No More Lonely Nights (12 page)

Dominique gazed into his eyes. They were smoky in the light of dusk, magical in the love they conveyed. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the heat of his emotion—and frightened by her own.

“Look at me!” His voice was harsh.

She opened her eyes, startled by his rough tone.

He suddenly sat up. He dropped his legs to the floor and leaned over Dominique. He grasped her shoulders and lifted her into a sitting position. In his eyes was a look of urgent desperation. “You can’t leave me now!”

For one wild moment, Dominique let her imagination take her to a time and place where she was actually Stephen’s wife. She thought of sleeping in his arms each evening, waking with him each morning. Being part of his daily life, part of his family.

Family. She inhaled sharply as the word entered her consciousness with a jolt. Suddenly, Dominique was shivering, as though with a fever. She wrapped her arms protectively across the front of her bare torso.

Stephen gripped her shoulders more tightly and forced her to look into his eyes. “Don’t think about the obstacles!” he cried.

His words, the temptation he dangled in front of her, had the opposite effect. She braked her impulses as sharply as though she were in danger of catapulting over a cliff. Dominique slumped, suddenly drained of the vigor that Stephen had transmitted to her. If he had not been holding her, she would have collapsed back into the cushions. “We wouldn’t be happy that way, Stephen.” Her voice was leaden.

“We’ve talked about it. We’ve agreed.” She shook her head with each word.

Stephen opened his mouth as though to argue, then a change came over his features. His brow furrowed and he closed his mouth without uttering a word. Releasing Dominique, he dropped his head into his hands, his knuckles white with strain.

She reached forward instinctively to comfort him. When he felt her touch, he raised his head, and the pain on his face shocked her. “Stephen!” she cried.

He pulled her close. Dominique could feel his heart thudding, thudding against her breast. A choked sound came from him.

Dominique was stunned to feel wetness seep into the crevice between his cheek and hers. It wasn’t possible that Stephen was crying! It was absolutely counter to his stoic nature. The realization was shattering. Dominique crumpled. Her own tears spilled over and mingled with his. Sobs choked her throat so that her whole body shook, and the sound was trapped in her throat.

They gripped each other, as though dying, sinking in quicksand, helpless to do anything but surrender as they cried together. How long they held each other, Dominique did not know. She was unaware of her body—only emotion. Finally, though, her tears slowed. Her soul was left with a heavy, numbing sadness. She eased her hold on Stephen and, with a deep sigh, he released her.

They lifted their heads. Their eyes met and held. Stephen reached forward and brushed a strand of hair from Dominique’s damp face.

Dominique held his hand against her cheek. She turned her face and caressed his palm with her lips. “We can’t go through this again, Stephen. We can’t see each other anymore,” she said in a low voice.

Stephen winced. His eyes pleaded with her, still reflecting a spark of hope. “Unless you agree to marry me.”

Keeping her eyes open, Dominique gently kissed him. As she drew back, their gazes locked. Inches apart, they sat completely still, hypnotized. It was as though they didn’t dare move for fear of breaking the spell. Then Dominique eased away ever so slightly. “Good-bye,” she whispered.

Stephen lifted his other hand to her cheek. He pulled her closer, so that her face was just inches from his. He fixed her with a look of utter conviction, then said in a clear, calm voice, “You are my last love.”

“KEEP an eye on the valises!” Solange exhorted her driver from the back seat. “This place is full of thieves.” The trunk of the Rolls was open, but held down with leather straps, thanks to the number of trunks she and Dominique were taking on their trip to France. The car inched its way through the crowd near the Port of Alexandria. There were so many people that it was impossible to move faster.

The older woman turned to her daughter. “Your cousin Emile said that last time they cut the straps and snatched two of his valises as the car was moving!” She shook her head in outrage and increased the motion of the silk fan she held in her hand.

The car jerked to a halt as three French sailors spilled drunkenly out of a bar and onto the street in front of them.

“Disgusting!” Solange hissed, “and at ten in the morning! Roll up your window, Dominique.”

“Mother, it’s stifling,” Dominique protested. Her pink linen traveling suit already felt damp. “Look, they’re already gone.” Indeed, they had disappeared into the throng on the sidewalk.

