e l l e fiction
A NEW SERIES OF ENGAGING SHORT STORIES BY WRITERS FROM ACROSS THE WORLD

the
turning tide
By  Laila Lalami
Rahal lives in the poorer part of Tangier with his demanding mistress
Samira. He has a family back in the Rif Mountains that he must support 
and a wife who’s longing to be with him. With a new assignment from
drug dealer Pelόn comes the hope of bigger work and higher paybacks.
But is this really the life he wants?
“We’re not talking about bringing

O
n those rare occasions make some coffee.” She put on a cars.” Her voice turned shrill. “Why  in mobile phones or radios,” he
 when images of his wife nightgown and left the room. can’t we be like other people?” She    s
    i said. “That guy smuggles drugs.”
     b
   r
crept into Rahal’s mind, Rahal lingered in bed, hoping threw the paper across the table    o “So? He’s not the only one.”
    C
     /
he quelled them by  she might come back, but gave up and walked back to the bedroom      d
   r Rahal put his hands in his jean
   a
thinking of the moment and of   waiting once he smelled the coffee. to sulk.     W pockets and stared ahead. Three
     k
   c
 what he had with Samira. This  When the door to the armoire was Rahal decided to let her cool     i
   r
    t  years ago, he’d been caught by the
   a
    P
morning, for example, he focused open, as it was now, it touched his off and went into the bathroom to City of discontent Moroccan Gendarmes, a load of 
on Samira’s hair, strewn across side of the bed. He grabbed it and get ready. In the cracked mirror he  watches hidden in the saddlebag of 
the pillow. He wrapped his arm pushed himself up. noticed that his widow’s peak was  why did people call him Pelón any- difference in her life. He hated it  his motorcycle, and he’d had to
around her and took in the scent  Rahal found Samira sitting becoming more pronounced.  way? His given name was Ali. Maybe  when she went cold on him like serve eight months for it. He
of it, a fruity fragrance from one at the Formica table, reading the Soon, he worried, he would be he thought an alias made him this. What had he done to merit  didn’t want to see the inside of 
of the many bottles she kept in paper and smoking a cigarette. bald, and with the deep pockets sound like a tough guy. At any rate, her wrath? Tell her that a car cost  El Marchane Jail again.
the bathroom. Whenever the “Look,” she said. “This one looks under his eyes, he would look like a Pelón was too risky. Rahal liked to money? It did. He was trying his Samira grabbed her purse and
merchandise from one of his promising.” She put the folded middle-aged man at barely thirty  stay under the radar, work on small best to make a living and yet she marched past him to the door.
smuggling trips included toiletries, newspaper in front of him and  years of age. And what did he have loads, so if he ever had to abandon  was never content. “Wait,” he said.
she took a sample from each box. poured him coffee. The ad was for to show for it? He lived in a two- the merchandise because of the “I’m going to Najwa’s for the She didn’t.
He drew her closer and tried to go a used but late-model sport utility  room apartment bordering the cops, he wouldn’t go broke on a day.” She went to the window 
back to sleep, but she rose.  vehicle, which the owner said he medina, in the poorer part of  single trip. He slipped his keys and and waved her free hand out to dry   At the Café La Liberté, where
“It’s late,” she said. She flung  wanted to liquidate. Tangier. He had a motorcycle, but   wallet in his pocket, the Swiss-army  her nails. She pulled at her Rahal waited for Pelón, the talk
open the blue shutters. The cold “Too expensive,” Rahal said, Samira wanted a car. At least he knife in his sock. He was ready to cigarette with the other. among the customers was of the
Tangerine sun flooded the tossing the paper back on the table.  was able to support his family – go. It was time to talk some sense “You were just there yesterday,” latest group of Moroccans to
cramped room and with it came He leaned in and slipped his hand his wife, his mother, and two into Samira. he said. drown in the Mediterranean in
the smell of sardines frying at the between her thighs, caressing that   younger sisters who still lived in Im  When he came into the “Do you want me to stay cooped their attempt to cross to Spain. A 
stand down the street. “It’s almost  soft spot he liked so much. Zouren, up in the Rif Mountains. bedroom again, she was sitting on up in the house all the time?” she far-s ighted man had taken off his
lunchtime.” Her figure, silhouetted She swatted him and grabbed Since he’d left the village five the bed, having changed into a snapped back. “I’m not your wife.” eyeglasses to examine up close the
against the light, brought an urgent  the paper. “You always turn  years ago, he’d only visited them tight, sleeveless white dress. She She liked to remind him of that, to full color pictures of the victims in
feeling to his groin. He pulled at  down the ones I find. Sometimes sporadically, but now they wanted had just finished painting her nails remind him that she lived with him the newspaper. A teenager walked
her arm and she fell easily on the I wonder if you’re really serious to come to Tangier to live with a f ie ry r ed a nd h el d h er but didn’t belong to him. And yet it  from table to table hawking
bed next to him. He cupped her about buying a car.” him. Women, Rahal considered, fingers apart to let them dry.  was her defiance, her indifference portable radios, freshly smuggled
breasts and kissed her caramel- “Of course I am,” he said. always wanted something. Carefully, she picked up her to what people would think of her, in from Ceuta. “Listen to the BBC,
colored nipples. She giggled, He could feel the insidious He put on a clean T-shirt and cigarette from where she had let it  that he found so irresistible. France Inter, Médi 1,” he said,
pushed him away and stood up. beginnings of a headache on his  jeans. He wasn’t sure he wanted to rest in the ashtray. “Look, let’s just see how it  enumerating the stations the
“When do you have to meet Pelón?” temples. He didn’t want to get into  work for Pelón. He preferred to “You’re leaving?” she asked. goes,” he said. powerful antennas could transmit.
“Not for a while. Come back another argument on a big day  run his own operation rather than “I don’t have to, just yet.” She turned around. “You’re not   Along the street, tourists wandered
to bed.” like this. depend on someone else, even if it  She stared at him as though his thinking of backing down are you?” around, looking for a taste of 
“You can’t be late. Get up, I’ll “All our friends already have  was s omeone as big as Pelón. And leaving or staying made no Rahal’s head was pounding. hashish or an encounter with a

