The Saffron Gate (39 page)

^{'Please make your way out, Mademoiselle O'Shea,' Manon said now. 'And fetch my bag, Badou.'}

^{I stayed where I was while the child ran to a chest against the wall and returned with a decorated cloth bag. He gave it to his mother and then sat cross-legged on the floor at her feet.}

^{Manon stared at me, but I didn't move. She raised one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, and I knew I had won this very small battle. She drew a comb, a mirror and some vials from the bag. In silence, she slowly combed through her long, shining hair, but left it hanging loose. She applied rouge to her cheeks and lips. Then she took a small piece of wood from the bag and rubbed it over her gums, staining them with something on the wood. Her pale pink gums turned reddish brown, setting off the whiteness of her teeth. She dug once more into the bag, taking out what I knew, from seeing them in the shops in the. French Quarter, to be a wood
merroud
containing kohl.}

^{The inside of one of my cheeks was raw from chewing on it. I wanted to shout at Manon, to shake her, to somehow force her to tell me about Etienne. But I knew it would do no good. In fact, it might make her refuse to answer.}

^{She would tell me what she wanted, when she wanted.}

^{'My kohl is special,' Manon said, the
merroud
in one hand and the mirror in the other. She outlined her eyes. 'I only make it on nights with a new moon. I use charcoal from burned oleander roots. Some ground nutmeg and aloe. And also — most importantly — a bit of camel bile. But without the moon's effect it won't work.'}

^{I refused to ask her what she meant.}

^{Manon, staring at herself in the mirror as she worked, now sang, her voice low and rich,
'I will make my eyes the moons in a dark sky. I will madden men with desire; one man or many. All will desire me.'
She looked away from her reflection, and straight into my eyes.}

^{In spite of the warm room, the skin on the back of my neck tightened as though I were in a draught, and I fought not to shiver. I thought of Etienne’s talk of the women of Marrakesh and their magic practices, and his dismissal of them as nonsense. Manon was still staring at me, and my uneasiness continued. It was eerie; with a few applications of colour to her face, she had transformed herself from a pretty, although ageing woman, into an earthy beauty. There was a lushness about her now, as of a rose slightly past its bloom, and yet still highly seductive. She was an exotic creature of this country. There was nothing about her that indicated she was Etienne’s sister. The only thing French about her was her perfect speech.}

^{'Has any man ever been mad with desire for you, Mademoiselle O'Shea?' she asked then. Her voice held a sarcastic tone.}

^{I didn't reply. I had told her I was Etienne's fianceè. Was it so impossible for her to believe he desired me? 'And your husband, Madame Maliki? He's at work?' I asked, partly because she angered me, and also because somehow I knew — some instinct — that she wouldn't like me questioning her.}

^{I was correct. Her face changed again, her eyes narrowing.}

^{'Your husband?' I repeated, but now Manon ignored me, returning her toiletries to the bag and then lifting her chin and raising her eyebrows at Badou.}

^{'Well?' she asked him.}

^{'You are so pretty, Maman,' he said, in a practised way.}

^{Falida, still standing beside my daybed, bowed her head.
'Très belle,
my lady.'}

^{Then Manon looked at me with the same expression. I knew she was waiting for me to compliment her. It was obvious that Manon Maliki was a woman used to being complimented.}

^{I said nothing.}

^{Manon pulled the drawstrings of her bag with one quick, angry jerk, and tossed it on to the cushion beside her. Falida picked it up, returning it to the chest. Then she sat cross-legged on the floor beside Badou. Manon looked down at them, then back to me. I was reminded of a queen with her subjects.}

^{'I will not ask — demand — again that you leave,' she told me. 'You may return in an hour. And consider yourself lucky that I will see you at all, in spite of how you have angered me.'}

^{'Madame Maliki,' I said, exasperated. 'What difference does one hour make? Can't you simply—'}

^'Manon?'

^{We all turned to the doorway. A man stood there; he was so tall that his turban brushed the lintel. He wore a dark blue cotton djellaba with yellow embroidery at the neck. The deep purple-blue turban was wrapped around his head and neck, one end of it tucked over his nose and mouth. Because of the light behind him I couldn't see his eyes. He carried a basket under one arm.}

^{I immediately remembered the man on the
piste.
L'Homme Bleu.}

^{Badou ran to him, first kissing the man's hand in the Arabic gesture of respect for an elder, and then winding his arms around the man's leg. 'Oncle Aszulay,' he said.}

^{Uncle, I thought. But Etienne was his uncle. Why did he call this man uncle as well? He must be Manon's husband's brother.}

^{I glanced at Manon; she was smiling at the man in a coquettish way. Suddenly I knew that Manon didn't want me here because she was waiting for this man.}

