Read The Saffron Gate Online

Authors: Linda Holeman

Tags: #Fiction - Historical, #Romance & Love Stories, #1930s, #New York, #Africa

The Saffron Gate (44 page)

BOOK: The Saffron Gate
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Perhaps he read something, some small and subtle thing, in my expression. He then added, so casually and yet with such weight, in the way of a child who knows too much of the world, too early, 'Dead?'
There was only one way to respond to a child like Badou. I nodded, slowly. 'Yes. They are all dead.'
Badou came to me then, climbing on to my lap as I had seen him do with his mother and with Aszulay. On his knees, he laid his cheek against mine. I felt the heat of his skin, smelled the dust in his thick hair. I absently thought that he needed a bath.
I couldn't speak, but simply put my arms around his small back. I moved my fingers to feel his ribs, and then the faint bumps of his vertebrae. At my touch he relaxed into my lap, so easily. The yellow pup settled at my feet, lying on its side on the smooth, warm stones. Its pink tongue protruded slightly, and its one visible eye twitched to repel the flies. Falida continued her languid sweeping, the sound of the soft broom a rhythmic lull. We sat in the dappled light of the courtyard, Badou's head under my chin, and waited for Manon to awaken.
Eventually Manon called for Falida, her voice hoarse and querulous through an open upstairs window. Falida went up the stairs, but returned in a moment, going into the house. Badou stayed on my lap.
In another few moments footsteps came down the courtyard steps; I braced myself, ready to face Manon.
But it wasn't Manon. A man, his dark blond hair roughly smoothed across his forehead and his face shadowed by the night's whiskers, looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He was quite handsome, and wore a well-cut, although rumpled suit of cream linen, and carried his wide-brimmed hat.
'Oh. Madame,' he said, stopping halfway down the stairs. 'Good day.'
'Good day,' I responded.
'Manon is waiting for her morning tea. I don't think she's aware she has a visitor,' he said. 'Shall I tell—'
'No,' I interrupted. Too many things were swirling through my head. This man had obviously spent the night here. Was he her husband, then? No. He couldn't be, could he? I glanced at Badou; as the man had come down the stairs, Badou had jumped off my lap and was now pointedly petting the dog, his back to the man. And what of Aszulay? 'I'll wait here for her,' I said.
'As you wish,' he said, bowing slightly at the waist, and then left the courtyard. He had completely ignored Badou.
As the gate closed behind him, I wondered where Badou and Falida slept at night, wondered what they were subjected to.
Badou ran upstairs. I heard his high, clear little voice telling his mother I was in the courtyard.
'What does she want?' Manon responded, her voice cranky.
'I don't know, Maman,' he said. 'Maman, her papa and mama, her children, they're all dead.'
There was rustling. 'She doesn't deserve a family,' Manon said, shocking me, not only because of her open resentment towards me, but because it was a terrible thing to say to a child.
I thought of the sweet curve of Badou's head as he leaned against me. 'Manon!' I called, rising from the edge of the fountain before she could say anything more to him. 'I must speak to you.'
'You will wait until I'm ready,' she said, in the same irritable voice she had used with both Falida and Badou. Again, I had no choice but to sit down again, and wait until she appeared at the top of the stairs.
Finally she descended slowly, as if she had all the time in the world. She wore only a loose, almost diaphanous kaftan; I could clearly see the slender and yet curvaceous outline of her body through it as the light touched her. Her breasts were still high and firm. Her hair was uncombed, and her kohl smeared around her eyes. Her lips were puffy, as though slightly bruised.
As I watched her come down the stairs in such an imperious manner, with such studied nonchalance, I wanted to rush at her, to push her, hard, so that she fell down the steps, to pull her hair, to slap heir. I wanted to shout at her that she was a liar, and a deceitful person not worthy of her beautiful little son, her gracious home. Not worthy of her lover — her other lover — Aszulay, who had such a presence, who treated her and Badou with such consideration and loyalty. Did he know she deceived him as well as me, although in a different way?
But I didn't do or say anything. I stayed on the edge of the fountain, my hands gripping each other, my mouth a tight line.
She seated herself on the daybed, and once more called, sharply, to Falida, and the girl hurried out, carrying a tray with a teapot and one glass, rounds of bread and a bowl of something that looked like dark jam. She set it on the low table. Badou, moving almost stealthily, had come down the steps and now sat beside his mother.
'Did you see my man, Sidonie? The charming Olivier? Quite something, isn't he?'
I didn't respond, staring at her. What did she want of me? To agree with her on the qualities of yet another lover?
'You look poorly, Sidonie,' Manon said now, as if it pleased her. 'Pale, and shaken. Not well at all. 'There was the hint of a smile on her lips. She first took a sip of tea, then spread a spoonful of the fruity substance on the bread and bit into it.
I had absolutely no expectation that she would offer me anything. But she didn't offer anything to her son, either. He watched as his mother ate and drank.
