Read Bitter Almonds for Free Online Page B

awkwardness? Or, on the contrary, do those pages have a special significance for her?
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    She has shown up early. “Shall we start now?” suggests Édith.
    Fadila shakes her head. “First ironing.”
    Two hours later, just when Édith is struggling with a particularly difficult paragraph, Fadila is the one who comes and sits down next to her and says, “We start?”
    On the sheet from last time, she hasn’t practiced either the
1
or the
2
or the
0
, but she has written her telephone number. She did get her ten digits all in a row, but instead of writing
59
at the end she has written
99.
Instead of two
5’
s she has put two
9’s.
    â€œDo you know your number by heart? Can you say it to me?”
    â€œNo,” says Fadila.
    When someone asks for her telephone number she gets out her little notebook, and she knows where to find it, right at the beginning.
    Ã‰dith has her copy it over. She has trouble with the
4,
the
5,
the
2,
and the
7.
The
1
is better, the
9
is fairly good.
    Ã‰dith can tell that this phone number alone will still take some doing. But just then Fadila asks her to add her own number to the sheet she is going to take home with her.
    Ã‰dith takes the opportunity to point out that the first four digits of their telephone numbers are identical,
01 40,
and to remind her that with the ten basic digits they can write every single telephone number in France, Morocco, or anywhere.
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    Their relationship has changed dramatically. They’ve known each other for six months, and they’ve been roped together on this climb for two months. It is obvious that Fadila no longer sees Édith in the same light. Their relationship has evolved.
    It’s not as if Fadila seems to be really suffering from the difficulty of the learning process. When she comes to sit down next to Édith to tell her that she is ready to get to work—and this does not happen every time, far from it—she is relaxed. In her entire being. She enjoys what they are doing.
    One day she brings a dish of chicken with olives she has prepared. Another time some Moroccan bread. “You heat it up,” she says.
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    Ã‰dith reads on the internet that there is a great difference between those who learned to read and write and then forgot everything (illiterates) and those who never learned (analphabets). Analphabets are not ashamed of their ignorance since they are not at fault, since they were never given the opportunity to learn, unlike their illiterate brethren.
    Ã‰dith has come to quite the opposite conclusion. While Fadila seems overjoyed at the prospect of gaining admission to the world of writing (the world of learning, culture, modernity, developed countries) she is clearly ashamed of having been excluded from the world of letters, as if she had not been worthy of it (“Me I’m stupid.”).
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    Fadila is ironing, the doorbell rings, and Édith goes to the door. It is Aïcha, she would like to speak with her mother. Édith is worried she might have bad news. Not at all: Aïcha just wants to have a little chat with her mother.
    They go together into the kitchen. Édith offers them some coffee and they accept, with simplicity. At this time of day both of them are supposed to be working, but clearly they seem to find it perfectly normal to take a break and have a chat. Édith goes back to work and she can hear their lively voices, speaking Arabic.

8
    Fadila found a sheet of paper at home which she now shows to Édith. “Is my name.”
“Which name?” asks Édith; she does not recognize the word.
    â€œIs Fadila!”
    She explains that she wrote it back when she had started taking an evening literacy course. This is all she has kept from that time.
    In fact, the word is illegible. The marks may look like letters, but they aren’t. It does look like handwriting of a sort, like cuneiform. Édith concludes that it must be block