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

The man's behavior immediately made Kenza give up her plan to stay with
her aunt. She quickly said, "Very well, I accept your judgment, Aunt. Have Dada
M'barka take me home. Lend me your cloak. This time I'll take the streets home."
Overjoyed to escape such a troublesome dilemma, the aunt belatedly
demonstrated her affection for her niece.
"My little girl, now you are being reasonable. Nevertheless, I sympathize
with what you are going through. By God and the Prophet Mohammed, I
sympathize! Men are louts!" she said, throwing the comment in her husband's
direction. "They are egotists who play with our fates. But you'll get burned if you
continue to resist. They are stronger then we are! The fight is unequal. It's useless
to persist. God is great and merciful. He will reward us for our patience . . ."
The rest of her sentence was lost in the icy corridor. Kenza had already
closed the door of the house behind her, cutting off the voice of her aunt who was,
in retrospect, pleased with this event that had briefly broken the monotony of her
daily routine and promised to spice the conversations she would have with her
neighbors this afternoon on the terraces. She would tell the story in detail. She
might even add a little. In this way, she would avenge herself on Kenza's mother
who had spread slanderous gossip about her from one end of the city to the other
under false pretenses of secrecy.
Kenza locked herself in her room when she got home, refusing to speak to
anyone except Marjana who brought her meals and stayed long hours with her,
massaging her toes or combing her long hair with languorous gestures, softly
singing songs of lost love.
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