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

temper.
The neighbor men and women came out of their huts to fan the woman's
He ran away as fast as he could, swallowing his tears, holding his hands
over his ears to escape the insults coming from all sides.
"Woe to the women who lose their husbands in these times! You'd think
their children suckled at the breasts of infidels! They have no heart or faith."
"Woe betide you, O Fatima, who gave birth to this hard-hearted child! He
does not care about your health going to ruin."
"Shame on the young people these days! They don't hesitate to eat the
bread their mothers earn while they wallow in obscene impudence!"
"Hey! Where are you, Hamou? Come see your wife slaving away while
your son struts around like a one-eyed rooster!"
He climbed to the highest peak of the mountain and hid in the brambles.
He didn't come down until the last farmer had shut his door for the night.
His boundless indolence was the root of his problem. He never finished a
job. He sometimes fell asleep leaning on the handle of the ax he had been using
moments before, or stopped working to sleep and snore blissfully in the shade of a
tree.
Sharif could not take the harsh treatment for long. One day, he braved the
unknown and his own shiftlessness, put a loaf of bread and some black olives in
the hood of his cloak, and left, carrying his slippers in his hand, never to return
again. He set out for Fez. Since childhood he had heard of its charms.
He had heard tell of marvelous things. Fez was the city of light, the city of
saints and shrines, the meeting place of the great scholars of Islam, the refuge of
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