SEARCHING FOR THE MISSING
WARRIOR :
RESURRECTING THE MOTHER
IN ASSIA DEJEBAR 'S
La Femme sans sépulture
Nancy Arenberg
In Assia Djebar’s most recent work, La Femme sans sépulture,
the author returns to her native village of Césarée in Algeria to tell the
story of an indigenous heroine, Zoulikha. As Djebar has highlighted in earlier
novels, she, once again, creates a dangerous background, focusing on the
widespread violence which took place during the Algerian war for independence.
It is this turbulent era of unrest and brutality that forms the core of the
plot, consisting of a series of fragmented memories recounted by the friends and
family of the subversive warrior, Zoulikha.
To tell Zoulikha’s story, Djebar uses a framed narrative in which a
young woman returns home to Césarée, now known as Cherchell, to make a
documentary for television about Zoulikha. The narrator, Habiba, also
functions as a listener and a scribe as well as an autobiographical double for
Djebar. It is the visitor’s arrival in the town that triggers this voyage into
the past to set Zoulikha’s daughters on a quest to spiritually reconnect with
their missing mother. Although the facts surrounding Zoulikha’s disappearance
are mysterious, her family and friends subscribe to the idea that she was
tortured and left for dead.
This study proposes to explore how the recovery of past memories
depicts Zoulikha as a warrior, a mother figure and a martyr. Particular
attention will be placed on examining noteworthy sculptures in the novel, as
they link Zoulikha to classical mythological figures, solidfying her
identification with legendary heroes. This retrospective voyage shows how the
intimate circle of the women surrounding Zoulikha recaptures the essence of her
life, as the warrior’s presence is resurrected through the creation of a
symphony of various feminine voices. With the voices of friends and family,
Djebar interweaves the imaginary sound of Zoulikha’s own ghostly voice as the
warrior narrates some of her own experiences. From the hills above the city,
her story is told through her suffering body as well as her resounding voice.
This article will also consider the role of the body in remembering the horror
of imperialist oppression with emphasis on how it is transformed into a mythic
figure of maternity.
The overall structure of the text resembles a mosaic in which
Zoulikha’s daughters Hania and Mina not only rekindle memories of their mother,
but also listen to the stories of Zoulikha’s dear friend, Dame Lionne, as well
as the girls’ aunt, Zohra Oudai. Dame Lionne’s recollections set the tone for
this odyssey into the past. Although Dame Lionne is a fortune teller, she is
curiously fascinated with the past, and thus plays an integral role in
performing a mystical exhumation of Zoulikha’s missing body. Although the
various anecdotes concerning Zoulika’s war activities will not be the focus of
this discussion, it is important to clarify the role of the older storytellers,
for they act as the guardians of history. Through their words, the reader
learns that on the eve of independence Zoulikha was arrested by French soldiers.
For years, she had successfully eluded the oppressors through her clever use of
disguise, and thus suceeded in carrying out her mission to send supplies and
arms to her fellow resistance fighters. At the age of 42, she was taken by the
colonials into the forest above Cherchell, the site of her disappearance. It is
within the density of the forest that she mystically reappears to talk to her
daughters in three imaginary dialogues interspersed into the fabric of the novel.
The mysterious void marking Zoulikha’s disappearance is transmuted
onto her older daughter’s consciousness, since she is haunted by her loss.
Habiba, the filmmaker, who is also conducting interviews, even identifies an
unexpected resemblance between Hania and Zoulikha. Hania is around the age of
42, the same age when Zoulikha disappeared, which creates a strong bond between
daughter and mother. Habiba even refers to Hania as Zoulikha’s twin sister. To
speak of Zoulikha is painful for Hania, as she puts it: “Zoulikha, non!
S’approfondit en moi un manque, un trou noir que j’ai pas épuisé!”(49).
