The Bottom of the Jar Read Online Free PDF Page A

liberties incongruous with our traditional way of life? We prayed for God’s protection from the devil’s works . . .

4

    T HE WEDDING NIGHT finally arrived.
    Nothing will be gleaned here about the unfolding of the wedding ceremony and its various protocols. There are plenty of films for that, as they say, full of colorful descriptions left behind by colonial authors of the old guard, not to mention by the nationalists that followed in their wake, who while sharing their prejudices were perhaps even less talented.
    We will therefore elide the following details.
    On the bride’s side:
    the scene involving the ritual waxing and grooming
    the henna ceremony: its application and removal
    descriptions of the dress, jewels, and assorted fineries
    presentation and “exhibition” of the bride, as well as the collection of the wedding gifts, either in cash or in kind
    the singing of the neggafate 3 in honor of the bride, where the wordsare always the same, regardless of whether the woman in question is ugly or beautiful, tall or petite, skinny or rotund, clever or asinine
    last but not least, the displaying of the sarouel splattered with the postcoital blood after the consummation (which is stipulated in the marriage contract)
    On the groom’s side: nothing in particular. At most there is the night before the wedding, where it seems the groom is dragged by his friends to visit women of ill repute for a demonstration of their practical skills. Yet I never actually saw any of this – and like Ghita, I never speak simply on hearsay.
    What I did see and hear, however, is this.
    It had been two or three hours since the married couple had retreated to their bedroom, yet our pricked-up ears hadn’t detected any noises or reassuring cries. In the drawing room where we had all assembled, the tension had become unbearable. Ghita could no longer sit still.
    â€œWhat are those kids up to?” she asked. “Playing leapfrog?”
    Turning to one of the neggafa , she ordered: “Go and look in on them, Lalla, and see how they’re getting on.”
    The kind lady did as she was told, and after a moment that seemed to last an eternity, she came back empty-handed, though optimistic.
    â€œThey are young, and the night is long. I made them drink some warm milk and gave them some walnut-stuffed dates to eat. The little one had forgotten to put a cushion under her pelvis like I’d recommended. As for the groom, he very much has his eyes on the prize but doesn’t dare take the initiative. We must empathize with them. But we should also do all that is necessary. All will go well, Lalla, I promise you.”
    â€œEven so, it’s not that complicated,” Ghita remonstrated. “Even donkeys know how to do it.”
    At the sound of this insolent remark, Driss nearly leapt out of his chair.
    â€œHush now! Children shouldn’t hear things like that.”
    â€œMaybe it’s because they’re stifled by all this prudishness, cursed jinn! What the camel thinks he alone knows, the camel driver knows too.”
    On the verge of turning sour, this exchange was happily interrupted by a series of moans, then an out-and-out cry coming from the direction of the bedroom. Before long, the door opened and Si Mohammed appeared, looking pale, confused, and out of breath.
    â€œFetch the tea,” Driss said in an attempt to create a diversion and liven up the atmosphere.
    We surrounded Si Mohammed, who was catching his breath before launching into a bizarre narrative that felt like something between a sports commentary and a medical report. He bragged about gaining the upper hand after a veritable boxing bout. The frightened girl had at first put up a brave resistance. He then confessed that after he’d broken her resolve, his virility had failed him. It was only after the neggafa ’s intervention that his senses came back to life. The light refreshments were most welcome, and the