The Saffron Gate (17 page)

^NINE

^{T
he
bled
went on in a great emptiness, and yet I began to find beauty in the late afternoon sun on the parched earth, the rocks, the sudden stands of scrubby palmetto palms. Eventually I forgot about my stomach, and told myself to stop worrying about the night ahead, as there was nothing I could do about it.}

^{Instead, I concentrated on looking more intently at what I had thought was empty land, realising I was actually seeing things where I thought there had been nothing.}

^{A few times another wreck of a car drove by us; one of us had to idle, slightly off the
piste,
to allow the other to pass. The other cars were always driven by Arabs, and Mustapha and Aziz waved and called loudly to the drivers, who responded in the same way. I didn't know whether the men knew each other or this was simply the way of the
piste
in Morocco.}

^{I was staring at a white rise in the distance, which I knew, from Aziz pointing out others previously, was a saint's tomb where the nomads stopped for prayer — and where Aziz had offered to take me to pray for a husband. These occasional tombs broke up the monotony of the desolate stretches of now red earth and stony ground reaching out on all sides of us.}

^{When we suddenly dipped lower and I lost sight of the bit of white ahead, the car hit a hole and bounced to the left. Mustapha yelled, turning the wheel, but the car slid off the
piste
and into a deep rut of sand.}

^{The engine roared as Mustapha tried to drive out of the sand. Then both men got out of the car, walking around it and arguing with each other in Arabic. Mustapha motioned for me to get out as well, and he got back behind the wheel. I stood to one side as Mustapha stepped on the gas and Aziz pushed from behind. He shouted at Mustapha, and Mustapha turned off the engine. They took out my cases, and then repeated the process. The tyres spun in the sand, digging deeper. I went to the back of the car, putting my hands on the Citroën beside Aziz's and pushing while the car roared again, spitting sand and dust into my eyes and ears. I could taste it on my tongue. I closed my eyes and turned my face to one side. Still the car didn't move. Mustapha, leaving it running, came and stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the situation. Then he reached into the car, drew out the mouldering djellaba and tore it down the middle. He placed a piece under each front wheel, again spoke to Aziz, and the two men exchanged places.}

^{It was the same as before. Even the added traction of the cloth was of no use. Aziz turned off the engine and came and stood beside us. 'We need more push,' he said.}

^{I licked my lips. 'I'll drive, and you both push,' I said.}

^{They stared at me.}

^{'All right? 'I asked.}

^{Mustapha shook his head and spoke one long angry phrase to Aziz.}

^{'My cousin is afraid of the woman drive car,' Aziz said. 'She will take away the
baraka.'}

^{'I can drive,' I said. 'I have driven a car. In America.'}

^{Aziz spoke to Mustapha in an argumentative tone. Finally Mustapha threw up his hands and walked away, muttering. He walked in a tighter and tighter circle in the scrubby dirt for a few moments, then came back and stared at me.}

^{'Fine you drive. Go,' he said, and I got in behind the steering wheel. I put my hands on it, and then turned the key, slowly pressing on the gas and clutch. I closed my eyes for a moment at the unexpected pleasure it brought to just hold the steering wheel and feel the car fumble under me. I thought of the Silver Ghost. It spite of the tragic outcome of the accident, the car itself had suffered very little damage. Once its broken windows were replaced and the dents and scratches smoothed and repainted, I had Mr Barlow sell it for me. I never wanted to see it again.}

^{It had fetched a surprisingly large sum of money. When Mr Barlow handed the thick envelope of bills to me I shook my head. 'I don't want it,' I said, looking at the envelope as though it contained something poisonous. I felt the money was dirty,
was
poison. 'You can keep it, for the rent,' I told him, but he shook his head.}

^{'Come now, Sidonie, you're not thinking straight. You've got to plan for the future,' he said, and left it on the kitchen table.}

^{I had made a wide berth around the table for the next two days, as if the envelope of bills was some live thing that might jump up and bite me if I came too close. But finally I had taken the envelope and hid it in the back of my closet, relieved that I no longer had to look at it and think about what it represented.}

^{It was only when the banks crashed, a few months later, in October of that year, that I thought about the money, safe behind my hatbox.}

^{And now it was that money, added to what had been left in my bank account, that was financing this journey.}

