A Palace in the Old Village: A Novel by Tahar Ben Jelloun

By Tahar Ben Jelloun

Award-winning, across the world bestselling writer Tahar Ben Jelloun's new novel is the tale of an immigrant named Mohammed who has spent 40 years in France and is set to retire. Taking inventory of his existence- his devotion to Islam and to his assimilated children-he makes a decision to come to Morocco, the place he spends his life's discounts development the largest condo within the village and waits for his youngsters and grandchildren to come back be with him. A heartbreaking novel approximately mom and dad and kids, A Palace within the outdated Village captures the occasionally stark contrasts among previous- and new-world values, and an immigrant's abiding pursuit of home.

(Book was once initially released in French by means of Gallimard, 2009. )

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Extra resources for A Palace in the Old Village: A Novel

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También estaba ausente el sonido que hacía, al rodar, el tubo de hierro de doce pulgadas con el que Mamá hacía tortillas, y asimismo los olores del chorizo y de los huevos revueltos. Me hacían falta las palmaditas en el hombro y los tirones a la cobija con los cuales ella solía despertarme. En la distancia oí el ladrido de los perros. Cada mañana ellos rodeaban los grandes barriles vacíos de aceite que servían como botes para la basura. Mientras me vestía, oía a los trabajadores agrícolas calentando los motores de sus carros antes de salir a buscar trabajo pizcando zanahorias o desahijando lechuga.

Peggy, soy yo —dije en un susurro. —Habla más alto —dijo ella—. Casi no puedo oírte. Yo miré a Joe y a Espy, quienes fingían no estar prestando atención. —Soy yo, Francisco. —No puedo ir a la fiesta esta noche. Lo siento. Tengo que cuidar a un niño. ¿Irás tú? 44 SENDEROS FRONTERIZOS —Creo que sí. Yo estaba decepcionado pero ansioso de terminar la conversación. No me gustaba hablar con Peggy por teléfono porque no podía verle la cara. Mis respuestas a sus preguntas eran breves, seguidas por un silencio absoluto.

Un día viernes, después de la clase, Peggy dijo que no estaba segura de que iba a asistir al próximo baile del Vets. Me pidió que la llamara la noche del sábado antes de que Roberto y yo saliéramos hacia el baile. Ella me escribió su número telefónico en un pedacito de papel que arrancó de su cuaderno, me lo dio y echó a correr para coger su aventón antes de que yo tuviera tiempo de decir nada. Nosotros no teníamos teléfono en la casa. Yo nunca había usado ninguno. Me desesperé tratando de pensar qué hacer.

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