'How do you expect me to appear, after what you told me?' I didn't attempt to keep the anger from my voice. 'Manon. Did you think I wouldn't find out about your lie? That I would simply believe you, and quietly pack my bags and leave Marrakesh, like a beaten dog?' Of course that was what I would have done, had Aszulay not told me the truth. 'What kind of cruel game were you playing with me? And why?'
Manon's mouth worked at the bread and jam. She swallowed. 'I have had many things to survive in my life. Many things,' she repeated. 'My level of unhappiness far surpasses anything you might ever feel.' She lifted her chin as if daring me to argue, then glanced at Badou. 'Go away,' she told him.
I shook my head impatiently, still gripping my hands so I wouldn't rush at her and strike her across the face. I had never hit anyone in my life. But I wanted to, so badly, at that moment. Badou crossed the courtyard and went out the gate, making kissing sounds to call the pup.
'Whatever you've had to deal with, Manon, has nothing to do with this. There is no reason imaginable for you to lie in such a terrible way. Why couldn't you have simply told me he wasn't here, when I first came to you asking about him? What twisted pleasure did you get from seeing me so . . .' I stopped. I didn't want to think of her expression as she watched me cry out, fall, when she told me Etienne was dead.
Manon lazily lifted one shoulder. 'Etienne would not have married you, you know.' she said. 'He would never have married you,' she repeated. 'So I thought it easier that you believed him dead. Then you would have no reason to hope any further. You would go home and put your silly dreams out of your head.'
She didn't fool me. She would never have thought of making it easier for me, of doing what she did out of perverted kindness.
'How do you know he wouldn't marry me? How do you know what your brother felt for me, or what he would have done?' I knew he hadn't discussed me with her, or she would have known who I was when I first came to her door.
I thought, for one moment, that I would tell her about the child, then dismissed the idea.
'Etienne is too selfish to marry anyone,' she said.
'You don't know that. You didn't see him with me.'
'I didn't have to. I know him all too well, Sidonie.'
'You only know him as a brother. You can't see some things when you're tied by blood to a person. Brother and sister is not the same as the relationship between man and woman,' I countered, and as I spoke something shifted in Manon's face, something very small and slippery.
'Plus he would not marry because he would not wish to father a child,' she said, and I saw it again, that distinctly goading look.
I swallowed, glad I hadn't mentioned my pregnancy. 'Why do you say that?'
Now she sat back and smiled. There was a tiny blob of the red jam in the corner of her mouth; she licked it off. Her tongue was very pink, and pointed.
'Majoun,'
she said, leaning forward again and taking another spoonful from the bowl. 'Do you like
majoun,
Sidonie?' she asked, the spoon in mid-air.
'I don't know what it is, and I don't care,' I said.
'Sometimes the smoke from
kif
hurts my throat. This is better, the cannabis cooked with fruit and sugar and spices,' she said, eating the spoonful without even bothering to put it on bread. 'I give it to Badou, to make him sleep. When I need him to sleep,' she added, and I thought of her entertaining the man the night before.
I was so sickened by her that I stood. 'I came here today hoping, in some small way, that you would give me the truth about how to find Etienne. And that perhaps I would also uncover the reason for your behaviour towards me,' I said. 'I should have known there's no explanation. You're simply a malicious and spiteful woman.'
'You think I care about your opinion?' She made a sound like a laugh. 'You don't know what life has given me, you with your easy existence, your house and garden, painting as a hobby to pass the time, playing with your old cat. All your life you've done only what you wanted.' The
majoun
was gone: Manon lifted the bowl and, looking at me over its rim, delicately licked out the last traces of the hashish jam with that small, pointed tongue.
I stared at her. She didn't know I had a garden, or a cat. I hadn't told her those things. I had briefly spoken to Aszulay about my garden, but Cinnabar . . . I had never mentioned her.
'When you know what life is really about — when you have actually lived outside of your small, safe circle — then you may question my behaviour.' She rose, facing me. 'I lied to you because I can. Because it gave me pleasure to see you cry out, to see you so weak. You and Etienne made a good pair. He's weak, like you. He didn't even tell you, did he, about his illness.' It was a statement, not a question.
'His illness?'
But it had been his father who had been so ill.
She laughed, a loud, merry laugh. 'Etienne was too weak to tell you the truth, and also too shamed to let you see him as he really is. Only I know the depth of his faults. I am the only
one who has seen him at his lowest.'
'What illness?' I repeated.
Manon sat again, pouring herself another glass of tea and then leaning back and languidly crossing one leg over the other. She drank her tea in one long, fluid swallow, and then called out in Arabic. Falida appeared with the
sheesha
and set it on the floor in front of Manon. She fussed with it, opening it, pulling out a flint and lighting a plug of tobacco, then fitting the
sheesha
together and handing the mouthpiece to Manon.
BOOK: The Saffron Gate
3.79Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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