تاجر التوابل في مراكش | The Spice Merchant of Marrakech
"A widow discovers passion in the aromatic depths of a spice shop in the ancient medina of Marrakech."
تاجر التوابل في مراكش
The Spice Merchant of Marrakech
الفصل الأول | Chapter One
دَخَلْتُ سُوقَ التَّوَابِلِ بَعْدَ سَنَةٍ مِنَ التَّرَمُّلِ.
I entered the spice souk a year after becoming a widow.
كَانَتِ الرَّوَائِحُ تُدَاعِبُ حَوَاسِّي: الزَّعْفَرَانُ، الكَمُّونُ، رَاسُ الحَانُوتِ.
The aromas caressed my senses: saffron, cumin, ras el hanout.
"أَهْلاً بِكِ، لَالَّة،" قَالَ صَاحِبُ الدُّكَّانِ بِصَوْتٍ عَمِيقٍ.
"Welcome, Lalla," said the shop owner in a deep voice.
الفصل الثاني | Chapter Two
كَانَ فِي الخَمْسِينَ مِنْ عُمُرِهِ، بِلِحْيَةٍ فِضِّيَّةٍ وَعَيْنَيْنِ كَالعَسَلِ.
He was in his fifties, with a silver beard and eyes like honey.
"مَا الَّذِي تَبْحَثِينَ عَنْهُ؟" سَأَلَنِي.
"What are you looking for?" he asked me.
"لَا أَدْرِي..." قُلْتُ بِصِدْقٍ.
"I don't know..." I said honestly.
الفصل الثالث | Chapter Three
اِبْتَسَمَ وَأَخَذَ قَلِيلاً مِنْ مَسْحُوقٍ أَحْمَرَ.
He smiled and took a pinch of red powder.
"هَذِهِ فَلْفَلَةُ الحُبِّ مِنْ جِبَالِ الأَطْلَسِ."
"This is love pepper from the Atlas Mountains."
"تُشْعِلُ النَّارَ فِي القَلْبِ المُنْطَفِئِ."
"It lights fire in the extinguished heart."
الفصل الرابع | Chapter Four
وَضَعَ القَلِيلَ عَلَى إِصْبَعِهِ وَقَرَّبَهُ مِنْ شَفَتَيَّ.
He put a little on his finger and brought it close to my lips.
"تَذَوَّقِي..."
"Taste..."
لَمَسَتْ شَفَتَايَ إِصْبَعَهُ وَذَاقَتْ الحَرَارَةَ.
My lips touched his finger and tasted the heat.
الفصل الخامس | Chapter Five
"أَشْعُرُ بِالدِّفْءِ..." هَمَسْتُ.
"I feel warmth..." I whispered.
"هَذَا لَيْسَ مِنَ التَّوَابِلِ فَقَطْ، يَا لَالَّة."
"That's not just from the spices, Lalla."
أَغْلَقَ بَابَ الدُّكَّانِ وَأَضَاءَ الشُّمُوعَ.
He closed the shop door and lit candles.
الفصل السادس | Chapter Six
"أَنَا أَرْمَلُ مِثْلُكِ،" قَالَ.
"I am a widower like you," he said.
"التَّوَابِلُ لَا تَكْفِي لِمَلْءِ الوَحْدَةِ."
"Spices are not enough to fill the loneliness."
"مَا الَّذِي يَكْفِي؟" سَأَلْتُهُ.
"What is enough?" I asked him.
الفصل السابع | Chapter Seven
"حَرَارَةُ جَسَدٍ آخَرَ... رَائِحَةُ امْرَأَةٍ..."
"The warmth of another body... the scent of a woman..."
وَضَعَ يَدَهُ عَلَى خَصْرِي المُمْتَلِئِ.
He placed his hand on my full waist.
"جِسْمُكِ كَتِلَالِ مَرَّاكُشَ الدَّافِئَةِ."
"Your body is like the warm hills of Marrakech."
الفصل الثامن | Chapter Eight
بَيْنَ أَكْيَاسِ التَّوَابِلِ وَرَائِحَةِ الزَّعْفَرَانِ، وَجَدْتُ نَفْسِي.
Among the spice bags and the scent of saffron, I found myself.
عَلَّمَنِي أَنَّ الحَيَاةَ كَالتَّوَابِلِ.
He taught me that life is like spices.
"كُلَّمَا زَادَتِ الحَرَارَةُ، زَادَتِ النَّكْهَةُ."
"The more heat, the more flavor."
الخاتمة | Conclusion
صِرْتُ أَزُورُ دُكَّانَهُ كُلَّ أُسْبُوعٍ.
I started visiting his shop every week.
لَيْسَ لِشِرَاءِ التَّوَابِلِ فَقَطْ.
Not just to buy spices.
بَلْ لِأَتَذَكَّرَ أَنَّ النَّارَ لَا تَمُوتُ أَبَدًا.
But to remember that fire never dies.
من حكايات مراكش From the Tales of Marrakech