[…] Samir cranes forward slightly to see her better. He feels an indescribable pleasure. Then, bothered by the décor, he screws up his eyes to reduce his field of vision. He wants to see nothing but her. There she is, he gives a contented sigh. Without all the surrounding wood panelling and mouldings, Lella seems even more beautiful. She is behind him, standing in a separate box higher up that was originally reserved for visiting professors. Calm and focused, she demanded her lawyers should not disturb her except in an emergency. Unhurried, she soaks up the atmosphere of the courtroom, studying the path from her box to the judge’s bench. How beautiful she is! In her black dress, she looks so demure, her arms folded in front of her. Not a single piece of jewellery, not a hint of colour. She isn’t wearing any make-up either, she doesn’t need any, her skin is golden. Her curls are abundant. The idea that she was prettier yesterday with her hair scraped back from her face barely crosses Samir’s mind, it doesn’t matter. Lella is so … so totally perfect that being less beautiful than yesterday is meaningless. It would be like saying that a summer day was not as bright as the day before, it would be pointless. What matters is the permanence of summer, that each passing day has the same mellowness, the same summer fullness. That’s what is important. It’s the same with Lella, she can only shine, always! In Samir’s muddled brain, it’s the only thought that hasn’t foundered, propped up by a few adverbs like eternally and perpetually. Lella will always be in the firmament, that’s all. It’s a truth that’s part of him. No point questioning it, it’s an axiom, a premise, an intrinsic principle. This woman’s luminous eternity is the air he breathes, it’s as water is to fish, it’s the sun, the obvious fact! Moreover, in this register, now he’s nothing but a sort of plant which only needs a little light.
Nadia Galy
Algiers, Washhouse Tryst
69