Abdellah khammar

Entry bell to class

Novel

 

The second trimester - second part

- 94 -

I had nightmares that I don't remember anything except that they scared me. When I woke up, I felt cold in my limbs, trembling and chattering, followed by fever. When I finally opened my eyes and started to regain consciousness, I discovered that I was not in my apartment. The room was almost black and I saw a faint light outside the room slinking inside. I wanted to sit on the bed and touch its bars to lean on it, so my hand fell on the light button and I turned it on. I found out that I was in a clinic or a hospital. There were two beds in the room and another person occupied one. I was thirsty and reached out to take a bottle of water next to me on the table, which fell causing a noise waking the sleeper in bed. He opened his eyes and when he found me aware, he said with joy, "Praise be to God". You are well now. You scared us”.

I saw satisfaction and sympathy on his face. It was Issam. I did not know him at first glance. My mind was dull and worked slowly. He poured me half a glass of water and told me that I had been taken to hospital in ambulance for a fever. Fortunately, I opened the door to Wajdi before I passed out and rushed to the hospital. He alternated with Wajdi to watch over me at night, but during the day, there was someone who took care of me. "Your aunt wanted to come stay with you, but we persuaded your uncle that we were going to take over," Issam told me.

At that moment, the muezzin was calling for the dawn prayer. His voice was touching, bringing humility and tranquillity to the soul. He poured me another half glass of water, and he was happy to see me recovered. The nurse on duty heard our voices and saw the light on. She came in and Issam told me before her that she had looked after me every night and given me medicine on time. He also praised the efforts of the doctor and nurses to take care of me.

When morning came, Wajdi came in and kissed me with joy, then went out with Issam to high school. I was left alone to remember what happened to me. I was still weak and struggling to move, but my mind was starting to regain clarity. I analysed things again and concluded that Janine was cleverly moved away from me. I have a great fear of losing her forever. This is the second time that I have been separated from the one I love. However, this time I know where she is. We both know what we want. We will not let anyone control our destiny. A bouquet of flowers placed next to me on the bedside table drew my attention, as well as a large bottle of lavender cologne.

I was drinking coffee with milk when the nurse came in and she said, "The doctor has arrived and she will see you soon". I asked her who brought the flowers and she replied, "Your student".

I did not understand which student she was talking about, I teach the boys. I wiped my hands, face with cologne, and felt refreshed. The young woman doctor entered with her white apron and the blood pressure monitor around her neck and Nouara entered with her. "You're lucky," she said, smiling. "There is someone who recommends you and asks about you all the time. Nouara has drove me crazy for you since the moment you arrived”. Nouara's face suddenly turned red and said intermittently, “I told you he is my teacher, so I care about him”.

"Only your teacher. Look me in the eyes”. The woman doctor said innocently. I saved the situation by saying, “Thanks to Nouara and thanks to you. I was told that you have made every effort to treat me”.

- "Don't thank me, it's my job but thank Nouara. She comes every morning and every evening to reassure herself of your health and put pressure on the nurses and me. Thank God, you are well and we are free from her pressures.

The young woman doctor measured blood pressure and heartbeat and said, "Everything is fine now. You can go out in the evening, but spend the rest of the week in bed. Don't move too much, take the medication regularly”. Then she went out leaving Nouara with me.

I asked her to sit down; she took a chair and sat down by the bed. She was wearing red pants, a leather jacket, and her long blonde hair, as usual, ran down her shoulders. For the first time, I pay attention to her beauty and I consider her as a woman and not as a student to whom I teach Arabic. Is it because Dassine let me know how much she loved me and that I saw what I had never seen before? Alternatively, because I now see her outside of high school as a visitor to me as a patient. Most importantly, I wondered how I hadn't noticed her beauty before. I said, "Thank you for the roses and the cologne".

She asked in amazement, "Who told you?"

- "the nurse".

- "You have already given me favours, you have given me a lot of your time and I am unable to express my gratitude and my thanks".

The nurse came to give me medicine. Nouara asked me before going out if I needed something, so I said no and thanked her.

After lunch, at the time of the visit, my uncle, the principal, Issam, Wajdi and Faiza, arrived after the doctor authorized them to visit me. Faiza brought roses and my uncle and the principal brought fruit, then Manee Saadoun came. I asked him about Kazem Aslan and he replied that he knew nothing about him.

Before the end of the visit, Dassine entered with a box of chocolates that she had given me, saying, "I waited for everyone to go. I hope you are well".

I welcomed her. She pulled a chair and sat down. Her bowed head kept her eyes from meeting my eyes. “Have you forgiven me?” She asked me.

"Of course I forgave you but your messages preoccupied me for a long time".

She relaxed and shook my hand, trembling, and said to me, stuttering, «Thank you. You have a big heart” and she came out at full speed.

Wajdi and Issam returned with the exit permission and helped me to wear my clothes. They took me in Wajdi's car to the apartment. Makadri visited me in the evening and seemed to have heard that I was leaving the hospital. It was a compliment and I was delighted with his surprise visit.

