Gates to Tangier by Mois Benarroch

died when he was one year old, less than a year. She never talks about him. I remember when he was little. Her daughter was born later. The boy died. She cried a lot over him. She had a son, and now I have my daug ­ hter," she cooed. "Her daughter comes to see us in Ramadan, sometimes she stays a few days."
    "And what was the son named?"
    "Yusuf, he was named Yusuf."
    "And he died?"
    "He's gone. She has a daughter, very pretty, very intelligent. She's a doctor.”
    We went back to the teahouse. Isaque and Fortu wanted to sit and watch the valley from there, like they did when they were littl ­ e.
    “What do we do?” asked Isaque.
    "I think it is clear. We should get a signed statement from a notary with those two, pay the notary, and that's it. It looks like our brother died when he was young.”
    "Yes, that's it. That solves all of our prob ­ lems. Maybe it is very simple, just that simple, he died and that's it. Some little boys die before they reach the age of one, or maybe she didn't know what to do with him and gave him up for adoption to another family, or maybe he was kidnapped, they kid ­ nap kids here you know. Do you remember how afraid we used to be of getting kidnapped?”
    “That could be, but if that's the case we wouldn't be able to k ­ now. We could only f ­ ind him through his mother. If he lives with another family or was kidnapped or lives on the moon, we can't find him. According to the will we have to do everything possible to find him, whether we fin ­ d him or not. That's what the lawyer said.”
    "I'm not arguing with you, but something se ­ ems strange. We should find Zohra, his sister. Talk to her.”
    "It could be really interesting to talk to her, but I think the best thing to do is go back to Jerusalem with the cassette and the declaration, get the money, and then look for her in Paris."
    "I think we should go back to the house and as ­ k for her daughter's address. I'll go in the taxi. Fortu, come with me, and you all can wait for us here, and th ­ en we'll decide.”
    They went back to the house, and the mother told them Fatima was asleep.
    "And do you know where her daughter lives?
    "In Paris, she lives in Paris."
    "Do you have her address?" Any letters from her? "Here. I have a letter from a while ago. We speak usually talk on the telephone. Here, the envelope, a photo. So pretty. Zohra is really beautiful.”
    The address was almo ­ st totally erased from the envelope, all you could make out was the VI arrondissement, maybe. The num ­ ber of the street was 77, but we couldn't read the na ­ me of the street.
    "Okay." said Silvia to Fortu. "With this na ­ me, Zohra Elbaz, we could find her in the Minitel. I don't think there are that many in Paris."

✺
    "Where did you go, Papá?"
    "Where the waves of the sea took me."
    "And why didn't you get to know me, Papá?"
    "The tower of Babel divided us by language and by people."
    "And when can we live again in the same world?"
    "When we say ‘my planet’ and not ‘my people’. Or ‘my country.’"
    "And when will that happen?"
    â€œWhen we witness its destruction.”
    â€œAnd where are you now?”
    â€œIn a place without wind.”
    â€œSnow?”
    â€œOn top of me perhaps, below me, surely.”
    â€œAnd when will you come back?”
    "I have already returned. I don't want to come back."
    "And when will my turn be over, Papa?”
    "When the idea of returning is gone. We are always going and coming back.”

PARIS
    ––––––––
    Z ohra just barely made the last train after her shift. She was very excited after having received the documents regarding treatments she had received as a child.
    The noise filling her hea ­ d in those moments made her want to feel Marcel's penis inside her.
    Her hip ­ s burned and danced almost unconsciously. She was afraid that someone on the Créteil metro line would sense her excitement, so she didn't look at any of the passengers