Interestingly, Hania rarely refers to Zoulikha as her mother, thus reinforcing
the fraternal connection. For Hania, to speak of Zoulikha is to kill her again,
a painful experience which produces some disturbing textual images. Here,
Djebar interjects surreal images as Hania describes a series of dreams where she
is desperately searching for the tomb of her dead mother: “Quêter sans fin
sa mère, ou plutôt, se dit-elle, c’est la mère en la fille, par les pores de
celle-ci, la mère, oui, qui sue et s’exhale” (61). It is as if Zoulikha’s
effaced body breathes life into the vibrant body of her daughter, infusing her
with the fortitude to continue the search for her grave. Hania even imagines
that her mother leads her to the specific place of her death. In the dream,
she envisions stumbling upon a striking discovery: “Plusieurs fois je vis,
dans un rêve, sa sépulture: illuminé, isolé, un monument superbe, et je
pleurais sans fin devant ce mausolée” (58). The reference to the light
suggests that Zoulikha has been spiritually elevated upon her death. Within this
ominous space of the forest, Hania also dreams of wandering: “Je ne cessai
d’errer jusqu’au crépuscule. “Où trouver le corps de ma mère?” (60). The
dream is punctuated by a scream, a primal sound which not only underlines the
horror of Zoulikha’s disappearance, but also signifies the inability of words to
articulate Hania’s loss. At the same time, the scream seems to create a
haunting echo, as the daughter ostensibly relives the final moments of her
mother’s life. Zoulikha’s pain seems to be refracted onto Hania’s body. In
the company of her sister, Hania weeps for Zoulikha as she contemplates what she
would do if she could restore the maternal bond with her absent mother:
Surtout, seule avec
Zoulikha, j’abaisserais mon visage sur
sa poussière, sur le sol
humide ou son corps serait couché..
Alors (sa voix défaille),
je lui parlerais. A elle je me confierais.
(Elle crie:) Je te
raconterais, ô ma Zoulikha!
(86)
Here, the
reclined position of Hania’s body over the imaginary body allows her to
communicate with Zoulikha. At the same time, the passage suggests that Hania is
performing her own version of a burial, an opportunity stolen from the two
daughters by the colonial imperialists.
Several of these images reappear in Zoulikha’s first monologue that
follows Hania’s dream sequence where she mentally embarks on the search for her
mother’s body. The location for this first monologue is in the very place where
Hania was wandering in her dream, the forest. However, Zoulikha addresses
herself to her younger daughter, Mina. In contrast to her tormented older
sister, Mina is portrayed as the daughter who views Zoulikha as a heroic figure,
a woman to emulate for her valiant personality as well as her sense of
commitment to the cause. But the most striking part of this monologue is
Zoulikha’s
explanation of her strategy of evasion. She avoids thinking about the pain of
her suffering body by evoking a nostalgic moment, focusing on the maternal bond
with her children:
l’ange Gabriel allait me
soulever, me faire planer au-dessus
de la foule et des soldats
agglutinés, m’incliner ensuite progressivement, scintillante sous les rayons
solaires, au-dessus de la ville là-bas,
en avant du phare et de la
place romaine, puis au-dessus de toi, accroupie,
tête levée, dans notre humble patio.
(63)
The verbs
in the passage point to an ascending movement. Here, Zoulikha temporarily
bridges the gap between herself and her family by mentally traveling back to her
domestic domain, the feminine space of the patio where she was free to spend
time with her children. These joyful recollections are underscored by the
references to the sun and the bright light. In this first monologue, Djebar’s
creation of a light and dark motif also points to a contrast between
Zoulikha’s courage in the face of adversity and the unspeakable moments of
physical torture. The author’s emphasis on the disappearing body at the hands
of the brutal oppressors highlights the importance of the voice as Zoulikha
addresses her daughter: “Ne retiens, ma chérie, ne garde que cette voix-ma
voix du matin, hors de la forêt, qui, un jour, t’atteindra-et n’oublie
pas ce soleil, tandis qu’ils m’emportent” (67). Here, Zoulikha wants Mina
to remember the morning voice, the one which evokes her childhood and is thus
likened to the image of the sun. This curious invocation of the voice reveals
an intriguing postmodern aspect, which is linked to the importance of the past.
As an initial theoretical supposition associated with the notion of hauntology,
Derrida postulates in his Specters of Marx that Marx’s death did not
merely remove his presence from the world. Rather, a ghost lives on, one which
is not visible, but its voice can be heard. As Derrida puts it, “For there
to be a ghost, there must be a return to the body, but to a body that is more
abstract than ever” (126). To apply this to Zoulikha, she is presumed to
be dead, thus the body has already become abstract. Michael O’Riley’s recent
study of this novel is grounded in this theory of hauntology. Furthermore,
O’Riley suggests that woman’s body is both specter and spectacle.
