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

An internal light shone from her mind and unraveled into a bright present, into
nature, igniting its pores.
Around her people said, "Poor thing, she's lost her mind. May God have
mercy on her and us."
This sympathy did not affect her any more than had the slander before.
Why was there such joy visible on her face? How to explain this euphoria,
this overabundance of energy, this frightening desire to live, at her age? What to
say of this happiness exposed in broad daylight, like the banners of the exultant
conquerors?
Perhaps, finally, in her folly, she was living her love to the fullest?
Perhaps she had convinced herself that she had posthumously rejoined her
beloved and that they had taken up their games interrupted at the height of their
passion?
Thus ended Lalla Kenza's life, her sane life, that is.
She left the world and its conflicts as one turns the last page of a history
book. It was the end of the Second World War. The victorious allies dictated their
conditions to vanquished Germany that was already retreating into the
particularities of its culture to begin its rebirth. It was the end of fascism, the
deconstruction of the colonial era, the foundation of a new world born from the
very ruins of the war. The third world of the poor, weak peoples was nonetheless
imbued with that particular essence that constitutes the souls of nations.
And Morocco was drained bloodless, cut to pieces, and deprived of its
political leaders, but engaged in the battle, eager to preserve the sunburned
authenticity of the land.
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