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

were thwarted, she would fly into a rage. Kenza loved the expressions in her eyes
that changed at will, sparkling or sad, cruel or teasing, dark or gold-flecked. This
little woman was lit by the same flame that had consumed Kenza and had set afire
those around her. Kenza contemplated the two men sitting in front of her. For her,
they were as different as a sweet water spring and a bitter apple colocynth. She
could not keep herself from thinking she had destroyed them both.
Sharif, from his point of view, attentively watched his wife and this
stranger who had come to snatch away the peaceful life he had led for decades.
For the first time, he wondered, "Have I really been happy? This life as a
substitute, is this all I dreamed of in my youth? Was I born only to leech off my
wife's fortune and be satisfied to have her despise me? What belongs to me in all
this? The garden, the trees, the flowers? My house, my slaves, even my daughters
who are her creation and models of her? This entire paradise where I wallow in
perpetual laziness is hers." A weight crushed his heart. He breathed deeply to
chase away his dark thoughts.
A veil of delight wrapped Moulay Ali. His spirit gathered nectar from
blossom to blossom, flying up to the treetops, through the rays of the sun, at the
risk of burning. Too much happiness came crashing down on his weak heart; he
felt it quiver in his chest. Still he wished this hour of pleasure could last forever
and that the magic of love might bring back the time when they springtime was
their field of frolic.
The porters' arrival put an end to games and memories. On their heads
they balanced cone-covered pottery platters containing the noon meal. They laid
out the steaming dishes under the jujube tree and left, well paid.
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