Gates to Tangier (9 page)

"Yeah, really sensitive," said Isaac cynically.

"Yes, I remember, it was the Benacot that we
­
nt to Tangier, after the
Alliance
school closed, they had three small children and they left because of the school. They would sell fabric, clothes, had some import/export business, and leather too, remember them?”

"Yes, of course I remember, they lived in Tangier until 1990, then they went to Casablanca, I saw them once in the butcher's shop when I went to Tangier to buy kosher meat. Now they live in Casablanca. We can call Mercedes Cohen, our cou
­
sin, and ask her for the Benacot's number, but let's eat first..."

"If it isn't an imposition," said Silvia, "We're a bit nervous about this, we'd at least like to know if the woman is alive."

"Well, I hope we don't run into any problems, someti
­
mes it takes days to talk to someone in Casablanca."

With impressive speed she called the co
­
usin, who gave her the number for the Benacot family. Silvia spoke to them.

“Mrs. Benacot, I don't know if we have met, I am Silvia Benzimra, calling from Tétouan. We're looking for our Fátima, she was called Fátima Elbaz. My father passed away and we have to find her....She was sic
­
k...poor woman...in her hometown....where is her hometown? Do you have her telephone number? W
­
ell, thank you very much I think we should be able to find her.

"She is in Chefchaouen, a town close to here. “

“Chefchaoen is the same as Chaouen, I went there with Papa once,” said Isaque. “A really beautiful place, green mounta
­
ins and in the middle of it there's an enormous café where everyone is drinking tea. There are a lot of bees. There is a lake there, no, a river, it is really cold. But really cold, even in the sum
­
mer, since the water comes from the mountain.”

"Yes, I read about that. I've read all about Chao
­
uen! Three hundred years ago it was an autonomous Jewish region, Jews with guns and everything, no one could come near it.”

"We never knew that," said Simi.

"There are many remote areas in Morocco with those kind of stories. Surely there were Jewish zones, there are so many valleys between the moun
­
tains of Morocco that no one can reach.”

"She has diabetes," said Silvia. "She left the Benacot because they amputated her right leg and she is almost blind, that was in 1995. Mrs. Benacot said that she had a daughter that came for her, to take her to Chefchaouen.”

"We'll leave tomorrow."

"Let's go eat," said Silvia.

c
ave that no one has seen.”

––––––––

T
he next morning we had breakfast at La Cam
­
pana, a pastry shop where we bought sweets for Saturday and Friday after the
Arbit
. The place had changed, but it had the same atmosphere. Instead of French pastries there were a lot of baklava, pastries filled with syrup and honey. Pastries we didn't e
­
at. Silvia suggested we eat churros, but we decid
­
ed to leave that for the afternoon, or for the next day.

"Let's take a taxi right to her," said Fortu. "We should face this as soon as possible."

We finished our
cafe con leche
that wasn't that good, and left to look for a taxi.

After some bargaining we decided on the pric
­
e, and that the taxi driver would wait for us awhile before taking us back. All for 200 dirhams. We didn't talk much on the wa
­
y. The road was full of tre
­
es that seemed as if they hadn't changed since 1974. And in 1974 they hadn't been in great shape.

Chaouen is a town sitting right in the mou
­
ntains, a few dozen houses, not even one hundred, and in the center there is an enormous teahouse surrounded by trees. There is something that looks like a main street, with some fruit and vegetable stands. We went straight to the cafe and asked about Fátima Elbaz. The owner of the cafe asked one of the waite
­
rs, who didn't know anything about her. We explained that she was a sick wom
­
an that had come from Casablanca.

"Oh, yes!" said the owner. "Now I know who she is. She is Habiba's daughter."

"And where does she live?"

"Don't you want to have a cup of tea before going to see her? She is very sick, so maybe it is better that you rest a bit first."

"I think it would be better to drink the tea after, this won't take long."

"Fine. It isn't very far, go to the end of this road, and then make a right, then you will get to the main road. Keep going a little more, and her house is on the right.”

We got into a taxi and wait straight to the house where Fátima and her mother lived.

"What do we say? That she has a son and he's entitled to an inheritance? That? Or what? We can tell her that Papá left her a thousand dollars as a gi
­
ft and that that is why we came. What do you think?”

No one answered. We arrived at the door of her house. We knocked at the door, and an old woman with well-weathered skin answered the door.

"
Marhabah, Darna darkum
," she said. "Come in, we don't g
­
et many visitors here."

We didn't enter, lingering at the doorway. Isaque spoke.

"We are looking for Fátima, she used to work in our house many years ago."

"And whose family are you?"

"The Benzimra."

"Ah...the Benzimra from Tétouan, good people, your parents. He had nothing but the best to say about y
­
ou all, good people.”

"Is Fatima well?"

"She isn't doing well, she's very ill. Very tired. I will te
­
ll her that you are here, she is in bed, very ill."

She came back after five minutes and asked us to wait a moment before entering. Fátima wanted her mother to do her makeup first.

"She is very happy that you came to see her."