Indeed, Zoulikha’s voice lives on to speak to her daughter Mina, who is chosen
as the spectator of her mother’s experience. It is also possible that Mina has
been singled out as the messenger who will ensure that the past lives on and
that Zoulikha’s contribution as a resistance fighter will never be forgotten,
thus assuring her mother’s place in Algerian history from which women are
deleted. Moreover, the part of Zoulikha that still exists is her voice; the
remnant of her effaced body which retains the lasting power to tell her own
story to Mina. For Djebar, the past is crucial, for it is always intertwined
with the present in Algeria and is therefore inseparable. At times, the
return to the past also highlights Zoulikha’s most heroic adventures in her
tense encounters with colonial authorities.
In the second monologue addressed to Mina, Zoulikha focuses on
Costa, the French official, interrogating her on her involvement in the
resistance movement. In this heated exchange with Costa, Zoulikha remains
undaunted by his aggressive line of questioning, never weakening as he tries to
force her to confess to clandestine activities. Here, Djebar seems to recast
the sex roles, showing that Zoulikha not only endures Costa’s endless barrage of
questions, but is clever enough not to trap herself in his accusations.
Therefore, she resists the traditional role of succumbing to masculine authority,
relying on her sharp intellect to stand up to Costa. Hania recalls visiting her
mother after one of these interrogations as described by Zoulikha:
En vérité, ce qu’ils
désirent tous, ces Européens de la ville,
c’est me faire comme Jeanne
d’Arc (elle rit amèrement).
Oui, vraiment ils veulent
me griller sur leur place publique
pour que les Arabes
descendent des montagnes et viennent
me voir mourir! (115)
The
allusion to Joan of Arc has several interesting textual implications,
reinforcing Zoulikha’s inimitable strength as a fighter. As Marina Warner
observes, Joan of Arc was a warrior who represented physical valor, but also
came to be regarded as a spiritual figure who was exalted after her death. As a
fighter, Zoulikha resembles Joan of Arc for her courage in the face of adversity,
but there are also more subtle similarities. Warner also postulates that Joan
of Arc was assimilated into Amazon folklore, dating back to classical legends. The
Amazons were female warriors who carried arms in battle; they also tended to
reject men, living in a closed feminocentric social structure. According to
legend, their right breast was typically severed in childhood to facilitate
drawing a bow. In the text, there is a reference to the Amazons, reinforcing
the connection to Joan of Arc’s indomitable spirit as a warrior. Similar to the
Amazons and Joan of Arc, Zoulikha was also a sacrificial combattant. Zoulikha
describes a Berber legend to Mina, one that is a revision of the Amazon legend,
dating back to a century ago: “les guerrières berbères sautaient sur les
chevaux de leur époux morts sour leurs yeux et allaient sous les remparts braver
l’ennemi. Elles se faisaient tuer en Amazones!” (123). To this mythical
representation of the Berber female warrior, Djebar adds this invincible
dimension to the female body, as it becomes empowered, reveling in its potential
ability to kill the enemy. But it is Zoulikha’s compatriots who free her from
Costa’s interrogations, as they murder him in a dark alley. Moreover, Costa’s
unexpected murder serves as the catalyst for Zoulikha’s departure or “envol”
into the hills above the city. Her disappearance from Césarée is lyrically
described through Zohra Oudai’s words: “Zoulikha l’héroïne flotte
inexorablement, comme un oiseau aux larges ailes transparentes et diaprées, dans
la mémoire de chaque femme d’ici” (128). The bird imagery signals not only
an emancipating decision for Zoulikha, but also a collective liberation for
every woman of Césarée.
