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

He was already there, sitting on the ledge of the large fountain, his eyes
lost in what he called a countdown. When he looked back on his life, his thoughts
inevitably returned to this house, under the thick foliage of these trees, at this hour
of the day when light undulates like a voluptuous dream. She sat down close to
him.
She was not looking for any sensual pleasure. She had been weaned from
that very early, though she kept a burning memory of it. Simply, her place was by
his side. They remained silent a long time, a very long time. An ordinary person
would have taken them for an aging couple that some evil spirit had turned to
stone. Yet, their eyes moved, intensely, scrutinizing the present to revive the past.
In unspoken accord, their gaze fell on the solitary bitter orange tree at the corner
of the patio, a tree that had once received their secrets. They used to count the
golden fruits and pretend they were the suns that had risen and set on their
happiness. Their memories sprang up again complete and burning like living
beings, having breath, scent and consistency.
They were a young married couple and they marveled at the thunderous
and unexpected sensations they discovered together. They did not hide their
happiness and gave no thought to the passions they aroused. They disregarded the
stares directed at them and willfully forgot the upbringing they had both received
in which duplicity and hypocrisy were virtues of the well-born.
The love affair they lived with all the passion of their youth had altered
their features, drawn dark circles under their eyes, and changed the tone of their
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