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

Kenza tried to empty her mind of these thoughts. Her hand came to rest on
Moulay Ali's. She silently reproached him, "Why did you abandon me? Why have
you made me a hard woman with a frozen soul?"
"I was a coward," he conceded, as though responding to the reproach he
read in her eyes. "You thought you had married a man, but I was only a child. I
was caught in the trap of social conventions. I was afraid of breaking the rules that
required me to obey my elders, even at the expense of my own happiness. I was
like a young rooster, proud of its feathers, crowing loudly and running to hide in
the hen house at the least sign of danger, leaving the rest of the fowls to fend for
themselves. My uncle was my judge and executioner. He ruled people and
decided their destinies. Who would have paid attention to the poor kid I was, even
if I had resisted? Who would have taken the side of a lowly child against the great
wise man, the protector of basic values?"
He stood up, short of breath, suffocating with the rage that had never died.
Kenza stood up in turn, pushing herself up with one hand, gracefully holding the
folds of her caftan with the other. They walked side by side down the garden
paths under a mist of white jasmine. The mosaic patterns danced in festival
colors, caressed by the rays of the rising sun.
They were extremely moved to continue the walk they had begun half a
century before, and gloom invaded their hearts.
"I want to ask you," said Kenza in a subdued voice, "I want to know why
you decided to come back, finally."
ridiculous."
She added more loudly, "Don't tell me you were homesick. That would be
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