Djebar intensifies the significance of the bird imagery in another
chapter where Mina and the fillmmaker describe their visit to a local museum
whose holdings include a priceless mosaic of ‘three women-birds,’ dating back
to the year two thousand. The title of the piece is “Ulysse et les sirènes”
which points to the intertext with Homer, but Djebar rewrites history in several
ways. With respect to this statue, Ernstpeter Ruhe has observed that there are
several interpretations connected to the importance of the number three. Ruhe
suggests that Djebar revises the ruins of the mosaic by inserting either
Zoulikha and her daughters, or the narrator, Dame Lionne and Zohra into the work
of art. Ruhe’s reading seems to follow the text closely, since the narrator and
Mina believe that the statue represents the women of Césarée. But it is
important to revisit Homer’s original tale of Ulysses and the sirens. According
to Homer, Ulysses had himself nailed to the mast and instructed his sailors to
plug their ears to resist the appealing voices of the sirens, who were notorious
for luring sailors with their seductive songs before killing them on the beach
below their meadow. The sirens were known to be disassociated from any source
of masculine authority whether it be divine or human. Ulysses’ goal was to
emerge from the potential seduction as a triumphant conqueror who did not
succumb to the sirens’ enticing temptations. In this rewriting of Ulysses, Ruhe
emphasizes the resemblance between Zoulikha and Ulysses. Like Ulysses’ penchant
for masquerade, Zoulikha also shared a talent for disguise. She was gifted in
the art of deceiving the colonials, thus passing freely between restricted areas
either dressed as an old woman or a peasant. In essence, Djebar revises Homer’s
portrayal of Ulysses by modifying the gender roles. Zoulikha’s female body
becomes interchangeable with the male conqueror, Ulysses. Her triumph as a
successful warrior is immortalized in stone, which captures the narrator’s
attention; it is she who discovers a strikingly familiar figure in the statue:
“L’une des trois femmes-oiseaux a un corps a demi effacé” (108). The
blurred body conjures up the ghostly presence of Zoulikha. Mina’s friend’s
observation enables her to inadvertently discover a monument commemorating her
mother’s sacrifices amongst the ruins. Here, Djebar radically alters the
mythological tale of Ulysses and the sirens. For Zoulikha and the sirens in the
mosaic do not fear the sound of song. Rather, these sirens celebrate the
presence of music:
S’ ils entendaient ce
chant, les hommes ne verraient plus que le rivage
est dangereux: or la
mosaïque ne rend pas présent ce risque de mort.
Non...la scène semble
entièrement baignée par la magie de la musique:
chacune des femmes, en
effet, tient dans les mains, l’une une flûte
double, l’autre, une lyre.
Des musiciennes prêtes à. . . s’envoler, je crois!
(107-8)
If Djebar
revises Ulysses’s original adventure with the sirens to show that music does not
anticipate the coming of death, she also modifies the language. The melodious
sound of the flute and the lyre are a powerful means of communication, a
replacement for spoken words. At the same time, music is a harmonious force
that fosters solidarity amongst the women of Césarée, reinforcing the idea of a
gynocentric society. This idea is exemplified in several instances in the text.
From a neighboring patio, Mina and Habiba often hear the strains of a plaintive
song of a young woman who mourns the death of her young love. In another
episode, the song changes tone; it is more uplifting. Zoulikha describes a
women’s gathering at Zohra’s house, celebrating the marriage of a fifteen-year
old bride who sings a traditional song with an improvised chorus of local women.
Zoulikha recalls this festive evening: “Je te raconte cette nuit des femmes,
cette harmonie qui nous a liées, toutes!” (180). If Djebar advocates that
women open their ears to the melodious sounds of music as an artistic means of
creating their own language, she also uses silence articulating women’s loss,
another integral part of the warrior’s evolution into a martyr.
Zoulikha’s third monologue reveals a more somber tone, as she
describes the death of her husband, El Hadj, to Mina. Like his wife, Zoulikha,
El Hadj was also a political activist. Zoulikha describes their marriage with
great affection to her daughter, emphasizing the modern aspect of their
intellectual equality. When he is unexpectedly murdered, she symbolically dips
herself in the blood of the martyr: “Je me baissai sans pleurer, soucieuse
de toucher sa poitrine nue, son visage, partout ou son sang n’avait pas encore
séché!. . J’ai voulu que son sang sèche sur moi, sur ma peau” (174). There
is a curious connection between Islamic beliefs and Christianity regarding
self-sacrifice. In fact, the origin of the term martyr is rooted in Christian
history. Joyce Salisbury has pointed out that in the Christian tradition of
martyrdom the body’s remains were believed to contain a magical power,
resuscitating the cadaver’s immobile form. In the novel, Zoulikha illustrates
this idea by infusing herself with the vestiges of her husband’s blood to carry
on the mission. It is as if this magic elixir commemorating El Hadj’s
self-immolation seeps into her body, empowering her with renewed fortitude to
wage the battle. Zoulikha’s revitalized strength culminates in her bold
subversion of some Moslem traditions. For instance, she challenges the
patriarchal order of society by recasting the symbolism of the veil. Although
the veil is a marker of her dissimulation, she demonstrates her defiance to its
cultural identification:
j’allais de nouveau me
déguiser, sinon ce voile accepté jusque-là
deviendrait linceul, ou
prison, il me fallait l’arracher, ou alors le
mettre comme costume pour
quel théâtre, pour quel jeu
immense, quel
affrontement nouveau?
