The Saffron Gate (46 page)

^{I couldn't let her see how her words were affecting me. I looked into her eyes, keeping my face still.}

^{'You wanted Etienne to marry you, and so you lied to trap him. But the trap caught you. Because of your lie, you lost him. He came here because I wanted him to. Unlike you, I could get Etienne to do my bidding. But you had driven him away anyway. The only sure way for the
djinns
to die, he told me when he came,' she stopped again, delicately stroking one eyebrow with her middle finger before continuing, 'was for those possessing them to never procreate. Within a generation it would have disappeared.
Just one generation, Manon,
he told me. That's all it would take.'}

^{Light fell in soft shafts through the leaves, shimmering across Manon's face, making it look as though waves passed over it. Her pupils were huge, perhaps an effect of
kif
or
majoun.}

^{Suddenly the gate banged open, and Falida came through, carrying a woven bag in each hand, the handle of a third bag looped around her neck so it hung on her back. Its weight caused her to walk bent almost in two.}

^{Manon went to her and grabbed one of the bags. She looked inside, scrabbling through it, questioning Falida in Arabic. Falida's voice was weak, fearful, and then Manon struck her on the side of the head. Falida fell. I heard the heavy thump of her elbow and hip hitting the tiles. Oranges spilled from the bag on her back, olives from another. Badou ran to pick up the oranges, cupping them in the bottom of his djellaba.}

^{Falida didn't cry. She took the bag from around her neck and then gathered the olives, wrapping them back in their paper. An orange rolled towards my foot. I picked it up.}

^{Manon returned to me as if the small, miserable scene hadn't occurred. 'So, Sidonie, in essence . . .' I looked away from the children, and back at her, 'it is you who pushed Etienne away when he thought you would produce a child who might carry the
djinns.
Because he realised he was a hypocrite.'}

^{I pressed the dimpled skin of the orange over and over, thinking about Etienne's face when he learned I was pregnant. About his expression, which I had presumed to be simply shock, but now, with Manon's confident words, thought, suddenly, could have been panic.}

^{I thought of the child we had created, half me and half him. I tried to swallow, but my mouth and throat now felt cloaked in wool. Etienne knew there was a chance that he had passed on the gene, as his father had to him. He had seen the child we had created as possibly one of nature's aberrations, a mistake.}

^{'You were just a diversion, a plaything for a short time,' Manon said now. 'He had no intentions of anything serious. He told me this himself.'}

^{I had to compose myself for a moment. I looked again at Badou, still helping Falida gather the spilled food. He glanced back at me and then came and took the orange from my hand.}

^{'Etienne made a choice to be with me,' I said, 'and the . . . result was unforeseen by both of us. There
was
a baby, Manon. And I lost it — before arriving in Tangier.' I didn't care if she believed me or not. 'If he had felt so strongly about this, about not procreating, he wouldn't have been with me. Nobody forced him.' I hated the way my voice faltered on the last sentence.}

^{She waved one hand dismissively in the air. 'He was a man, Sidonie. He grew lonely for a woman, and acted on impulse. He had planned to have the procedure he said was the answer — the sterilisation — when he finished his year at the hospital in America. But he grew impatient. And he knew you were a safe bet, naïve and inexperienced. You wouldn't cause trouble.'}

^{But Etienne was not the kind of man she described. He had loved me, and wanted me. 'I don't believe you. You can't say this kind of thing to me.'}

^{Manon watched me, her face now blank. 'I can say whatever I wish, Sidonie. I can say whatever I wish,' she repeated.}

^{We stood, facing each other. The children took the bags and disappeared into the house. There seemed nothing more to say.}

^{I returned to Hôtel de la Pameraie. I stood at my window, looking at the High Atlas mountains against the blue sky. I heard the noon call from the minarets in the medina, and smelled the fragrance of the jacaranda, the lilacs.}

^{I tried to remember the smell of Etienne’s skin, his rare, slow smile. I tried to bring back memories, memories of us talking, eating, falling asleep, waking up together. But I could only think of the look on his face as I’d told him about the baby, and how he’d suddenly become a stranger.}

^{I knew I couldn’t count on Manon for any truths. Etienne was protecting me. I needed to tell him I was strong enough; I could live with his disease. I would marry him, and stay at his side. He could put his fears to rest.}

^{There was no reason to return to Sharia Zitoun. I was done with Manon. She would only continue to lie and confuse me. She wouldn't tell me anything about Etienne's return. There was only one other person in Marrakesh who could help me now.}

^{I took a
calèche
to Le Jardin Majorelle. I hoped I would find Aszulay working there. If not, I could ask Monsieur Majorelle when he would come next. I saw three men in white clothing, digging in one of the flowerbeds close to the entrance.}

^{'Pardonnez-moi
,'
I called, hearing desperation in my own voice. All three men straightened. The middle one was Aszulay.}

