from various places in the class. I felt the smell of Professor Sardi.

The principal told me at 10 a.m. that he had been able to get me personal permission to meet Wajdi at 2 p.m. I was happy with this news and I looked forward to the meeting. I wanted to tell the principal that the assistant principle falsified the result of Abdul Azim’s son, and then I abstained, lest the result be the opposite and that Mr Abdul Azim exploit his influence to harm the principal. Nouara came at 1 p.m. to catch up on yesterday's lesson and I apologized to her. She replied, "I am sure of your friend's innocence, and I am with you with all my might at this critical time, and you will find me by your side whenever you need me".

I met Wajdi in a room to which the police superintendent led me. I brought him the messages he received, books, and fruit. He received me with joy, which I did not expect and we embraced for a long time. His morale was very high. I said to him, "I'm sorry to inform the police, I should have looked for you to let you inform the police yourself and to respond to the charge".

- "What you did was good; you did well to inform the police right away. I can't explain it now".

I didn’t understand what he meant, but my guilt started to fade. I asked him, "Did the lawyer visit you?" The principal told me he would send him.

- "There is no longer a need for a lawyer, and I am in contact with the Egyptian Embassy.

I told him about what happened in high school and the professors' solidarity with him. When I transferred Faiza's message and position to him, his face was radiant. Then I asked him, "How are you spending time here, we're all worried about you."

- "Don't worry about me, transfer my thanks to my colleagues and tell them to be reassured". Tell Faiza that I was touched by her support and  her confidence in me".

I asked him before leaving if he needed anything. He replied, "No".

-52-

Nouara came as usual Thursday at one o'clock and I apologized again for the lesson. Janine did not attend the evening English class. I couldn't wait to see her. I did not pay much attention to the course and discussion. My mind was split between Wajdi and Janine. The two accompanied me all night and even in dreams. I asked myself, "When will the Wajdi plight end?"

As for Janine, I asked myself, "Will I meet her the day after tomorrow at the agreed time?"

-53-

Janine came out of her building at nine o'clock exactly. She was wearing an elegant jeans jacket and pants. She asked me, "Do we need the car?"

I replied, "No". We headed for the Kasbah. We climbed its stairs. We walked through its winding alleys and saw its houses from the outside. Before leaving the Kasbah to go to the Square of Martyrs, being an artist, the Ketchaoua mosque caught her attention with its architectural style and decoration. We then visited the national museum of popular arts and traditions at the palace of Khedaoudj El Amia "the blind". The palace official told us the myth of Khedaoudj the daughter of Hassan Khaznadji, treasurer of Dey Hussein, who was too beautiful. It is said that by dint of admiring herself for hours in her mirror, she became blind.

Janine was touched by the story and assumed that it might have inspired one of her paintings. We also visited the sanctuary of "Sidi Abdel Rahman" and we met accidentally when we went out with Nouara and her sister Dassine. They greeted us and I introduced Janine to them. Nouara gave me a reproachful look because I apologized for the Arabic lesson pretending that I was involved in the cause of Wajdi. Here, she saw me walking with a French girl. We left them and followed our tour.

We had lunch in the Square of Martyrs fishery and asked for shrimp, salmon, and whiting and mullet dishes with Janine's agreement. The service was good; the server was friendly with the lightness of hand and the soft language. He had created an atmosphere that I haven't been able to create since morning. I was an unfriendly guide and Janine noticed that I was not normal. "What do you have? Are you sad for your Egyptian friend?" She said to me while we were drinking coffee in a cafe near Port Said Square. I was amazed at the precision of her observations. "Don't worry, his innocence will be revealed as soon as Brigitte can speak to the police about the murderer," she added.

I said with great surprise, "Whom Brigitte are you talking about?"

She replied confidently, "About Brigitte, they found her in his apartment".

"But she died and I found her dead in his apartment". I explained to her how I found the door open and how I informed the police about the crime.

"So you don't know that Brigitte is not dead, you may have saved her life", she said. I was surprised and I was speechless. Janine surprised me with the news of the French professors meeting yesterday at "Descartes high school ", the reason why she did not attend the English course. She did not discuss the meeting in detail. However, she alluded to the fact that some French professors had suggested that certain members of the police favoured the Arabs and the Egyptians and could hinder the conduct of the investigation. They demanded that the French Embassy must be firm and take part in the investigation. One of the professors said, "The life of all French people is in danger". Janine quoted part of what Martha Daniel said to them,

"The Algerians will not accept any interference in their affairs, they are very sensitive on this side, but the embassy can follow the subject without arousing their sensitivities, and we must await the result of the investigation before accusing who whether it be". Martha openly declared that she believed in the innocence of the Egyptian professor and praised him. Before ending the discussion, the principal entered with a member of the embassy. "I have good news for you, Brigitte is not dead but she is in a coma, she is in intensive care under the supervision of the best Algerian and French doctors and her condition is improving. This sentence resolved the debate.

I asked myself, "Does Wajdi know that Brigitte is still alive?"

 Suddenly, the image of Wajdi appeared before me saying, "You did well to inform the police right away. I can't explain it now".

