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

these young men as solid as rock. It was easy for them to run silently in the dark,
holding their loads lightly, following the shadowy path to the cemetery where
they were accustomed to spreading hides to dry between the graves. By the light
of lanterns, they buried their brethren fallen on the field of honor.
The next morning, the soldiers of the French forces were ordered to count
the enemy dead and watch that they be properly buried. What a surprise to
discover that the dead had been buried secretly during the night! No one was there
to tell them how or where.
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She put her dentures in a plastic cup. Glancing at the mirror, she laughed
irresistibly. It was the laughter of her youth, slightly cracked, and tinged with
cynicism. She put her hand over her mouth, leaned closer to the mirror and spoke
to herself with biting irony, "Get hold of yourself, my poor girl. Stop this
romantic farce. You're too old. You're jut a crazy old woman. Your skin is as
wrinkled as toad skin, as rough as a weaver's comb, as spotted as a piece of old
parchment. Your mouth is a ruin and your eyes are two wormy holes where your
mind drowned. You drag your foot like a vagrant bum. You're beaten, weak,
trembling on your twisted old legs, and you pretend you're still in love? The old
thing is getting emotional, chasing her dreams of love through the years. What a
joke! How sad!"
She turned away from the mirror and continued, "I waited for the return of
the prodigal son like a romantic little girl. I made sure the house was fit to receive