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Updated: May 18, 2025
It was Houseen Abdelkader, the caid's son, the comrade of long ago Houseen in silk of wine and silver, hyacinths pendent on his cheeks, a light of festival in his eyes. "Es-selam alekoum, ya Habib habiby!" It was the salutation in the plural to Habib, and to the angels that walk, one at either shoulder of every son of God.
He is a wizened old nondescript with satyr-like beard, a kind of Thersites, who is understood to have established, from the days of Abdelkader and "for certain reasons," his headquarters at Gafsa, where he sips absinthes past all computation, exercising his wit upon everybody and everything with a fluent and rather diverting pessimism.
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