For Bread Alone

“A actual tale of human desperation, shattering in its impact.”—Tennessee Williams

Driven by way of famine from their domestic within the Rif, Mohamed’s family members walks to Tangiers looking for a greater existence. yet his father is not able to discover paintings and grows violent. Mohamed learns the right way to appeal and thieve. in the course of a brief spell in a dirty Moroccan penal complex, a fellow inmate kindles his life-altering love of poetry.

The special author Paul Bowles, probably top identified for his novel The Sheltering Sky, collaborated heavily with Mohamed Choukri at the translation of For Bread Alone, and penned the introduction.

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Speedy, he acknowledged. I climbed out first. glance! The boy’s relocating. He’s nonetheless alive! Hurry! El Kebdani pulled me by means of the arm. do you need them to get us too? We observed the 3 policemen working down the Siaghines. And we ran down the Calle el Mansour. midway down the hill el Kebdani stopped. Wait a minute. I’ve obtained to piss. I felt the necessity, too. As we stood there leaning opposed to the door of a store, humans got here working by way of. sooner than us within the Saqqaya we observed a tender guy lurching alongside, leaning seriously to the best below the burden of the bag he used to be wearing. We’re in good fortune, stated el Kebdani. Here’s Qaabil. We’ll choose him as much as his shack at Sidi Bouknadel. El Kebdani had frequently spoken approximately Qaabil and the way he had labored for him as a cargador. Is that the smuggler you advised me approximately? I stated. the person who has quite a bit funds? That’s the single. He’s acquired adequate to bury you and me from head to foot. He doesn’t glance as though he had 100 pesetas on the earth, I instructed him. The little sq. was once empty of individuals. sometimes a couple of males ran throughout it in a single course or one other. Qaabil! cried el Kebdani. Qaabil stopped strolling and set the bag down at the pavement. the place are you going? el Kebdani requested him. To the shack. Come on with me. Sallafa’s there with Bouchra. I’ve shaved the soiled bitch’s hair and eyebrows. Qaabil and that i carried the bag among us as we climbed the stairs towards Amrah. What’s happening? el Kebdani requested him. I don’t recognize. whilst I got here out of the bodega there has been loads of working round. I didn’t see whatever extra. Didn’t you listen the photographs? I heard a number of, yet they have been a ways off, and that i couldn’t discover what used to be taking place. The police are capturing on the Moroccans, stated el Kebdani. What for? It’s the 30th of March. And what are the Moroccans struggling with with? requested Qaabil. Rocks. What do you predict them to struggle with? Are there many useless? They’re taking pictures at each person they see, if he’s a Moroccan. A voice from at the back of us shouted: transparent the best way! a guy used to be sporting a wounded good friend on his again, whereas a 3rd walked in the back of. Who’s the pal with you? Qaabil requested el Kebdani. What does he do? He used to promote soup and fish on the street, and he labored at a cafe within the Zoco de Fuera. Qaabil’s shack was once outfitted on the very fringe of the excessive cliffs above the Sidi Bouknadel seashore. one among its doorways opened onto the cliff. the opposite gave onto an alley that led downward towards Amrah. It used to be a true smuggler’s shack. once we went in, Sallafa was once groaning a track of Farid el Atrache’s: disregard him who forgets you, and don’t remorse his loss. Her hair and eyebrows were cleanly shaved with a razor, in order that now she gave the look of a good-looking boy. She wore a light-weight, black and white striped zigdoun. Bouchra was once stretched out at the divan in a pink and gold brocade caftan with a gauzy dfin over it. She had a sebsi in her hand. the women placed me in brain of the 3 days I had spent with Abdeslam and Sebtaoui at Sida Aziza’s condo, again in Tetuan. I had one thousand pesetas in my pocket at the moment, i presumed. And this present day, holes in my wallet and no paintings.

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