Algeria -- History -- 1830-1962; France. Armée. Légion étrangère; Rosen, Erwin, 1876-1923
One seldom saw a soldier of the Legion here, for Ben Mansur only spoke
Arabic. Smith, however, was his bosom friend, and these two always
greeted one another solemnly with deep bows, with their arms folded on
the breast in Arab fashion.
Ben Mansur's coffee was a dream of fairyland. All day and all night
charcoal glowed in the ancient Moorish stove in the corner, and in a
wonderful octagonal copper kettle, which must have done service for
generations of Arabs, there simmered boiling water. A silver can
contained a thick coffee brew, a kind of extract. From this Ben Mansur
filled the little clay cups half full and poured in boiling water. Then
he conjured dreamland into the tiny little cups, adding a drop here and
a drop there from mysterious bottles, a drop of essence of oranges, a
drop of hashish oil and a drop of opium. Ben Mansur's coffee, with its
wonderful aroma and the restful oblivion which that little cup gave,
was a wonder never to be forgotten. Smith and I used to sit on the
marble benches by the hour, legs crossed in honour of the customs of
our host's race. Before us stood the water-pipe of the Orient, a
"narghile," filled with wonderful tobacco very different from the
products of the Algerian tobacco monopoly. Ben Mansur would never take
more than two sous, which is two cents, for both of us, no matter how
many pipes we smoked or how many cups of coffee we drank. This was his
idea of hospitality.
Then again I used to wander with Smith through the dirty streets of the
Jewish quarter, where the rubbish-heaps lay in the open streets and the
atmosphere was tainted with every variety of smell. At the corners thin
Spanish Jews, with the sharp features common to their race, haggled
over a bargain; Algerian Jews walked stately through the alleys, in
long flowing robes of blue and brown silk, men of importance who held
the wealth of the country in their hands as the go-betweens of the
world's trade and the riches of Algeria. Wealth and power dwelt in this
miserable quarter of Sidi-bel-Abbès under the shell of poverty with
which Israel is so fond of surrounding itself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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