The South Wind

That night it felt better in the men's gathering room than in the women's, not because it was any larger but there was no door to block access to it, and the gaps in the walls were not covered by clay; it was a courtyard with a rooftop. As to the room where the women gathered, although bigger it was stifling and crowded.
        Nafissa tried in vain to sleep. After two sleepless nights, the noise made her dizzy. She felt a strange uneasiness inside her. The verbal exchanges around her were not perhaps totally unconnected to her current torment. The conversation revolved around one topic: marriage. One of the women was telling the story of a seventeen year old girl. Her father had given her away for a dowry that consisted of two quintals of wheat, two sheep, ten liters of olive oil and five of melted butter, in addition to one thousand dinars. On top of that the fiancee received a trousseau: five of each clothing item, two bracelets, a belt made of silver, two earrings, a ring and a gold chain. On the wedding night, her husband discovered that she was not a virgin and sent her immediately back to her father's house. Fearing for her life she ran away and no one knew where she had gone. The woman added that distress and despair had driven the mother mad, as she was tormented by the shame that had befallen her family and unable to get over the disappearance of her only child whose whereabouts remained, despite the many searches, a mystery. According to the same narrator, the young woman must have, in all likelihood, killed herself in some unknown place.
         There was also the story of a fifteen year old girl: her father had married her off despite her mother and brother's objection to such a precocious marriage. The morning of the wedding night, she was taken to a hospital as a result of a violent hemorrhage that had left her unconscious.
         A third woman told the story of a young bride who had had to go back to her parents when it became obvious that the man to whom she had been given was impotent.
         Nafissa heard yet many more stories of the same vein, enough to make her sick. As a diversion, she sought to fall asleep but perspiration kept her from getting the rest she yearned. She lay down, covered her face and pretended to be sleeping in order to at least avoid their glances. But the women never forgot about her, and no sooner did she "fall asleep" than she became the subject of their conversation. One of them said to the one sitting next to her: --I would never have thought that she was so beautiful.
        The other replied: --I can't see why she wouldn't be. Good food, rest and shade. Let her go harvest in the fields, be it for one week, and you'll see what will become of her beauty.
        Another intervened: --The ambiance of the city gives those who enjoy it an air of gracefulness, even to those who are not so beautiful.
         A fourth . . . : --It is rumored that her wedding will take place in the fall . . . But it seems that the mayor is not too excited about marrying her, although his father had chosen her for him.
         The woman who said that Nafissa's beauty was due to restfulness resumed: --To marry her, her father's fortune would have to be weightier than the mayor's will.
         The most jealous of all barged in: --She has perhaps a lover in Algiers . . . Otherwise why would she shun the mayor of the county? I saw him, on the occasion of a distribution of semolina: thin-lipped, straight-nosed, charming smile, fascinating like a crescent moon on a festive day. If he made me the smallest hint, I'd be ready to follow him anywhere he wanted.
         --What about your husband?
         --I've had it with him.
         The woman who noticed Malek's lack of eagerness to marry Nafissa interjected: --People say that she wants to continue her studies and refuses for now to get married, be it to the county mayor or to anybody else.
         Then it was again the turn of the playful woman who said she had enough of her husband and who, actually, was behaving honorably; her impulsive nature and her penchant for fun-making would cause her to say what goes through her mind.
         --Poor us, we cannot afford to teach our children the letters of the alphabet, and our young lady wants to study until her breasts fall to her belt? What does she want to be? A princess? There is no more room left for princes in our country . . .
        Suddenly the first gusts of the South wind blew out the candle and plunged the room into darkness. The fun-loving woman exclaimed: --We have unleashed our tongues on people and Allah has shrouded us in darkness. The wind is blowing and we are besieged by its rustle. It is going to blow away the wheat we've harvested. Talk about a "blessing"!
         It was the peasant in her who was talking now, in this village where the fellah felt beleaguered by a handful of big land-owners and natural disasters. Among the latter, the worst were drought, flooding, and the Southern Wind . . .
         The village was plunged into dreary sadness: the dust hurled by the gusts of wind darkened the sky; the howling of the whirlwind came from every direction with incredible violence. The result is a mixture of grayness and light. It was becoming increasingly hot everywhere. People's faces, scorched by the onslaught of dust, have a sinister look about them. Those who owned something were afraid to lose it, and those who owned nothing were blown away by the wind . . .
         [. . .] People were shaken; you could see sadness on their faces. One person, impervious to the general atmosphere and howling wind, remained undisturbed by this upheaval. It was Malek, asleep in the same place where Belkadi had left him. When suffering and worry reached for him an intolerable level he would sink into a profound sleep.

Translated from Marcel Blois's French version
by Hedi-Abdel-Jaouad