Beer in the Snooker Club (19 page)

He murmured appropriate condolences.

‘Je me demande
,
’
she told my aunt, ‘how he can live in that village all the time.’

‘Thank God he remained a fellah,’ my aunt said. ‘Can you see me dealing with those people there?’

‘You must come to Cairo more often,’ Marie said, raising her voice somewhat as is the habit with people who think the other person doesn’t speak the language.

He thanked her profusely.

I left them and went to bed. I lay on my back with my hands joined beneath my head. I had reached an impasse again; a cul-de-sac. Again I didn’t know what to do with myself. Seeing Edna again after such a long time; and now that scar of hers. I sighed.

Our love had always been mingled with politics. From
the very day I had met her at my aunt’s, politics had something to do with our love.
Un amour
, like literature,
engagé
. I laughed.

Two hours later, when my aunt had left, the Pasha came into my room. I pretended to be asleep.

‘Come, come, you rascal, you are not asleep.’

I snored.

‘Look, look what I have.’

I didn’t move. I heard him fumbling with papers in his pocket.

‘Ahem,’ he said, ‘would you like to see …’

I sprang out of bed and snatched an envelope from his hand.

‘Ram—Ram. No, no. Be fair, be honest.’

‘So, you swine,’ I said. ‘Kah kah kah,’ I cackled like a hen. ‘You are going to spend a nice quiet evening with your sisters, you are.’

‘No, no, no, Ram. First give me back that envelope.’ He tried to snatch it, then sat down panting. I sat on the bed and opened it. They were hundred-pound notes. I counted fifteen.

‘I am not speaking to you,’ I said.

‘My God, what have I done?’

‘Siding with the others.’

‘No, no, no,’ he said. ‘Just for form; just for form. Do you think I understand those foreign words they use? First give me back the money.’

‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘I am not taking you out tonight.’

‘Is this the way you treat your Uncle Amis? – your poor Uncle Amis who hasn’t been to town for a whole year? Is
this the way? Your Uncle Amis who paid four hundred pounds for you which you lost gambling?’

‘What?’

‘I swear by the Virgin Mary; I paid it for you. Here, look.’ He took a receipt from his wallet and gave it to me, snatching the money from my hand as he did so.

Six months earlier I had lost four hundred pounds playing baccarat and had given an I.O.U.

‘You’re a king, you are,’ I told him. ‘You’ll have a wonderful time tonight. Don’t worry. My sweet fellah of an uncle. The nectar of the Gods you are … if only you’d treat the fellah a little better …’

‘Na na na na,’ he said. ‘Ram, don’t start with all this nonsense.’

‘All right,’ I said.

‘Come now,’ he said, pulling me from the bed. ‘To the telephone.’

‘First tell me what you want.’

‘First,’ he said, ‘a game of poker until the evening. Then … where is the place with the red-headed belly-dancer? And then …’

I went to the telephone.

‘Jameel? Uncle Amis is in town.’

‘Amuse-le
,
le pauvre
,
’
my mother said as we left.

I felt terrible when I awoke in the morning. I was sleeping in the sitting-room because my uncle occupied my room. We had smoked hashish the night before, and the memory of our vulgar orgy at the snooker club gave me nausea. He had spent six hundred pounds, my uncle. The red-headed dancer, three of her troupe and her flautist had been brought
to the snooker club. Omar and Yehia had also been there. Ellena, too, and the other two prostitutes. I gave an involuntary groan. Font had started to cry suddenly amidst this dissipation, and to keep him company, Ellena had cried too. My uncle had collapsed at about three o’clock and Jameel ran into a lamp-post driving us home. The seven of us carried my uncle up to bed.

I opened my eyes. My mother was sitting darning my socks. She wears glasses when she does that; and when she wears glasses her appearance is completely transformed. As though in harmony with her appearance, which is intelligent and intent, she becomes more reflective and quiet.

‘Tu souffres?’
she asked.

‘A bit of a headache and a thick head. It was terrible yesterday. Your brother is horribly vulgar.’

‘What do you expect? Still a bachelor at his age and he only comes to town once a year. Besides, he never had our education.’

‘No,’ I sighed.

