The women having this discussion are not only conducting it between themselves as exiles, but they are participating in a dual projection of development: on the one hand they cast themselves as Algerian women observing other Algerian women who live in a self-imposed state of isolation either through their indigenous beliefs or their colonial heritage. At the same time, they speak of the developing nations around them which are grappling with the notion of how to rule, something that will also haunt Algeria in the post-independence years. In this projection and re-projection, Djebar is particular adept as she casts and re-casts women as citizens, as the nation, and as players (and pawns) in the larger political allegory. Within this political allegory is a question of identity and religious authenticity that comes into play and through which Djebar makes an eerie forecast for the future of Algeria through the funeral scene featuring the character of Aïcha whose grandmother’s funeral was discussed in an earlier segment.
Towards the conclusion of the funeral chapter, Aïcha observes the women who are at the funeral surrounding her grandmother
All of them, sitting in groups today, believed they were
nobly keeping the dead woman company with the same
posture and the same confabulations, evoking her with
expressions of regret, of nostalgia—in short, burying her.
As if we bury the dead, as if they weren’t continuing to live
somewhere… but where? Then the refrain began inside
Aïcha. An unexpected phrase. Whose words moved her with
a vengeance. They frightened her. –“I have neither law nor
master… the little phrase began.—
“I have neither law nor master,” she began again. She took the
words apart. Waited. Fear and confusion in order to understand…
Then she muttered the beginning of a prayer: -- There is only
one God and Muhammad… (85)”
In the context of the allegory, this chapter is the funeral of Algeria. Aïcha’s grandmother is representative of the old Algeria: the one of Islam, the one of custom, the one that is free of colonial-Christianizing influences. She makes reference to the afterlife, but like others at the time of the book’s writing, she is unaware as to where Algeria will go after its indigenous death and resurrection in the postcolonial period. Aïcha is the new Algeria: she is without “law nor master (85)” and as such she clings to the one concept that is eternal and indigenous to Algeria’s culture: Islam. This in turn is Djebar’s projection towards the rise of Islamic fundamentalism and the shift towards the re-birth of Algeria and/or Algeria’s afterlife being conceived inside the Islamic. Aïcha turns to Islam as the new Algeria in order to redeem her own sin, one that her grandmother was exempt from because of how she lived and what she represented as the “old,” the “traditional” and the “archaic” Algeria, but her grandmother was also the “Islamic” Algeria and as such, it is up to Aïcha, her granddaughter to reclaim Algeria since her mother was purely the Colonial Algeria and therefore punished and dead from committing zina, Aïcha has the opportunity at redemption because she has acknowledged and recognized her sin and wavering from what it means to be Algerian.
The nation and its women share their sexuality: an Algerian sexuality. Djebar does not allow the men of her novels to speak often, but when she does it is often in the context of women’s sexuality and by default that of the nation in the allegory.
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