One day he left. He got married. It took me a long time to get used to his absence. I never got used to it, really. Iwasn’t the only person in the family who felt this dreadfulsorrow. I pictured him doing things with his wife and thatdisgusted me, made me furious. It was a betrayal, not on hispart, but on the part of society: a man, a real one, was supposed to get married. Of course, he delayed this event as longas possible, but that only increased the sorrow when hebecame seriously involved in this other life. From now on,another woman, a foreigner, had him all to herself. When Iwas depressed, it made me feel like committing murder orsuicide. Unable to kill the foreign woman, the enemy, I veryseriously, solemnly promised God that I would never marry.I would keep my promise.

Abdelkébir changed, of course. With relish, the women in Morocco transform men into their slaves, their dogs.They brainwash them, trivialize them, kill them slowly butsurely. Its their main task. Abdelkébir became someone else.I no longer recognized him. He no longer called himselfAbdelkébir: his wife pronounced his first name with anexaggerated sophistication. She destroyed it, took away itscharm, its power.

Abdelkébir was no longer the brother he used to be.

Summer, 1987. The end of July.

While waiting for the train to leave, Abdelkébir brought my little brother Mustapha and me to a café that didn’t looklike the ones in Hay Salam (too noisy, reserved for menonly). It was the very posh Linas Café. People didn’t rushthrough breakfast. Everyone was dressed casually, elegantly:men, on their way to work, proudly wore short-sleeved shirtsand linen pants. As for the women, they joyously showed offtheir flower print dresses and so seemed to fly far from theiroffices, out toward the sea, the beaches, to some mysteriousrendezvous, with their lovers, to be sure. Abdelkébir orderedfor us: three orange juices, two hot milks, one espresso,three little pains au chocolat, and two napoleons. A morningfeast! His voice was firmer than usual. He took charge of thesituation like a man, and that made me happy. He played thepart perfectly and I was proud of him.