- 95 -

 The mail carrier brought me a registered letter, strange and thick. I looked at the stamps and found that it came from Iraq and the sender's name is K. A. It is probably from Kazem Aslan. I opened the letter and found it written in small, elegant letters on nine double-sided sheets. The letter was confused in its ideas and there was a repetition and a contradiction, in which Aslan moved from subject to subject. I will try to clarify and summarize the most important:

Kazem began his letter by expressing his confidence in me. I represent Algeria, which he loves; I fulfil my professional duty well, according to him. I have good relations with Algerians and foreigners, because I am neither convulsive nor narrow-minded of those who impose their opinions on others. In addition, I resemble him by my belonging to two ethnic groups, not to a single ethnic group, his father is Kurdish and his mother is Arab. My father is Arab and my mother is Aamazigh, and that is what led him to open his heart to me. He then spoke of his burning desire to see the high school students and the teachers. He also expressed his respect for the principal and Professor Laroussi. He said about them, "Fortunately for the high school the presence of Mrs Akli and Laroussi here. The two personalities complement each other. Algeria needs men like these to build and unite it”.

He then spoke about his life, "I grew up as an orphan who lost his father in a poor Kurdish family in Kirkuk. My mother worked as a cleaner to support my brothers and me. My brother left school at 12 to help her. Sometimes we didn't know if we could find our food tomorrow. When I was of school age, I never dreamed of entering it. I waited until I could work to help my mother with the household expenses. Suddenly, a charitable association sent us food and clothes in secret and asked my mother to send me to school and it takes care of my expenses. It also found a job for my brother, which allows him to continue his studies. My mother freed herself from the trouble of working in houses. The help of this association remained the same in high school and I obtained the baccalaureate with honours. As a result, the state gave me a scholarship to study in England. I was so convinced of Marxist thought that I saw charities as agents of capitalism, because they hindered the class struggle and prevented its eruption with a revolution that restored the rights of its citizens. Upon my return and after I obtained a Master of Mathematics, the association contacted me. Instead of helping it, I fought it with all my might, perhaps because it was a weak point for me. I have considered any charitable work for a poor, needy or beggar contrary to my principles and my conviction and how much I regret it”. He added,

“Never think that I have abandoned my socialist principles. I still believe in it. Nevertheless, I disbelieved intellectuals of my country who consider themselves an elite and an avant-garde. They attack popular institutions, mosques and charities and want to destroy them. What are they going to replace them with? ".

Then he suddenly turned to give me advice, "If you are in politics, beware of political asylum". Be imprisoned in your country and tortured better than the hell of asylum, because you will become a spy for free. Your host asks you about the people closest to you and asks you for specific information on the pretext of serving principles. The truth is that you defend the interests of the intelligence service in the country of asylum and you will be used to writing regular reports for them to provide you with food and shelter. Internationalism remains a distant dream and each regime seeks its own advantage. If you have to leave your country, you have to work and eat by the sweat of your brow; there is no one to give you a salary for the love of God. I lived in asylum in the Soviet Union, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and I know what I am talking about”. However, he defended the Soviet Union and the communist states in another paragraph, "The Soviet Union and the communist states resisted injustice and they helped the colonized states in their struggle for independence. The colonized countries should not forget that, unfortunately, the countries that called themselves the free world were their colonizers".

He then spoke of his generation with pessimism and disappointment, “The generation of the Renaissance was luckier than us and more generous. The tribulations united them from the East “Machrek” to the Maghreb and controlled the racial and sectarian tendencies. Our generation has been torn apart by conflicts between national, religious and international trends and has not been able to follow in the footsteps of the pioneers"

He talked about what happened at the Trio bar and the shock caused by Mahfouz Ammar, “I have already explained to you the contradiction in the behaviour of Mahfouz Ammar in Moscow and Algeria. It is not a shame for the elite to ignore the language and culture of their people due to historical circumstances, but the downside is to despise this language and this civilization and not try to contribute to their promotion".

 What brought me to madness on the day of the quarrel at the Trio bar, I didn't raise my hand on him, but he attacked and beat me violently. I am not weaker than he is. I could easily beat him painfully, and that's what I did and regretted later. I am a true intellectual and I do not believe in the dialogue of the hands and the legs. I was struggling with myself after using violence, and at the hospital, he apologized when he sobered up, but his apologies were cold and late. I felt a deep sense of persecution and lost confidence in everyone around me. I went with the help of an Iraqi doctor to the Iraqi embassy. I was desperate and indifferent to what would happen to me in Iraq. It is important to return to my homeland, to enjoy its warmth, to hear my language, even in prison. I went to Iraq and recovered when I arrived in my beloved country".

Then he talked about his work: "I now work for an oil company and I volunteer to teach poor students from the school attached to the mosque and the charity in my neighbourhood. We must support solidary institutions and protect them from delinquency as long as we didn’t find the alternative. I try to contribute to the enlightenment of the new generation and to build the present, as for the future, it will be built by its children”.

In conclusion, he said, "I am proud to be Kurdish and to belong to the Arab-Islamic, humanist and internationalist civilization. Arabs, Persians, Kurds, Egyptians, Berbers, Turks, Indians, Mongols and many peoples of Asia and Africa participated in this civilization. If we wanted to unravel this heritage and demonstrate the participation of each nation, we could not. It is a heritage for all of us in the fields of science, literature, philosophy, art, music and architecture".

I did not find Kazem Aslan's address in the letter to answer him. I loved him as he loved me and I love him more because he is Kurdish. I have a special affection for the Kurds since I knew that Saladin, one of the great men whom I love and respect, is a Kurd.

