Read Online The Bottom of the Jar by Abdellatif Laabi - Free Book Online

to it. The couturiers had sought to capitalize on this infatuation for the crooner by launching a new product called Abdelwahab’s Heart, which women squabbled over. Its only serious competitor was Asmahan’s beauty spot, named after the Lebanese chanteuse who sang like a nightingale.
    â€œGiddyap, Abdelwahab!” cried the coachman, whipping the poor horse so relentlessly that it gave way under the strain and let rip a series of farts that stank up the immediate vicinity. And even though everyone was bothered by the smell, the situation was so obvious that no one dared bring it up. When this scenario occurred in polite society, and the culprit refused to own up to it, we made recourse to a little game in order to unmask them. An arbiter was designated, who would at random pick one of the people present to start reeling off a nursery rhyme, and the person on whom the final line fell was deemed the culprit:
Stila ntila
A little leaky bucket
T-qtar b-el-ma l-khdar
Spills its greenish water
Jani jitou
It comes and goes
Taq fech
Bang pffft
Fik el-ach
Dwells in you.
    While aware the situation was clear, Namouss was nonetheless determined to exculpate himself and innocently said, “It wasn’t me, it was Abdelwahab who farted.”
    â€œShut your trap,” Driss barked, anxious to show the coachman that he’d raised his children to be well-mannered. But Ghita, who didn’t give a fig for social conventions, started giggling, her laughter spreading through the rest of the family – even Driss’s shaggy mustache began to twitch.
    Reaching the halfway point in the journey, a place called Safsaf (the Poplars), the coachman decided to stop to allow the horse a moment to catch its breath and the family an opportunity to stretch their legs. Sensing that the fresh air had whetted the rascals’ appetites, Ghita laid out an impromptu picnic. She spread a blanket in the shade of a poplar tree and brought out the provisions: a chicken she had roasted in the wee hours before dawn, some bread, as well as some oranges, which she carefully peeled and placed on a napkin. A portion was set aside for the coachman, who had gone to sit at a distance from the family and had turned his back to them. Following suit, Ghita too had turned her back to the road and quickly removed her veil so as to be able to snack unencumbered. This made Namouss uncomfortable, as it was the first time he had seen his mother uncovered in public. Whenever he had accompanied her to the shrine of Moulay Idriss, where she would drink from the blessed fountain of Bab Loufa, she had restricted herself to lifting her veil slightly so as to bring the tumbler of water to her lips.She had never lowered the veil, not even past her nose. Namouss’s eyes drifted to Driss, whom he thought would surely react to this fdheha , this scandal. But his father seemed not to have noticed or – could it be? – wasn’t offended by what had happened. Driven by the morals that had been instilled in him, which demanded that men must guard the honor of their womenfolk at all times, Namouss thought it only right to remind his mother of the rules of polite society. Getting on his high horse, he told Ghita: “We are outdoors, Lalla, cover your face.”
    Rather amused by his remark, Ghita quipped, “What are you, my husband? Go blow a snot rocket! That’s all I need – a boy the size of a chickpea telling me what to do!”
    And in a gesture of defiance, she pulled down the hood of her djellaba and bared her head, which was now utterly naked without the scarf to hide her hair.
    â€œGo ahead and die of shame,” she went on, “and if you keep pushing your luck, I’m more than ready to give you another earful.”
    Driss followed the scene, embarrassed. Wanting above all to prevent a further escalation, the only solution left to him was to hasten the departure.
    â€œStop this pointless chatter,” he said.