Major General Saber El-Arbi fled the house as if he were running away from an encircling Tatar army. He locked the door with the key and started his car then headed toward the sea. He lit a cigarette and then sat looking at the friend/enemy in front of him. The wise, discreet old man, its waves pounding like the beats of a troubled heart. He was like a ball bouncing between high and low tide, between his duty and commitment to his mission, and his unusual attraction to this woman. He had left her imprisoned in his house, while he remained imprisoned in her wolf-like eyes. The cigarette smoke floated up, revealing secrets known only to the cigarettes that had passed between his lips, which had absorbed his silence over years of suffering and loss. His pain was breaking on the rocks of Sidi Ali El Makki, while his modest dreams remained etched on its shores. They may have been battered by the waves, but they endure the currents and escape the grasp of the past, emerging weathered by the salt of the Mediterranean. He gazed through the cigarette smoke to his life story, drawn like the horizon between two edges.
He went back to his childhood, when he was deprived of his parents and his brother when he was just ten years old. They were swallowed by the treacherous sea one summer, in what was supposed to be a time for happiness and relaxation. His six-year-old brother had been caught by a riptide, and when his parents tried to save him they couldn’t. All three lost their lives in a tragedy that shook the quiet village and the entire region.
His father was an ordinary farmer working in al-Qat’aya, a small piece of land located in the lower part of Ghar El Melh marsh. He used to grow many kinds of vegetables throughout the year. His small farm would produce vegetables with an exceptional taste, rich with minerals and very sweet. In spite of the salt that surrounded its sandy land, the roots of the vegetables were able to store the rainwater that came down from the mountain.
His mother spent her time with neighbors, other women and young girls, embroidering lace. She dedicated her days to stitching with utmost precision, following the techniques she had learned from her mother. Arduously, she crafted unique pieces for brides’ trousseaus. The lace had a wide array of uses: it could adorn the bride’s new home, or form part of the undergarments worn beneath the bride’s wedding costume, which varied from region to region, from Raf Raf to Hammamet. One variety included the mizzo, wide pants handcrafted with love by the women of Ghar El Melh, who were renowned for the creativity of their Andalusian heritage.
After his parents’ deaths, Saber’s grandmother looked after him in her old house near the port building. The house had white walls adorned with natural colored tiles with Moorish inscriptions, along with windows opening onto the main courtyard.
Saber attended the elementary school on Bourguiba Avenue, then at al-Karraka, the Turkish fort, where he used to haul dirt from the construction site for the new middle school with his friends. The school would make every student who got in trouble haul a wheelbarrow filled with sand out of the site before they would let them go back to class. Most of the boys would do so quite happily, showing off their muscles to each other or to impress the girls. Saber, however, did the job earnestly, afraid that if his grandma found out about his misbehavior in the school she would punish him and keep him from going to the beach with his friends. Later, he joined the lycée of Mohammed Ali Annabi at Ras Jebel for his secondary studies. Every day, he rode the 15 km to Ras Jebel by bus with his childhood friends. Many of them had since gotten jobs, gotten married, became parents, and started families. Some of them had migrated to Europe. Others had taken up their fathers’ vocations in farming, or in fishing or fixing nets and boats. But they had all remained the best of friends.
His grandmother, his only family, struggled greatly to support him and ensure his continued education. She used to embroider lace and was the one who had taught his mother and the village girls. They began calling her “the master” because of her exceptional skill and the high quality of her handiwork. People from all over the country would contact her to buy her embroidered fabrics. Saber would delight in watching her deft fingers create the intricate shapes of flowers, roses, and butterflies. After finishing a piece, she’d meticulously add what she called “the dead stitch.” He was always captivated by this peculiar term—a “dead” stitch that brought beauty to life under the skilled hands of his inventive grandmother. She was able to stitch triangles and squares together with a precision that rivaled the famed Nablian stitch in craftsmanship.