E L L E  A P R I L 2008 E L L E   APRIL 2008

 

e l l e fiction
local prostitute. In Tangier, Rahal checking on him. His wife would pointed out immediately upon
thought, life and death were like have trusted him, he thought  seeing the red Isuzu truck Rahal
the intertwined threads of a rope, bitterly. Samira walked away, her had purchased from a local doctor
drawn at the whim of Europe. hair fluttering in the wind, her hips in need of quick cash. Still, she sat 
 At 2 o’clock sharp, Pelón swaying with each step she took, down on the passenger’s side and
stepped into the café and sat down and Pelón’s eyes not far behind. a sk ed t o g o f or a r id e. S he
across from Rahal. He took off his Rahal wanted to tell Pelón to back stretched her arm across to his seat 
sunglasses and let them dangle off, but instead he found himself  and caressed the back of his neck.
from their cords. His long, thin unable to say anything, allowing They drove along the boulevard,
fingers and neatly trimmed nails this man he already disliked to ogle passing the Gran Café de Paris,
made Rahal wonder if Pelón had his girlfriend. then made their way along the
ever done any real work. He looked “Why do they call you Pelón coastal road, as far as the beach in
like a graduate student on his way  anyway?” Rahal asked brusquely. Restinga. On their way back, while
to class and Rahal felt a mean sense “When I started working in they waited for the attendant at the
of jealousy. He’d barely completed the business, I was still in college. gas station to refill the tank, Samira
his grade school education and I would smuggle refrigerator parts asked when his next job with Pelón
had always worked with his hands. by sea, the merchandise strapped might be. “I don’t know yet,” Rahal
In the village, he’d worked as a to my back. The other divers said said. She looked out of the window 
shoe repairman and a chicken I’d never make it, that I didn’t  dreamily. At night, they had loud
farm hand before leaving for know what I was going into. I sex and she lay next to him, spent 
Tangier. It was clear to Rahal that  used to shave my arms and legs and happy and, for once, content 
Pelón had had it easy. so I’d go faster. They called me  with him.
Rahal offered him a cigarette, curly, Pelón.” He smiled before  With the new job came new 
 which he turned down. He lit up delivering what was clearly a punch demands. Samira declared she
anyway while Pelón talked about  line he’d used before. “Now they  needed new furniture, new 
the job, explaining that he
needed someone to do small-scale
deliveries, mostly to enterprising She’d had to make a living after they threw her out of the house
tourists who wanted to take
some hashish back to Europe with so she danced at nightclubs and hotels, sometimes at weddings.
them, hidden in the gas tanks of  Now that there was more money, she wanted to show them
their cars.
“That’s it?” Rahal asked.
Pelón nodded. all work for me.” dishes, a new wardrobe. She even
“When do you need me?” Rahal put his cigarette out. started talking of getting in touch
Rahal asked. Now he felt comfortable enough to  with her family. Neither her
“Not for a week or two,” Pelón sit back in his chair and smile. mother nor her father had
said. “The cops are breathing down “What’s my cut?” he asked. spoken to her since they’d found
our neck right now.” “10,000 for this one,” Pelón o ut s he ’d s le pt w it h t he
