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P h o t o: P a ol aCr o ci a ni BRAHIM OULAHYANE With Denys in Marrakesh Ifirst met Denys Johnson-Davies in 2005 at the Nicosia Café in Marrakesh’s Gueliz district. The Iraqi writer Ali al-Kasimi, who lives in Morocco, was due to meet him there and asked if I’d like to go along and meet “the world famous translator Denys JohnsonDavies”. I’d heard of him and read a number of his interviews in the local Moroccan and Arab press, and so I went.Throughout the meeting I was carefully studying his features, noting the traces that time had left on his face and listening to the melodious Arabic, which flowed out from between his lips. He insisted on speaking in Arabic – in Egyptian dialect – and was talking about the distant past, about individuals who have had a profound effect on modern Arabic literature. I hung on his every word with the astonishment of someone who stumbles upon a priceless treasure and began considering the idea of interviewing him for the local press. I suggested the idea to him and he refused, but at the end of our meeting, after Denys and I had enjoyed a lengthy discussion about the Arabic short story and novel, he asked me for my phone number and promised to meet up with me. 64 BANIPAL 43 – CELEBRATING DENYS JOHNSON-DAVIES
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It took a year for the interview to materialize, mainly because the heat in Marrakesh had confined Denys to his house or compelled him to escape to the coastal town of Essaouira, whose sea and calm he loved. Denys had a lovely house in Marrakesh on Rue Ibn Hazme in Semlalia, where he would come once or twice a year when the incessant pressure and pace of Cairo, the city he had fallen in love with in the 1940s, grew too much for him. One day he called from Cairo to tell me he had decided to permanently relocate to Marrakesh and so it was: soon afterwards he had moved all his books and belongings to his home in the Red City. Following his move we would often meet at his house, sitting in the garden drinking beer and losing ourselves in his reminiscences of Arab authors and artists.We often spoke of his translations. From time to time he’d ask me: “And you; what are you up to at the moment?” We never met for less than four hours and every time he would invite me to eat. It was always evening by the time I left. His wife, Paola, the photographer, would take the opportunity to wander the ancient city. She loved everything traditional and ancient, captivated by the fragrance of the past that bloomed from the buildings all around her. When she returned she would greet us with a profound and unfeigned warmth and join us in conversation. One day, Denys made the startling announcement that he was returning to Cairo. He needed his friendships there. He sold the house and departed. I felt a great chasm inside me; the pain of loss. We began communicating via email and the phone. Denys still made sure to visit Morocco, staying in one of Marrakesh’s lovely hotels, before flying on to the UK or Spain. But Marrakesh, the city that has embraced so many authors and creative types from all over the world, finally succeeded in capturing this lover of Arab literature, who for many years was the sole bridge between this literature and the English language. Following the revolution in Egypt, Denys returned to Morocco, and this time, for good. Since his return I have visited him on countless occasions at his home in the centre of the city. He is preoccupied by what is taking place in Egypt and talks of developments there, of his literary friends and what might happen to them, with despair in his voice. Cairo and its inhabitants are always on his mind, and though I can coax him into the world of literature and the arts, he soon returns to fretting over Egypt. On my last visit to his house, in February this year, I found him in BANIPAL 43 – SPRING 2012 65

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P h o t o:

P a ol aCr o ci a ni

BRAHIM OULAHYANE

With Denys in Marrakesh

Ifirst met Denys Johnson-Davies in 2005 at the Nicosia Café in Marrakesh’s Gueliz district. The Iraqi writer Ali al-Kasimi, who lives in Morocco, was due to meet him there and asked if I’d like to go along and meet “the world famous translator Denys JohnsonDavies”. I’d heard of him and read a number of his interviews in the local Moroccan and Arab press, and so I went.Throughout the meeting I was carefully studying his features, noting the traces that time had left on his face and listening to the melodious Arabic, which flowed out from between his lips.

He insisted on speaking in Arabic – in Egyptian dialect – and was talking about the distant past, about individuals who have had a profound effect on modern Arabic literature. I hung on his every word with the astonishment of someone who stumbles upon a priceless treasure and began considering the idea of interviewing him for the local press. I suggested the idea to him and he refused, but at the end of our meeting, after Denys and I had enjoyed a lengthy discussion about the Arabic short story and novel, he asked me for my phone number and promised to meet up with me.

64 BANIPAL 43 – CELEBRATING DENYS JOHNSON-DAVIES

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