The Saffron Gate (22 page)

^{'We won't do anything you don't wish to do, Sidonie,' he said. 'That was clumsy of me. Again, I'm sorry.' He removed his hands and turned from me, and it took all my willpower not to step towards him and again put my face to his, and this time tell him not to stop.}

^{Did I not have morals? Of course I did. I knew it would be completely wrong, as a single woman, to take Etienne to my bed. And yet . . . I was twenty-nine. He was the first man who had shown me any attention, who had made me feel that I was beautiful, and desirable. And he forced me into nothing. It was me who made it clear what I wished to happen. It was me who, the next time he came to take me out for dinner, drew him through the open doorway, pressing myself against him, kissing him, pushing his arms from his jacket, pulling him towards my bedroom.}

^{He had stopped me, saying, 'Sidonie, I'm not expecting—'}

^{It was me who put my fingers to his lips, who whispered, 'I know. It's what I want,' and put his hands on my breasts, and then moved his fingers towards the buttons on my dress.}

^{Of course he knew it was the first time for me; even so, I told him, and also told him that I didn't know what to do, and that I wanted him to show me. His body was hard and lean, and his skin, on mine, was heated and smooth.}

^{I felt no fear, no anxiety, just the utter excitement of anticipation, looking up at his face as he held me, his lips so close to mine, murmuring, 'You're sure . . .' and I nodded. He loved me. He would never do anything to hurt me. I felt safe and cared for in a way I had never known.}

^{'Tell me what to do,' I whispered again, putting my hands on his hips, and he showed me.}

^{Later, as I lay with my head on his chest, I wept, and he at first misinterpreted it, stroking my bare shoulder and saying
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Sidonie, I hurt you, I shouldn't have—}

^{But I interrupted him. 'No. You didn't hurt me. I don't know why I'm crying, but it's not regret. It's not guilt. It's . . .' I stopped. 'It's happiness, Etienne. I'm happy. You've made me happy. I don't know what I've done to deserve this happiness. To deserve you.'}

^{He was silent for a moment. 'Sidonie,' he said then, his lips in my hair. 'You're lovely. You're so strong, a woman so sure of herself, able to live as you do. You're curious and confident. But then there's a fragility . . . I wish you could see yourself as I do. Sometimes . . . sometimes
tu me brises le coeur.'}

^{You break my heart.}

^{After he'd left, I looked at myself in the mirror.}

^{Had any woman been as happy as I, as much in love, as at that moment? Was there any man, anywhere, as loving and thoughtful, as sincere, as Etienne Duverger?}

^{Now Etienne and I fell into an easy pattern; over the next months, through the autumn and into December, we spent his free evenings — sometimes once a week, sometimes twice — at my house, or in Albany, eating out or attending concerts and plays or simply walking down a street, looking in the shop windows. He stayed with me for the night, although sometimes he had to leave early, while it was still dark, to go back to his rooms to change for work. He lived in a rooming house — a rather bleak place near the hospital, he told me, but fine for the small amount
of time he spent there.}

^{When I awoke alone, those mornings after we'd been together, I lay for a while in my bed, stroking Cinnabar, feeling an appetite for the world that I'd never before known. I could hardly wait to rise, and was hungry in a physical way I didn't recognise. I'd cook myself a big breakfast of eggs and bacon and toast, drinking three cups of coffee. I put on my father's records and hummed along as I did the dishes. Now the music took on a new meaning, as did the books I read. As did the way the sunshine
came
through the windows, or the way the wind whispered in the trees. Everything I heard, or read, or saw — even my painting — was somehow tied in with my new and unexpected joy.}

^{Of course what Etienne and I had begun wasn't conventional, but then I wasn't a conventional woman, was I? I knew that my behaviour, according to both society and my
own religion, was sinful, and yet somehow I wasn't tortured by guilt. It felt right, and besides, although neither of us spoke of love, or the future, I, knew that Etienne loved me as I did him. A woman knows these things.}

^{I also knew, with calm certainty, that he would propose marriage, and our wedding would follow, and the sin would be reversed. In schoolgirl fashion I wrote my future name on paper I would later burn in the fireplace: Mrs Etienne Duverger. Sidonie Duverger. It had a lovely rhythm.}

^{Our conversations grew ever more interesting to me. I had never before had intellectual discussions; although my father and I had talked at length about the events taking place in the world, we hadn't disputed anything. Had we simply agreed on everything? I couldn't remember. Or perhaps it was that my relationship with Etienne was passionate. And so it was passion that came into our conversations, the same way it arose as soon as we touched each other.}

^{I found a delightful challenge in our debates. His arguments were demanding, but he listened to my outlook with openness and a willingness to accept my points of view. And his expectations of me indicated a shared intelligence I found flattering.}

^{We were sitting side by side on the sofa one December evening at dusk. Cinnabar leapt on to my lap, and I stroked her, absendy running my hand down her back.}

^{'She was born deaf?' he asked, and I nodded.}

^{'I assume so. I've had her since she was a kitten, and she's always been deaf.'}

