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

Rsif Mosque. Your husband's body is there now. We are waiting for our leader's
orders."
Moulay Ali had joined the group and warmly shook the militant's hand.
The man stopped speaking because he had come to the end of his account and
because more words would have seemed indecent at such a solemn moment. Dada
brought him a large glass of milk and some aniseed rolls. He drank the milk in
one gulp but did not touch the rolls.
When he looked at the widow again, he was staggered to see her
expression of rage. This death had come too soon, and such a death! It had
fossilized her as a malicious woman, for all eternity! She had missed the chance
to redeem herself.
to soothe him.
She had wounded her husband to the heart and would never even be able
Now she understood. He had suffered all these years, poor man, and had
had the decency to hide his pain. And she hadn't been perceptive enough to see
the good in him. For the first time in her life, she doubted her judgment, but she
was too old to question everything.
She felt enormous fatigue overcoming her and suddenly looked like what
she was: an old woman defeated by age.
Without a word, still trying to walk with dignity, Lalla Kenza turned her
back on the messenger and started up the stairs to her room.
The messenger suggested that Moulay Ali go with him to identify the
body and complete the usual formalities. The two men left the house and vanished
into the night wrapped in dark cloaks. They went back the same way the young
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