^{Was it her husband? No, because Badou called him uncle, but more because of the way she was looking at him: not as one would greet a husband, but . . . I thought of Etienne arriving at my door on Juniper Road. Manon was looking at him as if he were her lover.}

^{'Assalaam alykum,
Badou,' the man said, greeting Badou in Arabic, smiling warmly at him and smoothing his hair. He set down the basket and looked at us.}

^{Manon, no long smiling, said, off-handedly, 'This is Mademoiselle O'Shea. But she is leaving now.'}

^{I stayed where I was, seated.}

^{The tall man studied me for a moment, then solemnly bowed his head. 'Good afternoon, Mademoiselle O'Shea,' he said, his French quite clear; but with a strong accent of his mother tongue — Arabic, I assumed.}

^{'Good afternoon, Monsieur . . .' I hesitated.}

^{'I am Aszulay, mademoiselle,' he said simply. He stepped out of his
babouches
before entering the room, and once across the threshold pulled down the end of his turban, uncovering his face. Then he unwrapped it from his head, pushing it down so that it encircled his neck. His hair wasn't shaved in the way of the Arab men I'd seen throughout the souks, but was thick and wavy, very black. Now he was standing in a beam of light from the open louvres. His eyes were a surprising blue.}

^{Badou clung to the edge of the man's robe, and in a swift and obviously routine move Aszulay swooped him into the crook of one arm. Badou wrapped his arms around the man's neck.}

^{'Falida,' Aszulay said, 'take the food into the kitchen and set it out for the meal.'}

^{The girl took the heavy basket and lugged it across the room.}

^{'You join us to eat, mademoiselle?' Aszulay asked.}

^{'No,' Manon said, 'she will not stay. She is going now. You may return later, as we discussed,' she told me, standing.}

^{I stood as well, facing her. 'But madame—'}

^{'We will talk later. At two o'clock.'}

^{'Please. Just tell me where—'}

^{'No!' Manon's voice was loud, forceful. 'I tell you two o'clock, I mean two o'clock.' She came around the table, pulling on my sleeve. 'Go, mademoiselle. I'm ordering you out of my home. Do you not understand?'}

^{'Manon,' Aszulay said, in a firm voice. I looked at him, hoping, somehow, that he would intervene. But I couldn't read what was in his face, and he said nothing more.}

^{I had no choice but to leave. As I did, I heard his voice, low, questioning, and Manon's answers, high and argumentative. They spoke Arabic. I understood nothing.}

^{I hung about the nearby alley, walking up and down a few streets, until an hour had passed. At exactly two o'clock I went back to Sharia Zitoun and knocked on the gate. Nobody came. I called out, first Manon's name, then Badou's. I called for Falida.}

^{But there was only silence behind the saffron gate.}

^{What choice did I have? I waited by the gate for another hour, leaning against the wall, shifting constantly to take the weight off my leg. There wasn't a sound from within. I told myself I would wait until they returned, even if it was late, the medina dark. I would wait.}

^{But as the light filtering down into the narrow street took on a shadowed appearance, and I smelled the odours of cooking meat wafting through the street, I knew I couldn't stand any longer.}

^{Limping heavily, I went back to the hotel for yet another restless night, another night when I was still no closer to finding Etienne than I had been twenty-four hours earlier.}

^{TWENTY TWO}

^{M
y first instinct, upon arising the next morning, was to rush back to Sharia Zitoun. But I was disheartened after yesterday, and also afraid that when I got there I would be met with the same silence. What if Manon had gone somewhere, somewhere I couldn't find her, to avoid speaking to me of Etienne? What if I had missed my chance with her?}

^{What was she hiding?}

^{To distract myself for a few hours, I wandered for a while in the French Quarter. I went into a store selling art supplies, hoping the smell of paint, the feel of a brush, would take my mind from waiting. I thought of the paintings on the walls of the hotel lobby, and remembered the sketch of Mustapha and Aziz I'd done on the
piste.
By the time I walked down Sharia Zitoun it was noon.}

^{Again I steeled myself for silence, but as I came closer I heard Badou's voice from the other side of the gate. Putting my hand on my chest and taking a deep, relieved breath, I knocked, calling his name. He opened it. 'Hello, Mademoiselle O'Shea,' he said, smiling up at me as if pleased to see me. I tried to smile back at him, but my mouth wouldn't do as I bid.}

^{Aszulay was there — again, or still. He came to the doorway. 'Mademoiselle O'Shea. You have returned.' He smiled, much as Badou had.}

^{'Yes. When I came back yesterday, no one answered my knocking or calls.'}

^{He frowned. 'But when I left, shortly before two, Manon said she was expecting you.'}

^{'She wasn't here. I waited a long time.'}

^{'Please. Sit. Manon is resting,' he said. 'Soon we will eat. I wish you to join us.'}