Translating Nouzha Fassi Fihri's La Baroudeuse: A Case Study in ...

Chapter Four: The Fighter
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She woke up very early that morning. Through the shutters, she could see
the sky was only a little lighter than the darkness of the room.
The sun was laboring behind the hills. It would not come up for another
half-hour, at the earliest.
She leaned back against the pillows and glanced absent-mindedly at her
husband lying beside her in the large, four-poster bed. He was sleeping in an
obscene position, the features of his face sagging loosely and his legs spread to
accommodate a round belly rising in rhythm with his snoring. She calculated how
long it would take him to muster enough energy to drag himself out of bed. She
smiled and told herself she would be up and about long before sunrise. Always
too early, at least in her servants' opinion. "Moulay Ali will be here at about one
o'clock, two at the latest. We have all morning to cook and get the house ready.
Mimoun will have brought the groceries by eight. I gave him the list last night. If
he doesn't forget half of it, the idiot. Moulay Ali used to love knuckle of veal with
chick peas and barley. Spicy and simmered slowly . . . "
She waved her hand impatiently, as though she wanted to chase away a fly
buzzing at her ear. But it was only her husband's snores becoming loud and
bothersome.