‘Have a cup of coffee. There is some warm croissant, too.’ She poured me a cup and gave me a croissant. Very rarely, we arrive at a son-mother intimacy, and when it happens, it is always in the morning when I wake up.

‘Don’t smoke yet. Eat something first.’

‘All right,’ I said.

She went on with her darning.

‘Dr Hamza telephoned twice yesterday,’ she said.

‘Yes?’

‘
ll est très aristocrate, cet homme; tiens
, he’s the uncle of Didi Nackla.
Elle est adorable, cette fille
. Mounir will be very happy with her. She is also very lucky to get him.’

‘Are they going to get married, then?’ It surprised me. Mounir was not Didi’s type.

‘Yes. Your aunt is arranging everything.
Ça sera un couple charmant
.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘She was in England, wasn’t she?’

‘For a while,’ I said.

‘Did you often see her?’

‘She lived with us.’

‘
Pas possible!
You never told me about that.’

‘No,’ I said.

‘
Comment?
She lived with you and Font?’

‘And Edna,’ I said.

‘It must have been wonderful, Ram. Don’t think I don’t realize it must be hard for you being poor.’ She sighed.
Les beaux voyages
, she continued, which she used to make every year. Dancing the Charleston the whole night. And then Paris, Josephine Baker, Maurice Chevalier, even Maxim’s, Ram dear. The best hotels only.
Tout le monde me faisaient la cour
. And now …

‘I wonder why he telephoned?’ she asked after a while.

‘Who?’

‘Dr Hamza.’

‘Probably something to do with Jameel,’ I said. ‘Levy is giving him Arabic lessons.’

‘A propos
,
’
my mother said; ‘your aunt wants Levy to brush up Mounir’s Arabic. You must give me his address. It was terrible what you did, darling. Why did you push him in the water?
Il a toujours été très correct envers toi
.’

‘Please, Mummy; let’s not start this thing all over again It was an accident.’

She sighed. ‘I don’t know why you are behaving so strangely all the time. I suppose you need a wife. I’ll have to go and live with my sister when you are married.’

‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘I’ll never leave you. If I marry, you shall live with me.’

‘Oh, that’s what they all say. When you have a pretty wife all of your own, you won’t want an old hag like myself hanging about.’

‘You’re not an old hag,’ I said. ‘You are still very attractive and I love you very much.’

‘What do you want for lunch, dear?’

I wanted to smoke, but if I did that, it meant having to get up and go to the bathroom because that’s the effect the first cigarette of the day has on me.

‘Who do you think would marry me?’ I asked.

‘That won’t be difficult,’ she said. ‘
Après tout
, we still belong to one of the best families in Egypt.’

‘Vicky Doss,’ I said, ‘would accept me, I hear.’

‘She hasn’t got a penny.’

‘Neither have I.’

She sighed and continued with her work.

‘Mummy?’

‘What is it, dear?’

‘Mummy, what do you think of Edna Salva?’

She didn’t answer.

‘Well?’

‘You might as well know, people say she took you to London as her gigolo.’

‘It’s not true,’ I said.

‘I know.
Mais les gens parlent, tu sais
.’

‘Would you like me to marry her?’

She put the socks down and said she didn’t care whom I married as long as she knew I was happy. She knew, she said, that Edna had been my girl friend. But, she said, marrying a Jewess
‘ce n’ est pas très pratique en ce moment’
, but if I loved her and if that was the reason why I was behaving the way I did, I might as well marry her. If she would accept me, that is; because they were multi-millionaires. She was also older than me, my mother said. Suddenly she told me to marry for love and started weeping.

The telephone rang. My mother took her glasses off and her usual look returned.

‘
C’est
Dr Hamza,’ she whispered. ‘Be very polite.’ She brought me the telephone and stood expectantly by.

‘Ram,’ he shouted.

‘Yes?’

‘What have you done with the last set of pictures?’

‘I have,’ I said, ‘made copies and sent them to all the newspaper editors.’

‘Who gave you permission to do such a thing?’

‘Nobody,’ I said.

‘You are an irresponsible child,’ he shouted. ‘You are not only endangering yourself, but everyone else connected with this business. Burn everything you have. Don’t come to my office any more.’ He hung up.