- 96 -

My illness and my stay at home were an opportunity to remind me of the successive academic and emotional events that made me breathless, without allowing me to think. Sometimes sickness is a blessing, because it is an obligatory rest that the body involuntarily imposes on us, when we do not give it voluntarily. My illness was also an opportunity to spend more time with Wajdi and Issam, the two chivalrous from the east “Machrek” who insisted that they take care of me in my apartment instead of transferring me to the apartment of my uncle. We are starting to share our news and problems, each of us needs to be heard, not hear advice and receive lessons. However, advice is sometimes necessary, whether we accept it or not, because it lights the way. In the past, it was said, "Who consults people shares their minds". From this point of view, I explained to my friends what had happened and expressed my fear that the removal of Janine is a preparation for her abduction. The two agreed that Janine would not abandon me as long as she loved me, whatever happens. I shouldn't worry about that.

The relationship between Wajdi and Faiza is improved. She now has confidence in him and her family has encouraged him to continue dating. They placed all their hope of her healing in him, because they noted his high morality, his magnanimity, his patience and his sincere love for her. Despite this improvement, some problems persist. First, Faiza flatly rejected the idea of ​​marriage. Whenever Wajdi expressed it, she pulled a face and replied, "Let’s stay friends, friendship is more important than marriage because it is a noble relationship with no purpose or interest. He asked her if she loved him and she confessed her love to him, but the idea of ​​marriage intimidated her. She said to him, "I'm not ready to get married yet, don't rush me". He knew that he should not be in a hurry and that his steps should be calculated with precision, because each step not calculated could lead to the opposite of what he intended to do. However, she is jealous, very jealous, even of her friend Nadia. Nadia once invited them to lunch at the restaurant on her birthday and Wajdi gave her a bottle of luxury perfume, complimented her new dress and hairstyle. Faiza then blamed him, "You gave her a bottle of perfume without consulting me. She's my friend, not your girlfriend. You flattered her dress and her hairstyle, and you didn't pay attention to the dress that I bought specially to wear for you. You don't love me, you love Nadia ».

He replied with an apology, "I gave her the perfume bottle because she is your friend. I complimented her new dress and hairstyle because it's her birthday. I didn't want to flirt with her. You should know that there is no one more precious than you among all women. Do not fall prey to suspicion”.

Small daily problems, and sometimes natural national feelings, worsen their relationship. Faiza meets Wajdi's Egyptian friends, who sometimes complain about the difficulties they face in their workplaces, administration and banks in transferring their salaries. At first, she sympathized with them, and then began to take their complaints and criticisms as a criticism of her country and her people. It took the position of defending the administration, then attacking the Egyptians. Wajdi tried to convince her that the employee had the right to complain about the administration, the Algerians complained about the administration and the Egyptians in Egypt complained about the administration. The complaint is not intended to attack Algeria. Anyone who lives and works in a country has the right to criticize what he considers false. We criticize as much as we work.

One of his Egyptian colleagues angrily said to her, "We have come to arabize you". She replied nervously, "Arabic is our language. The French could not erase it and we preserved it. Successive generations have learned this from a very young age in the Zaouias and the Koranic and free schools. You came to teach Arabic in French schools and not to arabize us". Then she apologized to the Egyptian professor, after realizing the greatness of the task that he accomplished with other Egyptians and Arabs.

Sometimes, she gets tired of the pride of the Egyptians of their country and its distinction compared to all countries. Wajdi was trying to calm her down by saying, "You have to be patient when you meet the Egyptians. You will always hear their glorification of Egypt, its history, its pharaohs, its pyramids, its Nile, its Al-Azhar mosque, its literatures, its artists, Shawqi, Hafez, Taha Hussein, Akkad, Hakim, Abdel Wahab, Oum Kalthoum, Mahmoud Mukhtar and others. The Egyptians consider Egypt to be the mother of the world". Wajdi added, "The pride of Algerian in their ancient and modern history, their mountains, their Sahara, their revolution, their writers and their artists does not bother me. It is acceptable to say about Algeria, the pearl of the Mediterranean and Africa or the bride of the world. The love and the glorification of the homeland are the bond, which unites the inhabitants of a country and incites them to protect it and sacrifice themselves for it in war. It also encourages them to compete with others in peace in the fields of sport, literature, art, science, and makes them bear the difficulty of alienation. Now Egypt is your country, Algeria is my country, and we belong to a common civilization. Let sportsmanship prevail in our constructive competition. "

- 97 -

On the third day of my stay at home, Wajdi brought me a long letter from Janine. The envelope was pink and elegant and the papers of the letter were pink, engraved by her miniature and cute writing, mixed with the strong smell of her perfume. I read it, so I moved to Besançon through her letter recording precisely the details of her daily and professional life at her university, the vivid description of the nature of work, her colleagues, her feelings torn between her nostalgia for Algeria and her joy in her new functions. The letter began with the words "my dear Abi" as she called me. I laughed when I remembered her constant attempt to pronounce the letter A the way we do. She concluded with the words "warm kisses from your beloved Jenny" as I have always called her.

I felt a mixture of jealousy and joy in me. I was delighted that my dear Janine arrived at university and fulfilled part of her dreams thanks to the subject of her research for the development of teaching the French language. I was jealous of having abandoned my postgraduate studies after having found that the subject did not impress me and it is not useful in the development of the Arabic language. It is just a waste of time and effort. Therefore, I wrote a letter of apology to the supervising doctor, and he was certainly happy with my apology, since he is in charge of supervising a large number of aspirants to a professorship, and now one is missing.

