I’ll spare you the details, but fuckwit that I am, I scratched at the door instead of knocking properly and that set off all kinds of furtive goings-on and terrified whispers inside, then I nearly sent them into a panic because, instead of introducing myself properly, I whispered, ‘Mimed, open up, it’s, Malrich . . .’ Malrich is what they call me in France, it doesn’t mean anything to anyone here in the bled, they probably thought it was a secret password or something. But everything worked itself out in the end. I introduced myself properly: ‘It’s Malek, Hassan and Aïcha’s son, Rachel’s brother, open the door for God’s sake.’ Mohamed didn’t recognise me, and I didn’t recognise him. It took some time and some going over old memories before we could say: ‘It’s you Malek, Cheïkh Hassan’s son, I can’t believe it!’ ‘It’s you Mimed, Tayeb the shoemaker’s son, I can’t believe it!’ He was expecting an old man and here I was this young guy, I was expecting to see a young man and what I found was an old man with a swarm of kids bawling and clinging to his ankles. The poor things were pissing themselves they were so scared. He kissed me and brought me inside. The kids magically disappeared, I could hear them knock around on the other side of the curtain. His wife, an old woman who was still young and healthy, gave me some leftover couscous, some dates and some milk, then she disappeared for a second and came back with a rug, a blanket and a pillow and made a bed up for me in front of the fire. I ate like an animal. Through a gap in the curtain, the kids were staring at me. Poor things had never seen a stranger, they didn’t know such things existed. Mohamed threw a white burnous over my shoulders then stoked the fire. I gradually came back to life a bit. Since, it was really late for them – 9 p.m. – and since I was dead on my feet, they said good night and went back to their room. I blew out the oil lamp and got under the blanket which smelled wonderfully of mountain sheep and straw. The fire sputtered in the grate, throwing off sparks. It was beautiful. Beside the fireplace, in an old basket scorched by the fire was a cat with her litter. I think she smiled at me, her eyes shining in the darkness. It really was beautiful.