Free The Boy Who The Set Fire and Other Stories by Paul Bowles and Mohammed Mrabet Page B

she had cleaned the platter of all the meat and blood.
    The chief of the Gnaoua got up and passed his hands over her face, but she danced and danced, and went on dancing and dancing, until she fell onto the ground. And she was screaming, and her legs were kicking and twitching. At last she lay still, like a dead woman.
    When the Gnaoua had finished their work, they went home. The man put the woman to bed, and she stayed there, asleep. When she awoke, she got up, and her arm was a little better.
    The next year they called in the Gnaoua again, and again her arm was better.
    The third year when they had the Gnaoua, they invited many people. While the Gnaoua were dancing and singing, a man appeared among them, and none of the guests could say who he was. The Gnaoua stopped playing and were quiet.
    The man stood in front of the woman as she danced, and spoke to her.
    You struck my son. You broke his arm.
    The woman stopped dancing.
    I’ve never hit anyone, she said. And I’ve never broken anybody’s arm. I live alone with my husband in the country here. My neighbors live far away.
    You hit my son with your pail and broke his arm.
    Then she remembered the frog. I hit a frog, she said.
    That was my son. He went to get a drink of water and you hit him.
    I found that frog there several times, she said. I never wanted to hit it. But that day I found it sitting on the stone where I used to fill my pail. I made it go away.
    The man said: Now his arm is broken, and if it stays like that, I promise you more trouble.
    I shall fight you to the end, she told him. Until one or the other of us is finished, your son or I.
    The man turned and disappeared into the crowd. The Gnaoua began to play again, and the woman started to dance, and she danced and danced. After a while, she gave a great leap into the air and landed face down on the ground. The chief got up, passed his hands over her face a few times, and then covered her with a white sheet. The others dragged her into a room.
    In the morning when she awoke, she found her arm better. She went on visiting many fqihs, and they wrote out papers for her to wear around her neck. And she went to see many tolba, and they wrote words for her. She made trips to the tombs of the saints. She would take a little earth from near the tomb, carry it home, and put it into a glass. Then she would mix water with it and drink it. And she always dropped money into the hands of the poor who were lying in the street.
    Three years went by, and she gave birth to a daughter. And each year they had the Gnaoua in. She and her husband were finally happy. The woman’s health was much better, and her arm did not shake as it had done before.
    One day she took the baby and strapped it to her back, so she could go out. She walked down to the spring, filled the pail, and carried it up to the house. Then she began to scrub the floor.
    Soon her husband came in. When she saw him, she said to him: Take the baby off my back.
    She’s all right there. Leave her there.
    Take the baby off! she cried.
    He lifted the baby off its mother’s back and laid it on the bed. The woman turned and went out of the house. She walked through the orchard and sat down under a tree. She began to talk to herself.
    Trin, trin. Trin, trin, she was saying, all alone under the tree.
    Her husband went out behind her through the orchard. When he got to the tree he found her sitting there by herself, talking. He stood still and watched her, and he wondered what had happened to her. In all the years he had lived with her he had never seen her sit alone talking to herself.
    When she turned her head to look at him, he saw that her eyes had grown red and were pushing out of her face. She jumped up. Then she put her hands around his neck, trying to choke him. He led her into the house.
    What’s the matter? What’s happened to you? he was saying. He lighted some bakhour for her, and went out to look for a fqih, or anyone who might be able to help her.
    The