Read The Boy Who The Set Fire and Other Stories for Free Online Page B

a book. I stood with my valise in my hand, and looked at his head. It was like a watermelon, and his nose was like a rhaita. His wife said to him: Here he is! Speak to him in Riffian and see!
    He looked over his glasses at me and said: Mismiuren? Mismiuren means: What’s going on? But I did not want to speak Riffian.
    I don’t understand what you’re saying, I told him.
    He hung his head, and his wife cried: You see? He’s not a Riffian.
    I’m not like your husband, I told her. I haven’t eaten donkey’s ears. Look at him. He can’t even lift his head. Any other man, when he hears his wife insulting somebody, speaks to her and makes her stop.
    The woman began to shout: Mierda! Mierda!
    I spit at her three times. She only shouted at her husband: Why don’t you speak to him in Riffian?
    I said to him: Yes. And why don’t you speak to her in Hebrew? You need a lot more time if you want to learn Riffian. You think you know something about the Riffians? All you ever saw of them was their teeth when they smiled at you. They never let you find out the important things.
    I went into Mrs. James’s room and helped her pack her bags. I squeezed them all shut, and then I went to help Mr. James. When all their luggage was in the corridor, the girl came upstairs and told me: Wait. I’ll turn on the light. I carried everything down and put it into the car, started the motor, and drove around to the front door. It was half past four in the morning, but I began to blow the horn, over and over. The Spaniards leaned out of their windows to watch. I looked at the house and said: Inaal din d’babakum .
    Mr. James came down with his wife. I helped her into the front, and he got into the back. I shut the car door and spat at the house. Then I drove off.
    I was very nervous going through Granada, and Mr. and Mrs. James were afraid of an accident, because they saw how I felt. We drove out of the city, went a few kilometers, and stopped for gasoline. It was still dark.
    Mr. James got out while the Spaniard filled the tank. Then I asked for some water. He gave me a clay jar to drink from. The water was cold and sweet.
    We went on our way. I was driving slowly, the way they liked me to drive. It began to get light. This is a good trip, I told them. It’s cool and there are trees everywhere, and the wind smells good, and you can see the mountains far away. It’s a good place to be driving through.
    They both said I was right.
    We came to a village and stopped. There was a café that was open. We all went in. Mr. and Mrs. James were very tired, and they sat down at a table near the door. I went and ordered a café con leche and a pastry for each of us. I started with a glass of orange juice, and Mrs. James gave me her pastry. We talked about the English people. Mr. and Mrs. James both said I had been right, but Mrs. James told me: I thank Allah you didn’t manage to hit the woman’s head with the sword.
    Then we started to drive again, still very slowly. We were all so sleepy that our eyes were ready to shut. The road was nothing but curves. When we got to the mountains above Malaga it was full of trucks coming up and going down. A dangerous road. The foot brakes were not working at all, but we got to Malaga and went to the hotel. It was not yet seven o’clock.
    We carried the luggage into the hotel, took three rooms, and went to bed. At noon we had to get up to go and see the doctor. I was up at eleven thirty, and I called Mr. and Mrs. James. We had some coffee and went out.
    At the doctor’s office Mr. and Mrs. James sat down to wait, and I went to look for the agency to return the car. I couldn’t find it, no matter which street I took. Finally I parked the car and went to ask a policeman. He explained where the place was. I walked there, and told them they would have to go with me to get the car. A Spaniard went out with me, and we walked to where I had parked the car. He drove it back to the agency. On the way at a cross-street he