His grandmother was always worried that the sea might betray her and take Saber away from her, as it did with his parents and his brother. But he wasn’t afraid of the sea. In fact, he continuously challenged it whenever he went diving. He particularly enjoyed swimming in deep water. His passion was to climb the cliff they called al-Bounta and jump from its top. Swimming in the grottos of Cape Zabib was also a pure pleasure for him, despite the fact that he once broke his foot. In fact, Saber had made memories, happy or sad, throughout the entire coastline of Bizerte. He knew every beach: Ain Mestir, Rafraf, Ras Enjla, Kef Abed, Dar Eljenna, La Grotte, Sidi Meshreg, Sidi Salem, and beyond. The sea’s fury never deterred him, no matter how many fractures or cuts he got. Over time, the vast blue sea became his steadfast ally, pain and all.
On every trip to the sea caves, he would feel the souls of his parents and brother floating around him, surrounding him and protecting him from every lurking danger.
Saber learned patience, struggle, challenge, and generosity from the sea. He screamed in the face of strong winds while fighting the current, challenging his friend as if asking for more. And the sea never deprived him of his harvest, as if it was making up for those who it had swallowed into its belly. It made him one of the most skillful fishermen of the area. He would never go home empty handed from any sea adventure, and his grandmother’s house became a sea museum for his harvest.
Despite his grandmother’s worries about him, he continued to divide his time between school and fishing, making it impossible for her to stop him from going to the sea. So she resigned herself to praying for his safety and success. When he took the national baccalaureat exam, she waited eagerly to hear of his success, but she passed away a few days before the results came out. Could there be any more shocks waiting for you, Saber?
After he found out that he passed the exam, hearing his name announced over the megaphone with the list of other successful students, he ran like a panther towards the cemetery. He stood next to his grandmother’s tomb and asked her, “Can you hear me, Grandma? I promised you that I would pass the exam with top marks, and here I am. I’ll also let Mama and Baba know. Then, I’ll tell my brother Joujou, too. They will all be very happy. This summer, Joujou will celebrate his fifteenth birthday. He also passed the exam with top marks, Grandma. My dream of joining the police academy will finally come true. You always wanted to see me join the academy !’’
His friends found him that night sleeping in the cemetery. It was a sad night for everybody who knew the grandmother and her grandchild, who no longer had any relatives after her passing. From that day on, Saber was alone, as orphanhood cast a sad curtain over his life. He decided not to allow himself to get attached to anyone, no matter what. All his loved ones had already passed before he fully understood the true meaning of happiness. Loss became his greatest fear, and he learned how to take care of himself, relying completely on himself. Joining the police academy helped him greatly in that regard. Nothing could defeat him. He mastered military training and became one of the best snipers in the history of the academy. He was sent to many countries to learn different skills; he gave his best to every task assigned to him and excelled in all of them. This dedication kept him alive. His love for Tunisia was boundless and unwavering, as his country remained his eternal devotion.
For all these reasons, he promised himself never to fall in love. He couldn’t bear the pain of mourning again. At his age, he doubted he could ever love a woman who might break his heart and leave him. He didn’t trust life, which had taken everyone he loved from him, nor did he trust the daughters of Eve. He had already heard enough about the suffering of his colleagues and friends because of women, and he had lived long enough to witness their fickleness and their pursuit of the rich and powerful. And so he grew to hate and disdain them over time. All they wanted was a pocket filled with money and a thick bank account, in exchange for their polluted bodies, consumed by greed. As for feelings and emotions, they would trample them underfoot, crushing longing and breaking hearts.
But then he met Meriam. He collided with her as if he had been thrown from a train onto the tracks. She split open his skull and excised all ideas of gold diggers and such. It was a violent crash that shook him to his core. It was if he was on the floor chained with shackles, his eyes staring into the void. He was breathing as if he was underwater. Every breath that he took plugged his ears with tumultuous water. He wanted to scream and move his imprisoned body but was too weak. He tried to close his eyes then open them again as wide as he could, hoping to get rid of this nightmare, but he couldn’t wake up. He was breathing underwater. He was drowning, drowning. Drowning in the salty honey lake of your eyes, Meriam.