Rahal blinked. “Maybe we said. “And, depending on how you neighbors’ son. She’d had to make
should wait,” he said. do,” he said, “I could put you on a living after they threw her out of 
“They’re in it for the money,” bigger things.” the house so she danced at night-
Pelón said, shrugging. “But every  This was already big, Rahal clubs and hotels, sometimes at 
once in a while, they need to thought. He could scarcely imagine  weddings. Now that there was more
make a few arrests to look good.  what a bigger cut might be. money, she wanted to show them,
 We just have to wait until it  “Can I rely on you, then?” she said, that she had done well for
blows over.” Pelón asked. herself. But first, she needed to get 
“I don’t know,” Rahal said. Rahal nodded. a new haircut or a new dress, so she
“Don’t worry,” Pelón said. “I’ll call you in a few days.  would look respectable when she’d
“I know what I’m doing.” He was I have to go to Malaga tomorrow.” meet them.
distracted by someone behind their “New shipment?” Rahal said, Rahal and Samira had just 
table and Rahal turned around to trying to sound casual, as if he sat down to eat a lamb roast 
look. It was Samira, walking down came to the café to close deals all marinated in cumin and ginger
the street arm in arm with Najwa. the time. Instantly, he regretted it.  when the postman rang the
She laughed at something Najwa He knew he came across as nosy  doorbell to deliver a certified
said, then saw him and waved. and perhaps even foolish. letter from Rahal’s wife. She was
Rahal wondered why, of all the Pelón didn’t let on. “No, just   writing to ask for this month’s
places to go with her friend, she going for some business.” money and to beg him to join him
came here to the Socco Chico. She in Tangier. She pressed him to start 
didn’t trust him when he said he’d The car wasn’t the trendy SUV  a family, said she was the only 
meet with Pelón and now she was Samira wanted, a fact which she  woman in the village who didn’t 

E L L E   APRIL 2008

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have children, and people had
started talking. He folded the
letter and stuffed it in his pocket.
His head started throbbing.
“ Wh at d oe s s he w an t? ”
Samira asked.
“The same as always.”
Samira shrugged. “Have some
more lamb,” she said.  
Rahal took a bite of meat –
overcooked, a bit hard – and
chewed it while thinking of his
 wife. It had been more difficult to
keep her out of his mind lately.
Even though he earned more
money now, he’d been sending her
the same as before: enough to pay  It took a couple of hours to
for the rent and food. And yet  drive back to Tangier, and he
she never complained. He could
picture her at their home in Im
Zouren, sitting cross-legged on the
cane mat, patiently spinning sheep
 wool between her hands. The only  spend the night there. Nothing
thing she always asked for was to
come live with him in Tangier.
 What if he brought her here?
 Would it work? She was a village  
girl, could hardly even write her
name. All she did was remind him
of his duty to his family and then
he’d have to bring his mother
and his sisters, since they, too,
 wanted to come. Maybe he ought  he should break it off with her and bring his wife here.
to divorce her and not carry 
around this guilt of leaving her
 
behind. But how could he divorce
her when she’d been faithful for
so long?  
Samira cleared the table and
set the dishes in the sink. “We
should move out,” she said. “This
apartment is getting too small.”
 