‘What does he want?’ my mother asked.

‘Nothing,’ I said.

‘I heard what he said, Ram. You are connected with politics. I knew it,’ she screamed. ‘
C’est la fin
. You will kill us all.
Mon dieu. Mon dieu …
’

I calmed her down, then went into the bathroom. I lay on the floor and reached with my hand under the bath-tub.
I reached for a loose tile and pulled from underneath it a large brown envelope. I placed it in the sink and set light to it. I replaced the tile, cleaned everything, then started dressing.

I knocked at Edna’s door. Once, in London, when we had been particularly close, she had said that if we were to part for ever, she would cut her hair because she could not bear to know that I would not comb it for her any more. I too, I had said, could not bear to think that anyone else would comb her hair.

‘Come in, Ram.’ She recognized my knock. She was sitting at her desk writing a letter, a cigarette in her hand and a cup of Turkish coffee beside her paper. She was going to get up but I told her to go on writing. I pulled a chair and sat behind her.

‘Writing a letter?’ I asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Do you have a large family, Edna?’

‘I am my parents’ only child, you know that. But the family is very large.’

‘Where are they all living?’

‘All over the world, Ram. All the Salvas of Germany and the Baltic countries are now mostly in South Africa, Rhodesia … around there. Then I have cousins and aunts in England, France, North America. All over the world, Ram.’

‘And in Israel too?’

She shook her head. ‘Some young ones from France and England are there. But more as tourists than anything else.’

‘Are they all so very rich?’

‘There are Salva shops all over the world. You know how we Jews are. We like to employ Jews, and better still, those belonging to the family. We also help each other a tremendous amount.’

‘Edna, why are you living in this quarter?’

‘Our house is
séquestré
, Ram, as well as our shops here. I like the district and I haven’t made plans for the future yet.’

‘What are your plans, Edna?’

She didn’t answer.

‘Edna, don’t you want to get married and have children of your own and have them jump up on your knees and look at you with large eyes and ask you if they may have another ice?’

She smiled.

‘And to have a husband who will place the children in convenient places on the floor; fix the automatic camera and rush back to put his hand on your shoulder for the family portrait?’

‘You’re sweet, Ram.’

‘And then,’ I said, ‘when the camera has clicked, it is one of those new things which develop and print the film all at once, you will see that I have made a grimace and we shall both …’

‘You, Ram?’

‘Yes, me.’ I looked at the nape of her neck. Her two plaits had been rolled up and stuck on either side of her head, covering her ears. Her neck is slender and pale, with a concave line running down the middle of her nape, like a girl of twelve.

‘It will never be, Ram.’

‘If you only gave me a reason,’ I said. ‘There are hundreds. One would do. Or just say you don’t love me.’

‘I do love you,’ she whispered.

I put my hands on the back of the chair and stared at her in silence. ‘When you went away from London that first time and didn’t write for a year, I used to walk the
streets at night, wondering what happiness and the fulfilment of life really is. Perhaps it is only my personal opinion, perhaps it is because you have engendered that feeling in me; but happiness, to me, is the freedom of two people who love each other to share their lives in circumstances permitting this love to live. When I hear of downtrodden people, of concentration camps, of wars, of hunger, of imprisonment, I always think of two people separated in these circumstances. I know that people can’t continue to love if they have to share a room with their children, or are diseased or are dirty or are hungry. In spite of your idealism, generosity, kindness, I consider you cruel. You are cruel when you say you love me, and yet insist on living separated from me. If you didn’t love me, it would be another …’

‘Please, Ram. Stop it.’

‘Is there nothing, nothing at all I can do?’

She shook her head.

A man can sometimes run a marathon race over a fantastic distance, and when the race is ended, he collapses, exhausted, just as though he had measured his capacity to that very last inch.

I stretched my hand and touched her rolled plait. Suddenly I jumped up and stood with my hand outstretched, as though terribly stung. The plait fell from my hand to the floor, unrolling itself and looking at me desperately. She had cut her hair.

I had reached that last inch.

I was sitting on her bed, and she was by my side, holding my hand. The reason why she would never discuss marriage, was because she was already married. It was like asking the
marathon racer, the collapsing marathon racer, to race again.