I wrote Janine a response letter. I was still tired of the effects of the disease, I did not know what I had written to her, but my letter was short. I remember that I congratulated her on her new position and told her that there was nothing new in my news. I hid my illness from her. My work, my English studies and my meeting with Wajdi and Issam could not fill the void left by Janine in my life. I felt alone and isolated, and the anguish and the longing led me to all the places I went with her to live with the memories. I got into the car and went to the Church of Our Lady of Africa where I met her for the first time. I sat on the chair and saw her in front of me with her pleasant smile, and then she disappeared. The church was empty and the guard was amazed at my anomaly. I went to the national union hall of fine arts and stood in front of the French cultural centre and the tent restaurant. I sat at the Milk Bar cafe and ate grilled meat on Tangier Street. I went for a walk in the Kasbah and I visited the sanctuary of Sidi Abdel Rahman. I returned to the Museum of Fine Arts and the Test Garden of Hamma. I saw the sunrise and sunset on the beaches of Moretti, Palais des Nations, Zeralda and El Djamila. For a week, I went outside of work hours to some of these places by walking and going into some others in my car. I imagined her beside me speaking with her usual vitality and her beautiful smile.

A week later, I received a strange letter from her written on white paper; its envelope is white. No more than one line message,

"My beloved Abed

I received your message that reassured me that you are fine. Nothing new to mention in my news".

 Janine

Why did pink paper turn white? Why did the perfume evaporate? Why did she write Abed and Janine instead of Abi and Jenny? Why she wrote me a line after she wrote six pages in her first letter? What is the secret of this message? Is she sick or upset? I asked my dear friends to explain to me why. Issam had reproached me by saying, "Is it possible that Janine is writing you a letter in six pages, and then you answer her in a few lines. Where is your intelligence? How didn’t you think to tell her that your life had changed after she left and the void she left cannot be filled by anyone?"

I said honestly and sincerely, "This is exactly what has happened and I got sick because of it".

Wajdi said enthusiastically, "Tell her then. Describe your life afterwards and sincerely express your feelings”.

Issam added, “Women are happy to know their place in the hearts of men and the void they leave in their absence. Why didn't you tell her that? Why didn't you write her a long letter as she wrote to you? "

Wajdi interrupted him, saying, "It's not too late. He turned to me and said, "Write to her now and don't forget to tell her about your illness so that she will sympathize with you."

I admit that I made a mistake and hastened to write the letter and send it, but I cannot follow the description of the details, watch the little things and observe what is around me. My imagination is linguistic, my memory is auditory, the memory of words, not tangible things. Janine’s imagination is a living nature in all its dimensions while my imagination is linguistic and limited by words and expressions. Once exhausted, it became boring again. If I couldn't follow her creative imagination, I would be honest with her in describing my feelings.

I wrote a long letter on the state of depression, which grieved me after her departure, the details of my illness, the state of emptiness I lived, the rocking of memories, and my frequentation of the places where we are went together. My letter worked because it was sincere. The effect of sincerity can be similar to, or even surpass that of the creative imagination. Janine sent me a response letter in which she expressed concern and apologized for her haste to get angry without knowing my circumstances. She was happy to know how important she was to me. However, what worried me in her letter is that my nephew Mustafa visited her two days ago with one of my cousins ​​in Lyon, and she thanked me for the date bunch that I sent with him. I was surprised because I did not send anything with Mustafa, and I did not know that Mustafa had left Boussaâda for France. But why did he call her? How did he know her address?

I wrote an urgent letter to Janine asking to tell me why Mustafa’s visit took place without informing me. The answer came to me that he arrived with one of my cousins ​​from Lyon and sent her my greetings and my gift. He borrowed two thousand French francs from her and promised to repay it as soon as possible.

She said frankly, "I don't know where he got my address and I thought you gave it to him. I invited them to dinner at the restaurant and I thought they would travel by night train, but they bothered me by asking me to show them a hotel in town. I had to put them up at my house where they spent the night". Janine was amazed to know that I was unaware of their visit and hoped not to send anyone without telling her in advance.

I was very angry at the behaviour of my nephew and my cousin. So I wrote to my brother Mahmoud de Boussaâda and to my uncle in Lyon to explain to them what had happened. My uncle replied, reassuring me that he had sent a mandate to Janine, reproaching his son and my nephew for their actions. He promised that no one would disturb her from his side. He told me also that he understand my position and the embarrassment I felt. Nevertheless, he did not explain to me how they knew that she left Algiers and obtained her address. When my nephew returned from Lyon, he went directly to Boussaâda and he did not come to see me for fear that I reprimand him.

I apologized to Janine for what had happened. Her letters remained long and full of life. I tried to quench her thirst for my news in my messages despite my helplessness to be up to her. The flame of our love remained lit, and the distance increasing daily its glow and fervour.

- 98 -

The bruises were visible on Wajdi's face because of the punches. I was eager to hear what had happened to him. He started to tell the story, “I was with Faiza in Bab Azzoun to see the clothes in the shop windows, and then we entered an alley to get to the parallel street. We found a giant young man and a young girl exchanging insults. The giant young man had a face I had never seen so ugly in my life. A big nose, two small colourless eyes and long hair resembling female hair. As for the girl, her indecent garish clothes and her crying makeup indicated that she was a prostitute. The young man suddenly slapped and beat her until blood flowed from her mouth and nose, and her bag fell. She insulted him using obscene words, so he kept hitting her.

