The Way To Médenine

The Way to MédenineWhenever bread came within Simone de Beauvoir's reach, she crushed it to death between her palms. She'd crushed a hundred loaves between Marrakech and Tunis, talking the whole while. She hadn't shut up since Casablanca and I hadn't had an unmangled slice since Fés. Why she had to turn fresh loaves into crumbs simply to turn Marx, Hegel and Freud into dry crusts, I understand no more today than I did in June of 1949. A Bedouin toiling between the shafts of a donkey cart, she as...