(174)
The
significance of viewing the veil as a theatrical disguise shows a resistance to
the male hegemonic order of Moslem society. In walking veiled along the
streets of Césarée, she seemingly conforms to the cultural laws of traditional
society. However, the garment also hides her militant activities, which
consist of passing messages to her fellow resistance fighters and of sending
supplies through the lines. Thus, the fabric of the veil is inverted to become
a part of her warrior garb. Once again, Djebar blurs the gender lines, as the
veil is transformed into a masculine accessory, a protective mask enabling her
to carry out her mission. Zoulikha’s veil also facilitates her definitive
departure for the ‘maquis’ or the untamed country above the city. It is in this
open space that her evolution as a martyr figure takes on more significant
dimensions.
Although Djebar describes the ‘maquis’ as a remote area above the
city, Zoulikha refers to it as a subterranean retreat into a cave. In one
episode, Mina recalls an uplifting moment when she visited her mother in the
dark cave. This memorable adventure took place when she was twelve years old.
With the assistance of several underground friends of Zoulikha, Mina is brought
to the place where her mother is hiding; she is the only woman in the group of
combattants. After spending a brief period with Zoulikha, Mina expresses her
desire to imitate her mother’s resistance to colonial oppression in Césarée: “Avec
toi, je veux rester! Avec toi, je veux aller dans la forêt, à l’air je veux
vivre!” (194). For Mina, Zoulikha’s dangerous environment represents
freedom. Although she is too young to stay with Zoulikha, Mina willingly takes
on a secret assignment to carry a message to Dame Lionne, a leader in the
network of women in the village who offered assistance to Zoulikha in gathering
supplies. Curiously, Zoulikha refers to her young daughter as her “petite
Jeanne d’Arc” (208). This same nostalgic moment spent with her child
resurfaces in Zoulikha’s final monologue. But this time Zoulikha’s maternal
role extends beyond Mina. She fondly recalls how the young fighters called her
“ma mère” (209). Since she is the only woman in the bush, she embodies
maternity to these fighters abruptly uprooted from their families. In
particular, Zoulikha describes one young boy to Mina, since her daughter had met
him when she came to the cave. Zoulikha’s interaction with this sensitive boy
highlights her nurturing qualities. During several battles, she was the one who
nursed him back to health, filling the role of his absent mother. In her
relationship with her fellow resistance fighters, Djebar depicts Zoulikha as a
universal mother figure.