The poor woman was brutally and violently beaten. Her face and clothes were covered in blood. No one of the crowded men moved, as if they were watching a play, not a live scene. Faiza started to shake and her face instantly paled. She wanted to escape and did not find an exit. The sidewalk is narrow and people are gathered here and there.

She looked up at me as if to say, "Protect me from him. Don't let him beat me”.

I never saw a panic like the one in her eyes, and then she hid her head in my chest, like a bird fleeing the hunter. I patted her on the back and stroked her hair to calm her down but to no avail. Her teeth chattered and her moaning started to increase. A woman near her took her hand and said, "Do not be afraid, he will not hurt you" and she submitted to the woman.

 I encouraged her by saying, "Don't be afraid, I will save you from him", and I gently pulled her away from me so that the woman would hug her. I approached the man, saying in a tone of rebuke and threatening, "Stop beating the lady. Aren't you ashamed of beating a woman? ”

The man giggled as if he heard an amazing joke and said, mockingly holding the woman's hands in his hands, pulling her towards him: "A lady and a woman, ha ha ​​ha. It’s not a lady or a woman. She's a prostitute and I take care of her. She is mine and I do what I want with her. You are Egyptian, aren't you? Why do you intervene in what does not concern you?

I said to him with great contempt, "She is a human being like us, and I do not say like you, you are a monster and not a human being. It doesn't concern you if I'm Egyptian or Australian, leave this woman”.

I wanted to save the woman from him, but he quickly pushed me away. I attacked him and punched him in the chest, leaving the woman who fell to the ground crying and sobbing. He attacked me and bent over to hit me with his right hand and then with his left. I felt blood fill my face and I couldn't see anything anymore. However, I continued to defend myself courageously until I finally fell to the ground. I was surprised at the attitude of Faiza who saw what happened. She cried out and rushed towards the man with all her strength. She continues to scream and hit him with her handbag on his head and with all the fear, hatred and resentment that is in her heart. The man was still bending over that the blows surprised and touched him, and he staggered. Faiza suddenly turned into a tigress ready to jump, but he rose angrily and wanted to attack her, so I stood between her and him. The men "spectators" moved and attacked him, grabbed him and put his hands behind his back. The police arrived at that time, arrested him, and took him away with the woman.

Faiza wiped the blood from my lips and nose with her handkerchief. She was proud of me because I protected and defended her. I was proud of her, finally she was able to move, attack and confront the aggressor. She confronted the man she had feared for years and, on leaving his house, a fugitive carrying her fear complex. She finally overcame her fear of men".

Wajdi was overwhelmed by a wave of happiness and hugged me, shouting, "Faiza has recovered, Abed. She is completely healed and she no longer fears anyone. How happy I am". Then he continued, "She insisted on testifying against this man at the police station. On the way, this villain continued his insults and obscene words. Do you know what Faïza said to him? She looked at him fiercely and said to him in a firm voice, "If you do not keep quiet, I will cut this obscene tongue". She put her finger on her mouth and finished her sentence by saying, "then, I will throw it to the cats". The man remained silent for fear that she would realize her threat.

I have not seen Wajdi since his arrival in Algeria as happy as I have seen him today. I took him in my arms; I congratulated him and rejoiced sincerely for him and Faiza. She was finally able to leave the bottle where was placed by an unbalanced man.

- 99 -

The spring vacation is approaching and I have agreed with Wajdi to go to Boussaâda to visit my family and visit the neighbouring desert regions, Biskra, Wadi Souf, Touggourt, Ouargla and Ghardaïa. If Janine were here, she would have accompanied us to Boussaâda and to this tour.

Ten days before the holidays, a telegram from Janine arrived saying:

My dear Boussaâdien

I have a surprise for you; I will come to spend the holidays with you. I arrive Saturday evening March 31. I have a lot to tell you about our future. Warmest kisses”.

Jenny

I was very happy to receive her telegram. I will go with my love and my friend to spend the holidays in my family, and will be with all my loved ones, isn't it wonderful? I wrote the response to the telegram the same day:

"My dear Jenny

I wait for you on the hottest embers, we will go to Boussaâda with Wajdi, and my family is waiting for us to spend the holidays with them. You will see the magnificence of the Algerian desert”. The lover waiting for you.

Abed

       At night, I worked with Wajdi to pinpoint on the map of Algeria the important areas that we would visit in the desert. We explored the possibility of taking Faiza with us and how can we comfort her fully, as well as Janine. We were happy with the approach of the holidays and we plan to enjoy it with those we love.

- 100 -

We left the school at 4.30 p.m. on Tuesday March 27 towards the El Mouggar hall. I was with my uncle Laroussi, Wajdi, Faiza and Issam. We thought we had arrived early to the hall. Mahmoud Darwich's poetry evening begins at 6.30 p.m. We found people crowded in front of the hall until they almost blocked the street. We stood next to the Aletti hotel and waited for the door to open to allow people to enter, but the door did not open. People of all ages and all occupations are always arriving from everywhere, on foot, by car and by bus. They were men, women, and the elderly and young men. I saw poets, writers who write in Arabic and French, filmmakers, theatre men and academics, doctors, engineers, ministers and directors. Among them are Arabic and French speakers, in turbans and hats, veiled and unveiled women. The crowd on the sidewalk adjacent to the hall and even on the opposite sidewalk is increasing.

