And the end of each month, when he got paid, my brother bought us meat, lots of meat, and fruit we weren’t used toeating: kiwis, mangos, grapefruits. My mother would preparea special meal. Tagine with prunes, holiday style. Our stomachsfull, we were happy, truly, for at least the course of anevening. Then we would pray for him. Sincerely.

I am moved to tears because I loved my brother so much. I am moved to tears because Abdelkébir brought me so muchhappiness. I am moved to tears because I have a brother likehim who is there for us, for me.

We didn’t have a bathroom in the house, only a toilet. Abdelkébir liked to wash his hair a few times a week. I helpedhim each time: I poured hot water slowly over his head as hebent over the kitchen sink. If I love napes today, it’s becauseI spent such a long time looking at my brother’s, long andthin. I often wanted to bend over a little further and kiss ittenderly. I wanted to reach out and caress it with my hand,gently tickle it and listen to Abdelkébir’s laughter. I wanted torun my fingers through his hair, play with it, pull it, draw,scratch, dream ... I wanted to do so many things when I waswith Abdelkébir. I had no control. And I didn’t resist.

I dried his hair and afterwards, fascinated, would watch him comb it, in a frenzy, forcefully. I stood in admirationbefore this exquisite mix of coquetry and virility.

Everything, everything, everything about my brother pleased and inspired me.

For Bread Alone by Mohamed Choukri, the book that introduced me to literature, that book was like him. Who elsein our family, except Abdelkébir, could buy such a book and,because it was banned at the time, take the cover off and hideit under his bookshelf, in the middle of his sperm-stainedunderwear. I endlessly read and reread that novel about theterrible, hard life Mohamed Choukri had led in Tangiers.

My brother was my whole life when I was in Morocco.

He helped me form sentences, write letters. I cried over his words, thinking of him. He bought me a plane ticket, asugar donut one night in the Rabat medina, a blue toothbrush, white swimming trunks and a green winter coat that Istill wear today.