 A few weeks later, Rahal
came home early to find a note  
saying that Samira was out. He
crumpled the piece of paper and  
threw it out. What was the point of  tried calling him but there was no
making all this money if all she did
 was spend it? His mobile phone
rang. “Shopping again?” he barked.
But it was Pelón, asking him to do a
pick up in Ketama, then meet him
at the docks by midnight. “Okay,”
Rahal said, embarrassed that his
boss might suspect his troubles
 with Samira.
He took his keys and drove the
t ru ck t o m ee t H mi da , t he
supplier, an old carpenter who had
started a wholesale hashish someone, anyone to take the fall.
business after his family shop had He felt a drop of sweat travel down
gone bankrupt. There were a his spine.
dozen crates to load. Rahal opened He craned his neck to look up
one and took a peek at the cookie- the road. What was taking him so
like sheets of hash that were long? Finally he saw Pelón walk up
stacked neatly inside. The smell the dock toward him. “Where
reminded him of his grandmother, have you been?” Rahal asked,
who liked to slip a bit of hash in stepping down.
the dough of the pastries she “Cops everywhere,” Pelón said.
served when her girlfriends came “Where’s the stuff?”
to visit her. “So they can relax,” “Back there,” Rahal said,
she’d say. There was enough in pointing to the truck bed.
there to relax the entire village. He Pelón took the keys and Rahal
closed the crate and started  jumped into the passenger side,
loading the truck. and they drove up to a brand-new 
speedboat, The Deliverance,
moored on the north side of the
called Samira on his mobile pier. Rahal stepped out of the
phone. “Where are you?” he truck and started unloading the
demanded. She said she was at  boxes while Pelón hopped in the
Najwa’s and that she might  boat and waited at the helm.
“Aren’t you going to help me?”
changed, he thought, even with Rahal asked.
the new job. Perhaps he should “ Wh o’ s g oi ng t o k ee p a
break it off with her and bring his look out?”
wife here. After all, he was getting Rahal went for the second
older and it would soon be time to box. Next time, he promised
start a family. And at least his wife himself, he’d work for someone
Nothing changed, he thought, even with the new job. Perhaps
After all, he was getting older and it would soon be time to
start a family 
would be around every day. else. He’d only taken the job
He made it to the port on time. because of the money. And if it 
The lights on both the Moroccan  weren’t for Samira, he wouldn’t 
and Spanish sides cast a glow on even need it. He’d have enough
the oily water. He didn’t know  to support his wife and family.
which boat he was making a There was no reason to be taking
delivery to, and he lit a cigarette risks like this.
while waiting for an order from He was getting the last crate
Pelón. At half past midnight, there from the truck when he heard the
was still no sign of the boss. Rahal sound of the police sirens, and
almost simultaneously, that of the
answer. Where was this shipment  boat’s motor. He dropped the
headed? He wondered what he crate and ran up to the boat.
should do if Pelón didn’t show up. “Wait!” he yelled, but Pelón didn’t.
He considered driving up to look Rahal turned around in time to
for him, but he didn’t want to risk catch the front lights of the patrol
missing him. On the other hand, car as they swept the road, blinding
he couldn’t very well sit in a truck him. And yet, for the first time in
full of drugs; sooner or later a many months, he finally saw things
patrol car would spot him and he for what they really were.
could get caught. He recalled what 
Laila Lalami is the author of   Hope and 
Pelón had said about the cops – Other Dangerous Pursuits . She lives in
sometimes, they just needed Los Angeles, California.
E L L E   APRIL 2008