Algeria is present at the Darwich evening. Arabs are also present, Palestinians, North Africans and Easterners. The Palestinian wound brought us together as well as poetry and we are thirsty to hear a real poet who does not live on cause and poetry, but lives for cause and poetry. Next to us were three English-speaking Africans. Wajdi interviewed them and knew they are from SWAPO. He asked them, “Do you understand Arabic?” One of them replied, “No, but when we listen to Darwich’s poetry, we feel it, even if we don’t understand it, because his suffering and that of his people are similar to that of our people in the racist South African system”.

I evoked in my imagination the recent past. This street was French fifteen years ago, or so thought Europeans in Algeria. This street is now again Algerian, Arab and African. There is no doubt that the streets of El Quds "Jerusalem" will again become Palestinian and surrender to their true population of Muslims, Christians and Jews. The streets of Johannesburg will also find their true people. The struggle of the peoples will win: force will not triumph over the law unless its people give up their rights.

Fairouz's voice echoed through the speaker with deep sadness. It announces "the fall of love when El Quds fell", "peace is martyred in the homeland of peace" and "the fall of justice at the entrances to the city". She then states with determination that "peace will return to El Quds" and "with our own hands we will restore the splendour of El Quds".

When I heard this poem for the first time, I was 17 years old. I have known like all Arabs the bitter taste of defeat. When despair almost blocked all perspectives, this poem by the Rahbani Brothers appeared and Fairouz was a balm for wounds and a dose of resuscitation of the soul. There was sadness without any tone of despair, real hope far from dreams, and determination free from boasting and pretension. Poetry does not restore rights but strengthens the human being capacity to resist and fight to recover his rights.

Many poems were forgotten during this period, including the repetition of some poets saying that a single bullet is worth thousands of words". What shabby words! A bullet is worth millions of words in the poems of these idiots, because they are hollow and trivial words, and their owners have admitted it. The poem "the flower of the cities" and other poems of true poetry remain immortal. The word of one is more powerful than all the weapons of the world, because it maintains the firmness of the soul. If the soul remains steadfast, no one can ever defeat it. It’s the role of poetry and art in general. I remembered the words of the Iraqi professor, "The teacher who does not believe in word value is a false teacher", and I said to myself, "A poet who does not believe in word value is a false poet".

We discovered that the hall was submerged long before we arrived. We were told that the amplifiers will communicate the poet's voice to us, but unfortunately, they will not communicate his expressions and movements to us, but that is better than nothing. From afar, I saw Akli with Martha Daniel and her husband. I was surprised by their presence. Akli later told me that Martha and her husband sympathized with the Palestinian people and protested their imprisonment, displacement and demolition of their houses by the Israeli authorities. This is nothing new for them. They stood during the revolution with certain French intellectuals alongside the Algerians until members of the terrorist organization of the secret army "OAS" attack the husband and threaten Martha with death. I admired the courage of this woman and her husband and their fellow men who uphold the rights of peoples.

The poet’s voice rose and there was silence for a moment on the street, but it’s an important street where traffic is difficult to stop. We couldn't understand anything because of the noise from the cars. However, we felt from his intonation exactly as the militants of "Swapo" felt that his words, dripping with blood and pain, then became a whip hitting usurpers and racists and a rock unshakable and implacable before an unjust power. Then his words flourished seasons promising hope, love and tolerance. We flew over the wings of poetry with the rhythm that comes from the loudspeaker. I have felt the voices of poets from the occupied territory and poets from the diaspora, Samih El kacem, Tawfiq Ziad, Ibrahim Toukan, Abdulkarim Al-Karmi, Fadwa Touqan, Haroun Hachem Rachid and Kamal Nasser and others. Their voices were mixed with the voice of Mahmoud Darwich in a single rhythm: the rhythm of love for Palestine and the call for tenacity and the struggle for its liberation.

- 101 -

Two days before the holidays, I received a letter from Janine by express service and I was happy to receive it. I opened it with eagerness and longing for a lover who wanted to know any news of his beloved, and I began to read impatiently the first lines:

"Dear friend

I was waiting for the news of my arrival in Algeria to make you dance with joy, as you danced the day I agreed to marry you and you will be happy to meet me, just like my happiness to come to see you. However, I was surprised that my place came after your family and friends. I also have friends and family with whom I can spend the holidays, but I preferred to spend them with you, because you became the dearest person in my heart and I thought I was the dearest person to your heart. You became my family and I thought I became your family, but I was wrong and I don't blame you. You Algerians are closely linked to your families and your clans”.

My strength started to fade, I fell on the sofa in the living room of my apartment and my happiness turned into depression and disappointment. I continued to read with bitterness and fear of what I was going to find there:

“You helped me make the hardest and harshest decision of my life; I release you and myself from the promise we made together to be for each other. I did not make this decision because of anger and emotion, but after careful consideration, because I realized that you will not be alone. Your family and your clan must join us, even if we live in the North Pole. They will no longer be able to do without you and you will not think of abandoning them. I would like to be like you to live as you live, but my education is different. I don't like partnership; I want you alone or lose you forever. I organized my life, my time and my expenses, and I don't like surprises and improvisation. I wanted to build with you only our home, our future and our happiness. I cannot accept that we spend our money and time on others instead of using it to make us happy and to save for our child.

I wish you a good holiday with your family, but don't wait for me, and please don't write to me either, I don't want an answer”.

