The Saffron Gate (57 page)

^{Mena motioned for me to lie on my stomach, pointing at me, and then herself, and I understood that we were to do this to each other.}

^{My immediate instinct was shyness, to shake my head, and say
la, la, shukran
— no, no, thank you — and yet . . . I didn't. This was the natural order of the
hammam:
the scrubbing and cleaning, the steamy room to relax, and then the massage. I spread my sheet and lay on the warm floor on my stomach, my head on my folded arms in the way of the other women. Mena knelt beside me and immediately began squeezing my shoulders.}

^{I expected to be somehow shocked — or if not shocked, at least uncomfortable — at another woman's hands on my body, but as was becoming so clear to me, in the
hammam
it was all natural.}

^{Again I closed my eyes.}

^{It had been — how long? I mentally calculated — over four months since my body had last been touched: the February morning I had told Etienne about the baby. I tried to remember how Etienne and I had come together, tried to re-create his caresses. With Mena's strong, capable hands massaging my clean, damp back, and then my hips and buttocks through the
fota,
and finally my thighs and calves and feet, I fell into a languorous stupour. I kept thinking of Etienne's hands on me, of his body on mine, letting my imagination create scenes of intimacy.}

^{As Mena touched my shoulder, I knew it was my turn to repay the favour, and opened my eyes, blinking, coming back to the fragrant warmth of the
hammam.}

^{As I knelt beside Mena and slowly rubbed her shoulders, I realised I hadn't been thinking of Etienne at all. The hands, and the body I imagined on mine, all had the faintest hint of blue.}

^{Finally we went back to the dressing area, drying ourselves and putting on our clothes, and then, carrying the pails with our wet scrubbing cloths and sheets, we made our way back to Sharia Soura with Najeeb, as ever, shadowing us.}

^{As we walked silently through the streets, I was more aware of my body, moist and clean and free under my kaftan, than I could ever remember. It was as if every nerve had been awakened, and although my breathing was slow, my heart felt as though it beat a little faster than usual.}

^{I had a sense of well-being I didn't recognise.}

^{I couldn't stop thinking about my unexpected fantasies about Aszulay, arguing that they had only been a reaction to the situation, and the sensuous nature of the
hammam.
That was all it had been.}

^{Nothing more, I tried to convince myself.}

^{I wanted to check on Badou and Falida that afternoon. Taking Najeeb — or perhaps it was the twin brother, as I couldn't tell them apart — I went to Sharia Zitoun. I knocked and called out, smiling, waiting for Falida or Badou.}

^{But it was Manon who pulled open the gate.}

^{I drew in my breath; although I knew she could come back any time, somehow I hadn't expected to see her.}

^{'What do you want?' she asked.}

^{I lifted the basket I carried. 'I brought some food. For Badou,' I said, knowing it was wiser not to mention Falida.}

^{'You don't need to feed my child. I'm quite capable of that,' she said.}

^{'I know. It's only because you were away, and Aszulay . . .' I stopped. I knew I should say as little as possible to Manon about Aszulay. About everything. I couldn't trust what she might say, or do.}

^{'So you and Aszulay are becoming friendly. Is that it?' she asked, staring at me.}

^{I was still standing in the doorway. 'As long as you're home, I won't worry about Badou, then.'}

^{'You have no reason — no right — to worry about my child,' she said. 'Come in. I don't like the neighbours watching everything.'}

^{I glanced around the empty street, then stepped inside. She closed the gate behind me and slid the bolt. 'Where's Badou?' I asked. The courtyard and house were quiet.}

^{'I have sent him and Falida to the souks,' she said. 'What have you brought?'}

^{She took the basket from my hands and lifted the cloth, then took the lid from the pot of couscous with vegetable stew. 'You cook Moroccan food now?' she asked.}

^{'I'll go then, and, as you say, you don't need the food.' I reached for the basket's handle, but she didn't let go.}

^{'Badou has told me you're going to the country with him and Aszulay,' she said, no expression in her voice now. She still held the basket, her hand a few inches from mine. 'Why would you go? There's nothing to see but Berbers and their camels. Dust and filth. You couldn't drag me there.'}

^{I didn't answer.}

^{'You know he has a wife,' she said, with a wily smile, putting her thumb on top of my fingers, pinning them against the basket handle.}

^{I felt a jolt at her words. I thought I had convinced myself he didn't. I hadn't thought of Aszulay with a wife when I fantasised about him in the
hammam,
only hours before.}