The houses nearby looked very po
­
or, they were more like shacks. A part of the house was made of bricks, another part of pi
­
eces of wood, and trees that were about to fall. An olive tree was behind the house, which made it seem like it might be a garden with potatoes and other vegetables.

We entered Fátima's room. She couldn't see us. She was blind, and lying down in bed.

"Who are you?"

"Isaque."

"Isaque, you've grown!" she said, giving him a kiss.

She kissed each of us. Under the blanket we could see that one leg had been amputated, becau
­
se of the diabetes.

"How are you?"

"Very well, now. Thank God I left the hosp
­
ital. If you make it out of the Tangier hospital that is something very good, no one makes it out of that hospital.”

Her mother brought us some candies and tea. The house smelled of mildew and poverty. We all sat there in the room, not knowing how to brin
­
g up the reason why we had come.

"And how is your son?" asked Fortu.

"My daughter, Zohra, is very well. Sometimes she sends us some money, although she doesn't have much herself.”

"And where does she live?"

"In Paris. She studies medicine."

"And don't you have a son as well?"

"No son, just a daughter. After that Allah zip
­
ped up my womb. Just one.

And she studies in Paris. A very good daughter, very good. Sometimes she comes to v
­
isit us."

Isaque showed me that he was recording our chat with the walkman in his hand.

"Are you sure you didn't have a son?"

"Of course not, I'm sure. A daughter. Why are you asking this so many times? A daughter, maybe you are confusing me with the other Fátima, there was another Fátima that worked for you, three years before you left. Why did you leave? How is everything there? How is it with the Jews? We did you leave, what was so bad about Tétouan that your parents had to leave? Do you know why? There aren't any more Jews in Tétouan,
mafish, walu
, some old ones, before there were many, good people, they all paid well and they didn't hit us like the Arabs that always hit their
Fátimas
, sensible people. Your fath
­
er was a very good man, very very good, so that you know.”

"Yes, too good," murmured Fortu.

"Here, we are leaving you an envelope with a few thousand
dirhams
."

And we left that suffocating room.

"You don't think we should have brought a notary to take a signed declaration?" I asked. “That way we would have a legal document. Maybe she had a son that died, and she doesn't want to admit it. And then she had a daughter.”

Fatima's mother, who apparently had heard what we said, approached us.

"She doesn't remember some things, and has gone a little bit crazy. She had a son who died when he was one year old, less than a year. She never talks about him. I remember when he was little. Her daughter was born later. The boy died. She cried a lot over him. She had a son, and now I have my daug
­
hter," she cooed. "Her daughter comes to see us in Ramadan, sometimes she stays a few days."

"And what was the son named?"

"Yusuf, he was named Yusuf."

"And he died?"

"He's gone. She has a daughter, very pretty, very intelligent. She's a doctor.”

We went back to the teahouse. Isaque and Fortu wanted to sit and watch the valley from there, like they did when they were littl
­
e.

“What do we do?” asked Isaque.

"I think it is clear. We should get a signed statement from a notary with those two, pay the notary, and that's it. It looks like our brother died when he was young.”

"Yes, that's it. That solves all of our prob
­
lems. Maybe it is very simple, just that simple, he died and that's it. Some little boys die before they reach the age of one, or maybe she didn't know what to do with him and gave him up for adoption to another family, or maybe he was kidnapped, they kid
­
nap kids here you know. Do you remember how afraid we used to be of getting kidnapped?”

“That could be, but if that's the case we wouldn't be able to k
­
now. We could only f
­
ind him through his mother. If he lives with another family or was kidnapped or lives on the moon, we can't find him. According to the will we have to do everything possible to find him, whether we fin
­
d him or not. That's what the lawyer said.”

"I'm not arguing with you, but something se
­
ems strange. We should find Zohra, his sister. Talk to her.”

"It could be really interesting to talk to her, but I think the best thing to do is go back to Jerusalem with the cassette and the declaration, get the money, and then look for her in Paris."

"I think we should go back to the house and as
­
k for her daughter's address. I'll go in the taxi. Fortu, come with me, and you all can wait for us here, and th
­
en we'll decide.”

They went back to the house, and the mother told them Fatima was asleep.

"And do you know where her daughter lives?

"In Paris, she lives in Paris."

"Do you have her address?" Any letters from her? "Here. I have a letter from a while ago. We speak usually talk on the telephone. Here, the envelope, a photo. So pretty. Zohra is really beautiful.”

The address was almo
­
st totally erased from the envelope, all you could make out was the VI arrondissement, maybe. The num
­
ber of the street was 77, but we couldn't read the na
­
me of the street.

"Okay." said Silvia to Fortu. "With this na
­
me, Zohra Elbaz, we could find her in the Minitel. I don't think there are that many in Paris."

––––––––

Z
ohra just barely made the last train after her shift. She was very excited after having received the documents regarding treatments she had received as a child.

The noise filling her hea
­
d in those moments made her want to feel Marcel's penis inside her.

Her hip
­
s burned and danced almost unconsciously. She was afraid that someone on the Créteil metro line would sense her excitement, so she didn't look at any of the passengers traveling on that late night journey. Instead she lo
­
oked at all of the blue seats. "Blue should calm me down, it has always calmed me."