Without rancour

 Janine

What happened to Janine? Could this delicate and kind artist be so cruel? She grabbed a sharp knife and slaughtered our love mercilessly. Anger suddenly replaced grief, recalling memories of her first visit to my house and her annoyance when my mother arrived. I remembered her anger towards my guests who had been detained and charged with theft in my absence. What does Janine want? Marry me or enslave me? She is selfish, too selfish. I rolled up the letter in my hand and threw it at the end of the living room, shouting, "Goodbye. With a thousand and one farewells. You don't want me to answer your message. As you like. I will not answer. Why should I answer when everything is finished between us?”

I realized that I was talking to myself and, once my anger subsided, I realized that I had lost Janine forever. The colourful dream turned into a black and white nightmare. I picked up her message, smoothed it out to remove its wrinkles, and then kissed it while looking at her picture hanging on the wall, saying, as if I were speaking to her: "Forgive me, I love you, and we cannot separate so easily".

Janine's smile in the photo suddenly faded, scowled, and then turned her back on me.

I cried that night in the dark. I didn't want to turn on the light and I didn't answer the doorbell or the phone. I had no companion but sorrow and I drank it to the end. Janine was right; I can't blame her. The loads of the Algerian are heavy and only the Algerian girl can carry them. He lives in this era with the mentality and customs of the past. Janine wants me to throw these loads off my back. I also want to throw them away and I want to be able to do so.

Wouldn't it be nice if the two loved ones lived in a nest, had a happy little family and had a child or two? Wouldn't it be nice to be able to plan their life, their work, their comfort, their holidays and their budget without transforming their home into a hotel, a restaurant, a place of rest and a station for the coming and going travellers? What Janine wants is legitimate. This is the path of progress and prosperity that I want, but can I do it alone? Can I break ties with my community and give up my responsibilities to live happily with Janine? What happiness can I feel if I disapproved of my community and it in turn rejected me? Can I put on a hat like Mahfouz Ammar, despise and ridicule the traditions and customs of my community and say to people, "Do as I do to live happily?"

I believe in organizing new relationships in society and the family to conform to the new reality, but if we can maintain social cohesion and solidarity. We must not sacrifice them on the altar of progress.

The French painter Nasreddine Etienne Dinet chose Algeria and Boussaada in particular for the moderate warmth of its sun and the warmth of the hearts of its inhabitants. How can I accept that my heart turns into ice and that I close it as I close my door in the face of my family, my clan and my loved ones? Love is not love if it does not extend to all those who love us and need us.

I have no right to love Janine because I am still attached, and I cannot harm her and attach her to me. However, I will not surrender to this poor reality and I will not accept it. I will work with my compatriots to change it. We will fight against unjustifiable waste and blind vanity. We will not help the lazy who exploit kinship to live as parasites or the ignorant and incapable people who use kinship as a passport to access jobs and positions in place of diplomas and skills.

Change needs a struggle and we will even face our clans and families to achieve change. However, we will continue to help those who seek protection in kinship and clan and who live in poverty, destitution, injustice, loneliness and old age until the law is respected to deter the unjust and remedy the victims of an injustice.

After calming down, I turned on the light and wrote to Janine the following letter,

"My love Janine

Let me call you by that name for the last time. We could have lived happily if we had not belonged to two different societies, and we have no fault in that. I was the happiest man because I won your love and I dreamed that this happiness would last forever by getting married. But "Not everything that man wants comes true," says our Arab poet Al Moutanabbi.

You mentioned in your letter that my family and my clan can't do without me, and I don't plan to give up on them, and that's true. I cannot abandon them and blend into your community. Should I cut my roots for my love, and as a man and as a human being, abandon my responsibilities to my community? Many members of your developed societies embrace and defend the problems of societies in developing countries which are not their own. It was my community that taught me and raised me to the level of an intellectual. I will not abandon it even if I lived far from it. I would stay in touch with it and be proud of my belonging. I hope you don't hate the human being who only has pure love for you. I will keep your paintings forever because they are part of you”.

The unlucky

 Abed

I wrote the address on the envelope and stamped it so I could put the letter in the mailbox in the morning. It was two o'clock in the morning when I turned off the lights to try to sleep but the phone rang. I picked up the receiver, and heard a voice muffled by sobs said, "My father is dead, Abed. Your uncle Laroussi was killed by criminals”.

- 102 -

When a person is faced with several calamities, his feelings become blunt. I received the news of Laroussi's death as if I read news of the death of a stranger in the newspaper. As if he were not my uncle and that, I was not related to him. As if he is not the strong wall, on which I had leaned in Algiers, nor the father who was sincere with me in love, affection and advice. As if he is not my ideal in science, culture, tolerance and good manners. I was like an anesthetized that the first shock killed his feelings and he did not feel the second.

I went to my uncle's house in Hussein Dey and had dozens of questions looking for an answer. My cousin didn't give me details. Who are the criminals who killed my uncle and why?

He has no enemies: the locals love him all for his grace and good deeds. They find him at each disaster, by their side, living their joys and sorrows. He contributes to the collection of Zakat and alms from the rich and merchants, and distributes them to poor families during religious seasons and holidays. He always reminds them of the Prophet’s hadith, “Charity will not diminish man’s fortune”. He said to them, "Do not think that Europeans protect their society only by law, but by social solidarity because religious and civic charities correct the errors of the law".

My uncle does not have the ambition to compete with anyone, neither for a post, nor in a business, nor for a woman whose rival kills him to get rid of him. He wanted nothing and was not afraid of anyone. He kept repeating: "Whoever puts death before his eyes can beat the two ogre predators: fear and greed".