Dominique moved closer to her open window, trying in vain to catch a breath of cooler air. She said wistfully, “I’ll be glad to get out of Egypt for a while. Demonstrations every day in Cairo and”—she looked around at the once-grand buildings—“this city has become…” Her sentence drifted off as she was carried back to pre-revolutionary days, when Alexandria had been one of the most cosmopolitan vacation spots in the world, offering as many attractions as the French Riviera: gambling, dancing, world class entertainment, fine dining, and boutiques stocked with Parisian clothes.

“It’s become positively seedy!” Solange declared. “Look at that garbage over there. And all those broken windows.” She pointed at an ornately constructed public building, then clicked her tongue as if to say, “What a shame!”

Dominique’s eyes followed her mother’s gestures. A one-armed beggar crouched in a doorway, a basket of his meager belongings at his feet. Farther on, more beggars sat immobile, cups stretched forward in a perpetual gesture of entreaty. Dominique had the urge to jump from the car and place money in each cup, but she knew Solange would upbraid her. “Don’t get near them,” she’d say. “Who knows what diseases they have!”

Dominique turned her eyes back to the road, trying to gauge the distance to their ship. Its giant smokestacks rose in the distance. Behind the ships, on a hill overlooking the harbor was the stunning image of the Fort of Qaitbay. The fifteenth-century sandstone structure looked stark white against the deep, cloudless blue of the Alexandrian sky. The fort was like a picture-book ideal of a medieval castle, with its crenellated walls and turrets.

“The buildings are still lovely if you don’t look too closely,” Dominique remarked. Laid out by Europeans for Europeans, modern Alexandria, until the revolution, had been admired for its broad avenues and Belle Époque architecture. Now the grand buildings crumbled with neglect and the exquisitely landscaped avenues were choked with weeds.

“Alexandria is still beautiful,” Solange acknowledged, “but the time has come for me to sell the beach villa, if I’m to get anything at all for it.” She sighed. “Though I can’t imagine who will buy it with the town deteriorating as it is.” Her face became pensive and her hand slowed its agitated fluttering of her fan.

“Sell the beach villa?” Dominique turned to her mother in surprise. “But it’s miles from here! The neighborhood is still lovely.” Why, the villa held her fondest childhood memories. Memories of summer, when her father had for three months taken a rest from work and spent his time squiring Solange and their daughters around Alexandria.

“I don’t know how long it will be lovely,” Solange said with a resigned shrug. “It’s best to sell while I still can.”

Dominique regarded her mother with a pained expression. Everything was changing! Everything was slipping away. She closed her eyes and thought of the Alexandria of her childhood. Unlike Cairo, where the lives of adults and children were strictly segregated, Alexandria meant family outings and endless lazy days lived in bathing suits instead of starched school uniforms. There had been boat excursions and garden parties, musicales and the theater. And when their mother and father had outings of their own, Dominique and Danielle would rise at dawn and drag Nanny to the beach until dusk. As they approached adolescence, Nanny had insisted they travel a mile down the promenade to the beach that was exclusively reserved for women. The sisters didn’t mind at first, because there had been a marvelous ice-cream pavilion adjacent, built to resemble a circus carousel. As they grew older, however, they would tell Nanny they were going for a walk, then hike back down to the beach frequented by both men and women. Dominique smiled now as she remembered Nanny’s good-natured resignation at her charges’ small adventure.

Now, as the car approached the customs building, the cacophony outside grew louder. Dominique opened her eyes and saw that smokestacks from three ocean liners now obscured the horizon. Smaller boats, like toys beside the huge vessels, bobbed on the calm cerulean water of the harbor. Alexandria had been the most important port in the Middle East before the revolution. Now Beirut had gained ascendancy. But ship traffic was still heavy. Tugboats were already circling the luxurious French ship Dominique and Solange would board, preparing to guide it out of the harbor.

Dominique thought the scene would have been cheerfully frenetic had it not been for the scores of Egyptian soldiers who stood about glowering, their guns at their sides.