^{'Aszulay,' I said with relief, as though I had been searching for him for years. 'Aszulay,' I repeated, going closer. I knew my voice was too loud, but I seemed unable to speak quietly. 'Please. May I talk to you? It's about Etienne. I . . . I need . . .' I stopped, closing my mouth. What did I need?}

^{The other two men watched as Aszulay stepped over the piles of red earth and came towards me. 'Please, Mademoiselle O'Shea,' he said, 'go and sit there, in the shade. I'll finish here soon. Wait for me,' he repeated.}

^{After some time, he left his shovel standing in a pile of earth, and came to me.}

^{I stood. 'I need to ask you—'}

^{But he interrupted by raising one hand. 'Please. We won't talk here.'}

^{I realised I had acted inappropriately, coming to his place of work.}

^{'I can leave, but I must return before too long. Come. We'll go to my house.'}

^{I nodded numbly, following him through the garden and into the street. I didn't question going to his home.}

^{'You can't walk far in the heat,' he said to me, looking at my face.}

^{Again I simply nodded. He hailed a
calèche
and we climbed in. I stared at my shoes as we rocked and swayed, only looking up when I felt the
calèche
stop. Aszulay climbed down and took my hand to help me step out.}

^{We walked into the medina, but didn't pass through D'jemma el Fna; obviously there were other entrances to the old city. I didn't know where we went, or how far through the narrow alleys. Finally Aszulay pulled a large key from within his robe and opened a blue gate. His hands were covered in red mud. I looked at his face; there were streaks of mud along his neck and jaw. His white clothing — the robe and loose cotton pants and turban Monsieur Majorelle must have insisted all his gardeners wore in the garden — was also covered in a fine dusting of the red earth.}

^{'I'm sorry for taking you from your work,' I said. 'But Aszulay . . . Aszulay, I need to talk to somebody about Etienne. I need you to tell me what you know. Manon says . . .' I stopped. I didn't want to talk about my baby. Did he already know?}

^{A man passed the gate, staring openly at me. Aszulay motioned with his head. 'Come inside,'}

^{Again I followed him; I noticed only that we walked through a courtyard. When he stopped, I stopped. He stepped out of his
babouches
and gestured at an open doorway. I hesitated, now knowing it was ill-mannered to leave one's shoes on when inside someone's home. And yet. . . I glanced down at my shoes, thinking of the time it would take to undo them, of hobbling across the room without my built-up sole.}

^{'Please,' he said, and by the way he put out his hand, indicating I was to enter, I knew he didn't expect me to remove my shoes. Once inside, he gestured at a daybed, and I sat on its edge. He disappeared, and I closed my eyes and put my face into my hands.}

^{After a few moments I heard the whisper of fabric, and looked up to see an elderly woman carrying a tray with a teapot and two glasses. She set down the tray and poured one glass, handing it to me.}

^{I took it, saying
shukran,
then set it on the table. The woman poured another glass and put it on the table beside mine, and left.}

^{I stared at the two glasses of tea for an unidentifiable length of time. And then Aszulay appeared; he still wore his work clothes, but he had washed his hands and face and taken off his turban. One bead of water clung to his left earlobe like a diamond; his hair was damp and curling along his collar.}

^{'What is it you need to know about Etienne?' he asked, picking up his tea.}

^{'When you came to the hotel, when I thought . . . when Manon lied to me . . . you said we would talk about him again. I must have some answers now.'}

^{Aszulay looked into my face, his long fingers wrapped around the glass.}

^{'I was his . . . we were to be married.' It was suddenly difficult to say this with Aszulay's intense blue eyes looking into mine. 'He left America so unexpectedly.' I didn't say
he left me,
and yet I imagined Aszulay would hear the unspoken words, and I fought not to lower my gaze. 'His abrupt departure . . . we didn't have a chance to speak of . . . of important things. I came here to find him, to try and understand . . .' My voice kept faltering. Why, in front of this man, was I feeling humiliated? It was nothing he did; he simply watched me, letting me take my time to tell the part of the story I needed him to know. I took a deep breath to calm myself. 'I have just spoken to Manon again,' I went on. I watched for his face to change as I said his lover's name. But still he didn't react. 'I know more. I know about his illness. Now I believe I know why he left. But I must find him, and tell him . . . it's imperative that I see him again. It's imperative for his future. For our future. I need to know where he is.' Still Aszulay studied me. I couldn't read his expression, but it was slightly distant, as if he was debating with himself.}

^{'I know you can tell me more than Manon will. It's clear she's keeping things from me.'}

^{Aszulay hadn't taken a drink, but he still held his glass, small in his large hand. 'Manon's secrets are hers,' he said. 'I have little more to tell you, apart from Etienne’s behaviour when he was here. The behaviour I witnessed.'}