This disturbing final imaginary monologue is also addressed to Mina,
as Zoulikha’s memory of her daughter enables her to emotionally tolerate acute
physical pain. Her suffering is linked oddly to sensuality, as she remembers
twenty years of love with three different husbands. The heightened experience
of the flesh also conjures up the memory of childbirth: “torture ou
volupté, mon corps --peut-être parce que corps de femme et ayant enfanté tant de
fois - se met à ouvrir ses plaies, ses issues, à déverser son flux, en somme il
s’exhale, s’émiette, se vide sans pour autant s’épuiser!” (198). This
recollection rekindles the bond with Mina, but also anticipates her
metamorphosis into a maternal martyr. Zoulikha remembers the warmth she shared
with Mina in the cave before she was arrested. It is this nurturing image that
sustains Zoulikha through the unspeakable misery of physical torture. Although
she is physically and sexually abused, the enemy cannot tarnish her heart and
soul as long as she clings to the memories of moments spent with her child. Once
again, Djebar integrates the association with Joan of Arc, insisting on
Zoulikha’s fortitude in the face of great adversity. When Zoulikha is dragged
out into a clearing after being interrogated and tortured, she is left to die
out in the elements. The demise of Zoulikha reveals an interesting revision of
Joan of Arc’s fate at the stake as well as the passion of Christ. Djebar
ostensibly secularizes the idea of Christ’s crucifixion. Rona Fields observes
that secular martyrdom is grounded on the idea of dying with a specific intent
in mind. As she puts it, “sacrifice for martyrdom requires that death occur
in the struggle for a higher purpose and in the choice of a behavior or course
of action” (68). In the text, Zoulikha describes her ordeal to Mina as “cette
crucifixion sans croix!” (203). Paul Scott affirms that the bodies of
female martyrs are tied to Christ’s crucifixion, but his emphasis is on the nude
body of the female martyr. In the novel, Zoulikha’s partially clad body evokes
a sexual reaction from the spectators:
Comme si me traîner et
m’exposer ainsi aux chacals errants,
et auparavant aux yeux
effrayés des paysans immobiles dans
un cercle voyeur et
impuissant, comme si ironiser sur ce corps
femelle abattu, un des
genoux plié sur le côté si bien que le
mouvement a demi ouvert de
la jambe, du mollet ne pouvait
qu’évoquer une posture
indécente-cet écartèlement, ce tableau
de peinture à vif caricaturé.
(202)
For
O’Riley, this display of Zoulikha’s body evokes an eroticized response from the
spectators, consisting of an innate attraction to violence which is represented
by the viewing of Zoulikha’s tortured body. Zoulikha undergoes a process of
fragmentation, as she begins to disassociate herself from her body as a whole.
It is as if her body becomes removed from her to become a public spectacle.
Her tortured vagina is described as a “vagin électrifié” (201). O’Riley
elaborates on this idea by observing that Zoulikha’s body becomes a postcolonial
monument, a scared testament to the violence of colonialism and the suffering of
imperialist oppression. Furthermore, the electrified vagina becomes an emblem
of self-immolation and is connected to Zoulikha’s martyrdom.
As the days pass and her dying body is exposed to the relentless sun,
the body changes into a hardened form, resembling a statue, “mon corps à
terre se durcissait” (205). This metamorphosis signals a spiritual
transformation of her body into a martyr. In the text, this idea is shown by
the white light that surrounds her body. As she is left to die in the clearing,
her unkempt, wild hair reveals an unexpected shape around her head, “la tête
aux cheveux emmêlés, formant une auréole autour, devenant centre d’embrasement
pour les premiers rayons” (202). It is as if Zoulikha’s suffering body
receives the protective embrace of a divine entity, for it never succumbs to
rotting. A group of children look at her dying body without fear as they
observe, “Vois! Son visage...Elle dort. Elle sent bon!”(205). The
misery of the disappearing body is strikingly offset by the celestial images
that signal the passage to divine martyrdom. As the body begins to drift away
from life, Zoulikha’s voice rises. Elaine Scary posits that even if the body is
the center of pain, the voice represents the nexus of power (51). Although
Zoulikha’s corporeal experience surpasses words, there is a projection beyond
the body. The remnant of her ghostly voice reaches Mina; her triumph is
lyrically celebrated by the song of an unknown peasant, “Elle chante donc
pour moi, la paysanne inconnue. Elle te chante. Elle t’annonce. Elle te tisse
à moi dans l’azur” (206). Zoulikha tells her daughter that at last the boy
from the cave came to retrieve her dying body. This young man sets himself
apart from the others in the text because his desire to bury Zoulikha is
instrumental in transforming her maternal role into a mythic martyr figure.
Zoulikha interprets his decision to bury her tortured body as an act of love.
He also honors Islamic tradition by reclaiming her decomposing body so that it
can be properly buried. As he carries her off, Zoulikha speaks of him to
Mina: “Lui, le porteur de cadavre, l’ensevelisseur des mères. . . “
(211). In the silence of the clearing, the maternal martyr envisions being
reunited with her estranged child:
Une clairière, ma chérie,
ou tu ne viendras jamais. N’importe,
c’est sur la place du
douar, la voix de l’inconnue chantant
inlassablement, c’est là,
yeux ouverts, dans tout mon corps
pourrissant, que je t’attends.
