Read Online The Boy Who The Set Fire and Other Stories by Paul Bowles and Mohammed Mrabet - Free Book Online Page B

the honey. In the end he had about a hundred kilos of honey. Then he went out to the nearest shop and said to the baqal: Do you want to buy some pure honey? The baqal was sitting with the Djibli who owned the orchard, and they both began to laugh. Where would a hacheichi like you get honey? they said. But he told them: If you don’t believe it, try some. And he opened a jar he’d brought with him. If you can’t tell whether it’s pure, bring an expert, he told them.
    The baqal took a taste of the honey and turned to the Djibli. You’re the bee man. You try it, he told him. And the Djibli tried it and said: That’s pure, all right. Then he sighed and said: I don’t know what’s the matter with my bees this year. They’re not doing very well.
    Yes, the hacheichi said. I wonder what happened to them. They’re all in my house. I cleared out my bedroom for them, and I’m sleeping in the bathroom.
    What? cried the Djibli. What do you mean?
    That’s right, he said. You know, bees don’t like stingy men. You always kept all their honey for yourself and never gave any to your neighbors. They don’t like that, so they came to me.
    If you’ve got my bees I’m going to the government, the Djibli told him.
    What government? You tell the government and I’ll tell Allah. My window was open. The bees flew in and I shut the window. Is that the government’s business? Or yours? The bees are living with me now and I’m giving them food and lodging, and your government has nothing to do with it. Do you want to buy some honey? And the hacheichi sold ten kilos to the baqal. The Djibli waited a while, and then he went to his orchard. He walked over to the window of the hacheichi’s house and broke the glass with a rock. The bees were upset, and they came out and swarmed over his face and stung him all over, and he began to run through the orchard yelling. If he hadn’t had a well there he’d have been stung worse. When he jumped in half the bees flew off and the other half drowned. His sons came and fished him out.
    When the hacheichi got home and opened the door of the room to feed the bees, they were all gone. He looked up and saw the broken window. Then he ran out into the orchard, and the Djibli’s sons came up to him, crying: Your bees almost killed our father.
    He threw a rock at the window and the bees didn’t like it. They didn’t need any government. Allah takes care of them, and He’ll take care of your father.
    Bahloul stopped talking.
    That’s a new idea, they said. Rub yourself with honey. But which was talking just now? The aghrebia or the kif?
    Both, said Bahloul. That night he said to Zizi: I’m going to eat with you here and go home to bed. I’ve got to get up at five tomorrow morning. I’m going to Tetuan.
    Zizi bought a kilo of smelts and sent them out to the oven to be baked. They ate them together and drank a little tea. Then Bahloul gave Zizi the key to the house. I’m going to bed.
    He went home, had two pipes of kif, and fell asleep before Zizi arrived. He did not hear Zizi come in, nor did Zizi hear him when he got up at four o’clock in the morning and left the house. He went to the Avenida de España where he found a taxi about to leave for Tetuan. He got in with the other three passengers.
    This was the first time Bahloul had been to Tetuan, and when he arrived he began to wander through the narrow streets of the Medina. It was only about half past seven in the morning, and the air was still cold. In one of the alleys a man lay on the ground asleep. Bahloul stopped and looked down at him. He was old and dirty, and his djellaba was ragged and worn thin. Bahloul looked down at his face, and suddenly felt a great surge of pity for the man. He leaned over and woke him out of his sleep.
    The man sat up and stared at him. What do you want, my son?
    Sidi, I saw you lying there like that, sleeping on the stones in the cold, and I felt sorry for you.
    That’s how Allah wants it, said the man.