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

mannerisms and pretenses of modesty and reserve. But when they took off the
long piece of more or less worn cloth, they appeared, each in her own
individuality, youth or decrepitude.
Moulay Ali smiled at one, embraced another and briefly answered the
questions of a third. Distinguished and dignified, silent in the concert of feminine
voices, Kenza presided over the generous refreshments that were served to these
ladies, neglecting no detail of the perfect hospitality required by her upbringing.
She deliberately ignored any poisonous insinuations. She wasn't going to let them
bother her now! She had always countered them with cold disdain.
"Dear uncle, you should have come to stay with my mother, your older
sister. I would never presume to tell you what is proper, but my husband was
telling me a little while ago . . ."
"Or with my mother. She loves you so much, in spite of your long
separation, and she has taught us to love you, too . . ."
He smiled at them, "You forget that this is my home. I was born and grew
up in this house. For me, this is where the perfume of the past still lingers. This
succession of arched doorways with their fascinating designs, these pillars with
their tapestry of blue and white mosaic tile blending with the sky and its light,
these sumptuous wooden sculptures, these gardens where all the colors of green
entwine . . . !"
"Uncle, why didn't you bring your wife and children? Coming like this,
like a bachelor! What a frustration for us who are burning with impatience to
finally meet your dear family!"
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