He had no fortune which thieves coveted and killed him to steal it. He did not want to claim any benefits after independence. He had self-esteem, did not stand at the door of a minister, asked nothing of the Wali "governor" or the mayor, and if he asked something it was for other people not for himself . Who killed my uncle then and why?

My aunt received me in a black dress, her daughter in a grey dress and their eyes reddened by tears. The house is full of neighbours and Laroussi's body has been taken to hospital to confirm the cause of death.

My aunt was amazed and she said to me, fixing her eyes on the void, "I dreamed a few days ago that I had adorned my neck with a unique pearl necklace which strangely shone as if it was light”. Suddenly, a strange hand extended, I did not recognize the owner's features. This hand removed the necklace and disappeared from view before I could grab it to retrieve it. I was very sad to lose it and I woke up in panic. Therefore, I asked God to preserve me from the devil and I read verses from the Koran, then I fell back asleep and I repeated the dream. I did not know what it was, I did not know its explanation, and I was afraid of its consequences. I asked Laroussi and he smiled and said, "Don't be afraid, it all depends on fate". And here is the precious necklace that we had, is removed by the hand of death”.

Neighbours and residents of the neighbourhood told me what had happened, “After Isha's prayer, Laroussi came out of the mosque. He walked past the cafe where two men known in the neighbourhood for bad deviousness and theft argued. They are used to entering and leaving prison shortly after. Laroussi always advised them and gave them money when they ask for it. When people say to him, "They are cheating on you, he says," Who cheated on us in the name of God we pretend to be cheated".

One ran out of the cafe and the other followed him with a knife. Both were drunk. The fugitive appealed to Laroussi and his prosecutor insulted him with indecent words and attempted to remove him from Laroussi, who tried to protect the fugitive. The two men continued to play hide and seek, circling around Laroussi. The moment the man stretched his knife and thought he would hit his rival, Laroussi was faster than him. He covered the fugitive with his body and the knife entered his heart. The man pulled it and threw it to the ground and he didn't know what to do. He started sobbing and hitting his face saying, "I didn't want to do this, my uncle Laroussi, I didn't want I swear". Then he took the knife and hit himself. People assembled and took the knife from him. Laroussi died courageously, as he always wished, quoting the words of Al-Mutanabbi, who loved him,

“If life was eternal, we considered the brave as the completely lost among us.

If death is inevitable, it is shameful to die like a coward”.

Laroussi's body and his murderer, who was in serious condition, were transported to the hospital. My aunt and cousin were currently in El Harrach with a family member. They were waiting for Laroussi to pass through the night to bring them. He did not come on time and there is no telephone at their parent's house to call him. At midnight, one of the neighbours volunteered to bring them to their house.

The neighbours withdrew after my arrival and I begged my aunt and cousin to go and rest a little. I immediately called Batna and Boussaâda, so that parents and loved ones can arrive today before the funeral and burial. I waited until seven o'clock to call Akli, who immediately came and made the necessary contacts to organize the funeral.

The family and loved ones arrived before the funeral and the meeting of my uncle's eldest daughter with her mother and sister was moving. Laroussi's body was transported home at 11:30 a.m. before leaving for the last time. The lamentations of my aunt and my two cousins and their pleading cries were heart breaking. They were crying for their man who was carried on shoulders. It is an exit without return, and farewell hopelessly to see again only in the hereafter.

The funeral procession is majestic and long from the start of the street to the end. The elders of the Ulama association and the relatives and friends of the deceased, the teachers and students of the high school and the residents of the neighbourhood march silently with humility, lowering their heads and some have shed tears. The Eastern teachers felt they had lost a dear brother who sincerely loved them and comforted them in their alienation. They wept for him. Issam was the saddest among them, whose eyes were red and swollen with tears. Laroussi loved the Arabs with all his heart, so they loved him and love gave birth to love.

Makadri, Sardi, Hakim, Ammar and the assistant principal were present. The women were also present: Faiza, Nadia, Martha, Nouara, Dassine, the librarian and the accountant came to the house.

We threw soil at him in the cemetery. Suddenly Akli was crying, sobbing in a shaky voice. We tried to calm him down, but he lost control of himself, which increased his lamentation, and then he fell unconscious. A doctor was present who examined him and asked that he must be taken immediately to the hospital.

Despite our conviction that death is a transmission from our world to the other world and that it must touch everyone, we are still surprised and shocked. We are used to this world and we are afraid of alienation. Death remains a mystery that makes us think every time it kidnaps one of our loved ones. We question the meaning of existence and the usefulness of life, work and fatigue, since that they lead to death. Faith can comfort and reassure us, but it does not give us satisfactory answers. Death put me in an exceptional state, so I thought back to the past and what I had done with my life. I decided to reorganize my priorities.

My uncle’s will was written last year when his daughter entered university, asking his wife to stay with her in Algiers until she finished university. He wrote the rental contract on behalf of his wife to show his respect for her and so that no one can evict her from the apartment. He also registered all the furniture in her name. I compared his willingness to educate his daughter with the behaviour of Makadri who got his daughter out of middle school. He forced her to stay at home because she participated in the performance of a school play and I found a big difference between them.

I started to realize the importance of what I lost. My father died or martyred when I was young and I didn't feel lost. However, Laroussi was my uncle and a second father who sincerely gave me advice and guided me without constraint. He put himself in my place, advising me with what suits my age, not his age, and appropriate to my time, not to his time. This is what I do not find in others who want to impose the values ​​of their time on the generation of this time.