^{'Hopefully you didn't allow her to mate.'}

^{I looked at him. 'She hasn't. But what do you mean, hopefully?'}

^{'Because of course she shouldn't.'}

^{I stared at him, puzzled.}

^{'Her deafness. It would be wrong to allow her to breed and possibly pass on that trait.' He took another mouthful of his bourbon. He drank it steadily through his evenings with me, although it appeared to have little effect on him. 'She's an aberration, after all. And the problem with an aberration is that if allowed to procreate, it can weaken the species.'}

^{Etienne was particularly fascinated by human genetics, and when he spoke on the topic he grew animated. He could somehow make the study of genes sound intriguing. 'Remember when I told you of Mendel's Unit of Inheritance? That every living organism is made up of half of the paternal genes and half of the maternal?'}

^{'Yes,' I said.}

^{'So it's quite simple. Only the strong, the perfect, should be allowed to create offspring. Think, Sidonie. Think of the possibilities of a world without the weak. Without the sickly, the damaged in mind or body.'}

^{I caught my breath. Did he not realise I was particularly sensitive to this? That I was one of the damaged he spoke of? I looked away from him now. 'But don't you think there can be something attractive in that which has a flaw?'}

^{He knew me too well. 'Sidonie,' he said, touching my chin so that I looked at him again. He was smiling, slightly. 'You had an illness: It's not genetic. And you have been made stronger by it, not weakened. You know you're beautiful to me, in every way.'}

^{He never failed to make me feel precious, and wanted. I leaned my head on his shoulder.}

^{'But your cat,' he went on, his breath, just above my ear, moving my hair, 'is a different situation. With the rule of Intelligent Mating, the best of the species are joined to ensure that the offspring are the strongest and most clever — creating better species through specific breeding. So it's a good thing that when Cinnabar dies she will not have passed on her unfortunate disability.'}

^{I didn't like him talking about Cinnabar like this. 'But I read, in one of the books you lent me . . . I can't remember which,' I said, 'but it was something about surviving. That it's not the strongest of the species who survive, nor die most intelligent, but those most adaptable to change. Don't you agree?'}

^{'No,' he said, at the same time gently brushing my hair from my cheek and kissing my scar. 'But let's not talk of it now,' he murmured.}

^{Although I wanted to argue further, I didn't want him to stop kissing my cheek. 'All right,' I whispered, because now my body ached for him all the time. I knew it might be four or five days before I saw him again. 'All right,' I repeated, turning so that I spoke against his mouth, and pushed Cinnabar from my lap.}

^TWELVE

^{'M
adame? Here is Marrakesh, as you wish,' Aziz said, his voice puzzled. 'You are not happy to come Marrakesh?'}

^{I couldn't speak or look at him. Instead, I stared ahead as we approached the outskirts of the city. Grand rows of date palms lined the road, and groves of them stretched out on either side. Mustapha drove with studied concentration and decision, although, like most of the other drivers, he constantly blew the horn — at nothing I could discern — with what appeared to be a ferocious indignation.}

^{'Where are you going?' I asked him. 'Mustapha? Where are you taking me?' I had given him no instructions, and yet he drove with complete purpose. It gave me a certain comfort, for I had no idea where I might stay in Marrakesh. Since he and Aziz had looked after all the other arrangements, I could only hope they would do the same for me here.}

^{'Aziz?' I said, when Mustapha ignored me. 'Where are we going?'}

^{'We go French Quarter, madame, La Ville Nouvelle. There are the hotels for foreigners in the new city.'}

^{The long red parapets of the city's walls were made richer by the lowering sun. I had no visual image of Marrakesh in my head, other than knowing that many of its building were built of the deep red-brown soil of the countryside, and that there was the newer city, built by the French — where Etienne had lived — as well as the centuries-old one within the walls. French was the official language spoken in La Ville Nouvelle, while Arabic was, of course, the language of the old city.}

^{There was a profusion of trees: olive, lime, pomegranate, almond and orange. In spite of my trepidation, I couldn't help but see that they gave a beautiful and verdant sense to La Ville Nouvelle, with its wide boulevards and small taxis weaving between donkeys and their carts and high-stepping white horses pulling open-backed carriages. Brilliant fuchsia blooms tumbled over garden walls. Etienne had told me that a subterranean network of conduits and cisterns had been constructed centuries earlier, as the city was being founded as an important base for controlling the region and for trade routes connecting it to northern Morocco and on to Spain.}

^{I stared at the trees and flowers, afraid that if I looked at the faces of the people, I might suddenly see Etienne. I knew it was rather ridiculous, imagining I would see him within moments of arriving, but still, my heart wouldn't stop racing.}

^{Mustapha stopped the car in front of an impressive, elegant hotel surrounded by tall, swaying palms.
Hôtel de la Palmeraie,
I read, the discreet lettering etched into the stone overhang of the wide double front doors. The hotel gave the impression of lovely Moorish design, and yet, similar to the Hotel Continental in Tangier, it was somehow European as well. A dark-skinned man in a pressed red jacket with gold braid and a red fez with a golden tassel stood at attention outside the doors.}