^{Manon was lying, as she had lied about Etienne dying.}

^{'Really?' I said. 'I was in his house. I saw no wife.' Although I'd had no intention of telling her I'd been in Aszulay's home, Manon had angered me with the way she said
you know he has a wife,
waiting to see my reaction. As if it should matter to me whether Aszulay was married or not; as if she knew — or suspected — what pictures had been in my head so recently.}

^{Now her smile again disappeared as quickly as it came, and the pressure of her thumb on my fingers grew more intense. 'You went to his house,' she stated.}

^{I looked at her but didn't attempt to move my fingers. 'I didn't see a wife,' I repeated.}

^{'What were you doing there?'}

^{'That's my business.' Suddenly I stood straighter. I saw that I had caused a reaction in
her.
I could match this woman. She couldn't harm me with her words.}

^{'Of course you didn't see her there. She doesn't live in the city.'}

^{What had Aszulay said, exactly? I tried to remember our conversation, when he had invited me to come with him and Badou.
Every few months I visit my family.
I pulled my fingers from under hers. 'And so? What of it if he has a wife?'}

^{'She's a real country girl. So beneath him,' she said, with contempt. 'A nomad simpleton. She stays where she belongs, surrounded by her goats.'}

^{'Oh?' I said, with feigned lack of interest.}

^{'You still want to go to the
bled?
You want to go and watch Aszulay with his wife?'}

^{'Why should it bother me?' I asked, troubled at this game we were playing. She was trying to make me jealous.}

^{Suddenly I didn't want to continue the conversation. Perhaps I wouldn't go to the country with Aszulay now.}

^{But that would mean Manon had won.}

^{Keeping my voice even, I asked, 'Why do you dislike her so?' Of course I knew why she spoke of her like this. It was she who was jealous — of the wife. And of me, because Aszulay had shown me attention.}

^{But she had Olivier. And she had Aszulay, in spite of his wife. Wasn't that enough? How much of Aszulay did Manon want, and need?}

^{I tugged, slightly, on the handle of the basket, and she finally relinquished it. 'I'm going now,' I said, and turned to the gate.}

^{'Oh, please, Sidonie, please wait,' Manon said, in a polite voice I hadn't heard before. 'I meant to give you something. I'll be right back.'}

^{It was too suspicious; Manon had never treated me with any courtesy. But I was curious. She hurried up the stairs, and within a moment came back down, holding something in her hand.}

^{'It's a pen and inkwell,' she said. 'An antique, used by scribes in the past.' She held it towards me. It was an egg-shaped silver container, the sides etched with designs. 'Look. Here's the pen,' she said, pulling on one end of the container, and a long metal implement slid out. Something dark — ink? — gleamed on its tip. She made as if to lay it in my right palm, but somehow its point jammed into my flesh, making a small nick in my skin. Instinctively I jerked away, and a bead of blood rose up on my palm.}

^{'Oh, I'm so sorry,' she said, licking her fingers and putting them to the blood. With her fingers on the cut she murmured a line, very quietly.}

^{I felt a chill. 'What did you say?' I asked, pulling my hand away and rubbing my palm against my
haik.}

^{Her look was intense. 'I just said how clumsy I was,' she answered, but I knew she lied. There was something in her look, something that I could almost call pleased.}

^{I looked at the pen and inkwell she still held. 'I don't want it.' I turned and slid back the bolt of the gate and left without closing it or looking back.}

^{I grew ill during dinner. The husband and sons had been served, and now I sat on cushions at the low table in the sitting room with Mena. Nawar was still in the kitchen, and we were waiting for her. But as I stared at the food on the table it blurred. My hand was aching, and I looked at it. My palm was swollen, the small wound puffy and dark red around the edges.}

^{I wanted to lie down. I tried to get to my feet, pushing with my left hand on the table. Mena looked at me quizzically, then asked me something, but her voice came from far away.}

^{'Sick,' I said in Arabic, unnecessarily, and Mena rose and came to me.}

^{My face was wet with perspiration, and I wiped my forehead with the back of my right hand.}

^{Mena put her hand on my wrist, looking at my palm. She held it for an instant too long. I understood her Arabic question:
what is this?}

^{I was trembling now. What did it matter? I needed to lie down, and tried to pull my hand away, but Mena held it firmly, asking the question again.}

^{How could I explain, with so little Arabic?
Woman,
I said weakly.
Hurt me.}

^{'Sikeen?'
she asked, and I shook my head, not understanding. She picked up a knife from the table with her other hand. '
Sikeen
,' she repeated, and gestured at my palm.}