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faïza guène
world was full of Julie Guérins,
and my parents’ attempts
at cocooning their daughter
were in vain. Threats and
punishments didn’t work any
more either. My mother, who
was so wily when it came to
the blame game, had fired all
her cartridges. Her sudden
palpitations or mounting
blood pressure didn’t change
anything.
We had already lost Dounia.
As for the Hombre, he became
resigned to it. He avoided
confrontation and started
behaving as if his daughter
no longer existed, he didn’t
even respond to my mother’s
calls for help: “Do something,
Abdelkader!” He took to
mending the bicycles of local
children from the hideout of
his hut, at the bottom of the
garden.
Dounia would return home
later and later at night,
without explaining herself
to anyone, and giving very
little away about her life. She
almost never ate at table with
us any more, but kept herself
to herself, her nose buried
in her books. She studied
hard, always came first in
everything and, after passing
her baccalauréat with top
marks, she began studying
law as well as finding time to
hold down a job.
The transformation had
begun. Within a few months,
her curves had disappeared,
her brace as well, she had
traded her pair of clever-clogs
glasses for contact lenses,
paid for a straightening
treatment on her hair, and
even started wearing make
up. She had become distant,
dry, colourless, but I had
already guessed that outside
the house she was a very