(212)
As her
battered body is laid to rest, these final imaginary words directed to Mina
reaffirm
Zoulikha’s
apotheosis into a mythic maternal figure. In her death, she has sacrificed
herself for her country, thus her beaten body also embodies the image of mother
Algeria. Her decayed form bears witness to the wounds that Algeria has received
as the victims of imperialist soldiers.
In the epilogue, Djebar emerges from the shadows of the text to
substantiate the duality between the visitor, Habiba, and herself. The author
also reiterates the legend of Zoulikha in Césarée by modifying the verb tenses,
placing this closing part of the novel in the present. Djebar emphasizes that
the presence of Zoulikha still reverberates some twenty years later when she
returns to her native village: “Femme-oiseau de la mosaïque, elle paraît
aujoud’hui, pour ses concitoyens, à demi-effacée! Or son chant demeure”
(214). Once again, Zoulikha’s ghostly presence is resurrected; it is
immortalized in stone by the statue of the woman-bird to speak to modern
citizens of Césarée. Although the body is depicted in a half- effaced form, the
voice lives on through the lyrical strains of a song. The author positions
herself in the Ulysses role, but instead of blocking the sound of song, she
embraces it:
“Je l’entends, et je me
trouve presque dans la situation d’Ulysse,
le voyageur qui n’est
s’est pas bouché les oreilles de cire, sans
toutefois risquer de
traverser la frontière de la mort pour cela,
mais entendre, ne plus jamais oublier le chant des
sirènes! (214)
The author
also transforms Homer’s imagery into a political message directed to her fellow
Algerians: “Dans ma ville, les gens vivent, presque tous, la cire dans les
oreilles: pour ne pas entendre la vibraion qui persiste du feu d’hier”
(214). Djebar comments on the importance of never forgetting historical
tensions of the past. For this reason, the willingness to hear the distant song
of the sirens serves as an indelible reminder of the turbulence and suffering of
the war for independence in the 1960’s. As she visits her native village today,
the author is struck by her fellow citizens’ desire to block their ears from the
sounds of violence in modern Algeria. Djebar’s compatriots prefer to live in a
state of apathy, ignoring the reality of civil conflict in postmodern Algeria.
But the historic figures etched in stone tell the real story, “ces
pierres seules gardent mémoire!” (214). The permanent image engraved in the
stones seems to call out to the Algerian people not to lose sight of the past,
as it is an integral part of the present.
The remarkable story of Zoulikha, a warrior who fearlessly
sacrificed herself for the freedom of her country, is commemorated through the
voices of close family and friends. Djebar’s invention of the three imaginary
dialogues addressed mainly to her daughter, Mina, reveals not only her
resistance activity during the war against colonial oppression, but sheds light
on the role of one combattant who transformed herself into a mythic figure
embodying maternal martydom for her country, children, and fellow citizens. For
this reason, the autobiographical epilogue where Djebar revisits Césarée some
twenty years later recognizes the sacrifice of the legendary Zoulikha by
focusing on the powerful image of Zoulikha’s effaced body immortalized in
stone. In contrast to her fellow Algerians, the author lends an ear to what
Zoulikha’s distant voice still whispers:
Non! L’image de Zoulikha,
certes, disparaît à demi
de la mosaïque. Mais sa
voix subsiste, en souffle vivace:
elle n’est pas magie, mais
vérité nue, d’un éclat aussi pur
que tel ou tel marbre de
déesse, ressorti hors des ruines,
ou qui y reste enfoui (220).
It is
possible that the battered, inert body of the maternal martyr Zoulikha arises
out of the ashes to show her compatriots that the female body is also the bearer
of truth. Even in death, the legendary warrior continues to launch a subversive
attack on the patriarchal authority, questioning its tyrannical control of the
sex roles.
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© 2005 Nancy Arenberg
Nancy Arenberg is
an Associate Professor of French at the University of Arkansas. She specializes
in seventeenth-and eighteenth-century epistolary literature and theory. Her
published work includes articles on French epistolary texts and Francophone
women writers from West Africa, North Africa and Quebec. She is currently
conducting research on Tunisian Jewish writers and is continuing to work on
Assia Djebar.