Why didn't he tell me then? I could not find an answer to this question.

I asked Janine to satisfy my curiosity, "Did Jack attend the meeting?"

- "Yes"

- "What did he say?"

Janine was silent and I concluded from her silence that Jack was the one who led the campaign against the Arabs and the Egyptians as he led it in our high school. Before following up on my questions, she said, "Are you interested in what Jack is saying, don't you mind what I said?"

I said to her honestly, "I know what you can say, you cannot hate, you are love even embodied in the form of an angel of love, and what you say comes from a source of love".

"You started to deviate from the subject". She said with a laugh. Then she asked me in a serious tone, "What is your story with Nouara?"

- "She is the principal's daughter and I give her Arabic lessons."

- "Only?"

- "What do you mean?"

- "This girl loves you and loves you very much."

I was surprised at her words. Wajdi said the same words to me the day Nouara came into the professors’ room and announced her success at the university. I wanted to change the subject and I took a folded paper out of my pocket, opened it and gave it to her.

- "What is that?"

- "A poem".

- "Written in Arabic?"

- "Yes"

- "What it is talking about? »

- "This is the answer to your question".

- "What question?"

"Would I love you if you weren't beautiful?"

Her face showed signs of joy and curiosity. She said, "Translate what you wrote to me".

I took a second paper out of my pocket and said, "Translating poetry is difficult, and this is the first time I have tried to translate it”.

The poem begins with the following verses,

«My love,

They are both the same to me whether you are the most beautiful woman or the ugliest and deformed one.

I do not mind whether you are superiorly intelligent or you are a stupid doll.

Love, my captivating one, is a fatality and a destiny from heaven. You are my destiny and destiny is inevitable.

 Love therefore makes you the most beautiful of women and the wisest”.

 

Janine read the first stanza of the poem and she went on to the second stanza:

«My love,

They are both the same to me if you are sincere in love without lies and hypocrisy or you are a true chameleon.

I do not care whether you are chaste and virgin or deflowered woman who commits shameless sins.

Love therefore makes you the most honest of women and the most virtuous.

 

She read the rest of the poem and seemed surprised. She commented: "How tender your poem is! How sweet it is, you are a poet, a sensitive artist".

Her prose was much more wonderful than my poem and the sweetest word a man can hear is the praise of a beautiful woman. I asked her, "Did I answer your question?"

She replied coquettishly, "Your answer is eloquent but not convincing". She added, "The important thing is that I am happy." She made a sign to the poem written in Arabic, commenting: "I have known this writing since my childhood. I was 12 years old when my family welcomed a Syrian student in Besancon and he gave me a book on Sinbad in storytelling of a thousand and one nights written in Arabic and French. I looked at the opposite side of the French pages as if it were an enigma. This mysterious language, which resembles ornaments how can I decipher it? I read the book in French several times and I always keep it".

 Then she looked at me saying, "Help me learn Arabic in the future".

 - "I promise you". We agreed to meet next Thursday at the same time and so we started our exciting love affair.

- 54 -

Between us is the heritage of the past with its glories and bitterness.

Geographically we are separated by a capricious sea, that its waves are choppy. She is on its north side and I am on its south side.

Historically, we are separated by a sea of ​​blood and tears. She is the descendant of Charlemagne, Charles Martel, Philippe II, Napoleon, Kleber, Peugeot, all the generals of France. I am the descendant of Yogurta, Haroun al-Rashid, Tariq ibn Ziyad, Salaheddine Ayoubi, Suleiman Al-Halabi, Emir Abdul Qadir, El-Mokrani and all the Mujahedeen.

She is a Catholic Christian belonging to the Western Christian civilization and I am a Sunni Muslim belonging to the Arab-Muslim civilization.

She is the daughter of Besancon in the midst of forests and winding mountains that crisscross the peaks, the feet and the valleys. I am the son of Boussaâda the Oasis of the flat desert as far as the eye can see.

She is from a land of clouds and rain. I come from the country of the bright sun all year round.

She is a white blonde-haired woman with green eyes. I am a brown haired man with black eyes.

She carries the chisel of Greek statuaries and the brush of Michelangelo, Leonardo Da Vinci and Renoir. Muse the goddess of inspiration at Mount Olympus inspires her. I hold the pen of Imru Al Qays, Al-Mutanabi, Al-Qayrawânî and Muhammad Al-Aid Al-Khalifa, and the geniuses of Abqar Valley poetry "Wadi Abqar" inspired me.

Can we turn the page on the past and open a new page for the future?

We joined in the love of art that makes beauty.

We are both teachers involved in promoting the values ​​of truth, goodness and beauty and we are helping to spread science and knowledge.

We are both young lovers who want to build the future.

We are both aware of the difference of the other, respect his faith and customs, and believe in full equality between people.

Above that, the love that brings us together does not care about the differences of races, religions, cultures and languages. The love that brings us back to our original nature: two people stripped of everything except their humanity and the natural attraction of the other, whatever the differences established by humans.

Can we build the future together?