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

Mina, his younger sister, intervened, "Do you remember Halima, Brother?
She was four when you left. She is a grandmother now, and that makes me a
great- grandmother."
"We are getting old, dear sister. When I left, you were still playing with
your dolls, and you had a four-year-old child. How old were you exactly?
Eighteen, twenty?" The same age as his beloved when she wished him good-
bye, saying, "My life ends with your departure. It doesn't matter. One day with
you was worth a lifetime. So I am old, very old . . ." The rest of her sentence was
lost in a sob that had torn his heart. She had been very young then, and for her,
youth meant the hope of reunion. Stubbornly and deliberately, she ignored time
gnawing away her physical assets.
"Your wife should have come, dear uncle. Doesn't duty require that she
visit us, after all these years?" Halima insisted with a mischievous smile.
"Daughter, are you unaware of the risks a woman takes traveling in these
troubled times?" her mother admonished. "Stop bothering your uncle. Let him tell
us a little about himself. We have so missed the sound of his voice!"
Kenza was grateful for her cousin's intervention. The two women had
always had close ties, in spite of the differences in their personalities. Kenza had a
violent temper; her cousin was gentle, forgiving and discrete.
Moulay Ali smiled at his sister. He appreciated not having to answer his
niece, but he knew he would still be forced to talk about his family, though it
would hurt his cousin. He would have preferred to discuss the subject with her
privately, so that she would be free to express her bitterness openly.
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