But as soon as the car pulled to a stop in front of the government customs house, Dominique’s view of the soldiers—and everything else—was blocked by the mob of porters who converged on the Rolls. They all spoke at once, a disorderly chorus of Arabic. Solange’s driver impatiently shooed them away. The valises were
his
responsibility. When the porters had retreated a few feet—and looked as though they would be held at bay by the driver’s warning expression—the servant opened the door to the car and handed out the ladies.

“Let’s hurry up and get on board,” Solange said, taking Dominique’s elbow. The two women entered the government building and went to the desk belonging to the cruise line. Solange showed her tickets and was directed to a passport checkpoint. She glided confidently through the crowd until she reached an Egyptian officer dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant. She addressed him in Arabic,
“Sabbah el-Khair.
” Good morning.

The lieutenant nodded coldly at her. His eyes stared at a distant point somewhere over her shoulder. “French citizens?” he barked. Solange nodded.
“Aywalla!”

The lieutenant clapped his hands and another man, this one dressed in the uniform of a customs policeman, hurried to his side. “Check them,” he ordered, still not looking at the women.

Dominique felt a prickle of apprehension, but tried not to be unduly alarmed. After all, procedures seemed to change with each voyage she and Solange took. And she was thankful they had not been turned over to the army, which was responsible for most of the affronts to foreigners, but instead to customs, whose police didn’t even carry guns.

The policeman, a rotund, worried looking man with a disproportionately large handlebar mustache, gave Solange a pleading look and directed the ladies to follow him.

“What is this?” Solange demanded loftily of the army lieutenant. He turned away and picked up a telephone. Solange looked dumbfounded. Never had she been treated with such a lack of respect.

She rounded indignantly on the policeman. “What is this?” she repeated.

This man was more human. He looked apologetic as he said, “Routine check.”

Suddenly a look of understanding crossed Solange’s face. “Aah…” she said. She smiled winningly at the young man.
“Baksheesh?”
she offered. “Perhaps there is a permit we neglected to purchase? How much is required?”

The little man was furiously shaking his head even before Solange finished her sentence. “No, no,” he whispered, casting a frightened glance at the nearby officer.

Solange followed his gaze and lowered her voice. “How much does he want?”

“No, no!” the policeman grew more agitated. His mustache jumped with each exclamation.

Solange stared at him, puzzled. She had never before encountered such a reaction.
Baksheesh
—tips or bribes, depending on the viewpoint—had for centuries been an accepted way of life in Egypt. The practice occurred openly and was considered a necessary expense of any transaction with the government.

“You must come!” the policeman explained, his voice imperative.

Now Dominique grew worried. She thought of the money they had hidden in their brassieres—the only means by which they had been able to take out enough for their trip.

Solange cast another glance at the back of the lieutenant, as though debating whether to insist on speaking to him. He appeared engrossed in his telephone conversation. She turned back to the policeman. “Very well,” she agreed. “Let’s get this ridiculous thing over with.” She turned to her daughter. “You wait here for the bags.”

“Madame,” said the policeman, “your baggage is in our possession. And your daughter must come also.”

Solange frowned. “What do you mean, young man? I haven’t time for delays. We have to board that ship!” She gestured with her fan in the direction of the boat.

The policeman stared at Solange for a moment. “You will follow me,” he said. Without waiting for a response, he turned and began to push through the crowd. Solange let out a noise of exasperation and followed him. They were led down a narrow hall lined with crooked pictures of President Nasser and his cabinet, then into a tiny, stifling room with no windows. Once beige, the walls were now pocked and graying.

Solange and Dominique gasped when they saw that their valises lay open on a battered wooden table. Two customs police were buried up to their elbows in the contents, rifling through the clothes, indifferent to the havoc they created.

“What is this!” Solange’s voice rang out.

The policemen turned to face the arrivals, smirks on their faces. One of them, a gangly man with an acne-scarred face and a gold tooth, moved toward the women with an insolent expression. He didn’t answer Solange, but rather sauntered to the door, looking the women up and down as he walked. Mother and daughter kept their eyes stubbornly ahead as he moved behind them. They both started when the door slammed shut.