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388 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1956
Le musicien sent fondre son talent dans la solitude ; il raccroche le luth ; le calme de Kamel ne fait que l'affubler du masque de cruauté que Nedjma compose à qui ne tombe pas dans son jeu ; elle pleure sans prendre garde aux protestations de Lella Fatma : « ...un homme si bon, tout en miel, à croire que ce n'est pas le fils de sa mère ! Que veux-tu donc ? Un goujat qui vendrait tes bijoux, un ivrogne ? » Invivable consomption du zénith! prémices de fraîcheur...
The musician feels his talent melt into the solitude; he puts down his lute; Kamel's calm merely cloaks him with the mask of cruelty that Nedjma creates for anyone who doesn't play along with her game; she weeps, taking no notice of Lella Fatma's protestations: ‘such a good man, like honey, to think that he's not his mother's son! What are you waiting for? Some pig who sells off your jewellery, a drunk?’ The unbearable consumption of the zenith! the beginnings of a coolness…
…the man with the boxer's nose unsheathed his knife, broke off a piece of greenish substance as fat as half a date-stone, and reduced it into sticky atoms with a patience, a sad, sardonic forbearance, that made Rachid tremble….