^{'Go, madame,' Aziz cried, and I shifted the clutch into first gear, the car rocking under me in rhythmic bursts of the engine roar. In a moment the front tyres caught, just the slightest, and inched forward. I pressed harder on the gas. I could hear the grunts and groans of Mustapha and Aziz as they pushed with all their might. And then the front wheels made contact with a patch of pebbly sand and suddenly there was a lurch and the car sprang ahead. I pressed the pedal almost to the floor, quickly shifting it into second gear and steering it back on to the firm
piste.
I meant to step on the brake and shift back to neutral, but I didn't. Instead, I kept going. I don't know why, except that it was as though a force greater than my own was keeping my hands on the wheel, my foot on the gas. I drove on. Behind me I could hear the panicked shouts of the two men. I didn't glance in the cracked rear-view mirror, but knew Mustapha and Aziz would be chasing me, waving their arms, their mouths black squares of shock. Still I kept going, feeling, somehow, that I was out of my body, although I was aware of the car, rattly and stiff and noisy. It was nothing like the smooth ride and velvety purr of the Silver Ghost, but nonetheless it brought back memories of freedom, of lightness and hope, my own body with its cumbersome gait forgotten. I sped up, slipping into third gear, not willing to relinquish the old joy. The gears and pedals moved cooperatively at my will. I felt as if I could drive for ever. Now I looked into the rear-view mirror, but this time only at my own reflection. I was smiling. When had I last smiled in this unconscious way?}

^{But the sight of my own smiling face, streaked with dust, my hair wild around my head, also brought me back to my senses: what was I doing? I immediately downshifted, and at the next wider stretch on the
piste
put the car in reverse and carefully turned it around. Then I slowly drove back to meet Mustapha and Aziz, who were walking towards me.}

^{When I reached them I stopped and stepped from the car. Both men's faces were covered in sweat and a fine layer of dirt, and Aziz's one eye was twitching.}

^{'You take fine auto,' Mustapha shouted, staring at me with open suspicion. 'You drive
folle
— crazy. You crazy? You thief?'}

^{I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, feeling the grit on my lips. I saw how furious he was. 'I'm sorry,' Mustapha. And Aziz. I'm sorry,' I repeated, seeing, immediately, how I had betrayed their trust in me. 'I wasn't stealing it. I was just . . . driving it.'}

^{'But for why?' Aziz asked, his voice more reasonable than Mustapha's. 'Why you drive away from us?'}

^{'I . . . I don't know,' I said. 'I like to drive. That's all. I like to drive.' I looked from Aziz to Mustapha, and back to Aziz. I hoped my voice and expression showed them how contrite I genuinely felt. 'I really am sorry. It was wrong, I know. But it . . . it felt good.'}

^{Mustapha said something to Aziz, Aziz nodded, turning to me and spreading his hands in front of him. 'Now is problem, madame. Now my cousin says maybe you not crazy thief, but much worse. Maybe you
djinniyya.'}

^'Djinniyya?'

^{'Evil spirit. Woman. Sometime
djinniyya
pretend is beautiful woman. Trick man. Mustapha says you trick him, and steal car.'}

^{I looked at Mustapha. 'Again, I'm so sorry, Mustapha. I'm not a
djinniyya.
I don't want your car. I just want to get to Marrakesh. Please forgive me,' I repeated, as earnestly as possible, not knowing how much he understood. I lowered my gaze then, realising he would be even further angered by a woman with an uncovered face staring at him. I was aware how idiotic my little stunt had been. Perhaps I'd shamed them, or somehow made them lose honour.}

^{Mustapha grunted something to Aziz.}

^{'Mustapha does not like to drive you to Marrakesh any more,' Aziz said.}

^{I licked my lips. 'But . . . we're nowhere,' I said. 'I . . . what will I do? Please, Mustapha,' I said, but he looked at me with such anger that I was frightened. I was completely vulnerable here, entirely a victim to his whims. I could communicate with Aziz more easily.}

^{'Aziz? You understand that I didn't mean to upset Mustapha in this way? Tell him. Explain to him that he can't leave me here.
You
wouldn't leave me here, would you, Aziz?' I instinctively reached my hand to touch his arm, but immediately knew that would be a further mistake, perhaps even an insult, and dropped my hand back to my side.}

^{The men murmured back and forth, and finally, with an angry grunt, Mustapha walked towards the car. Aziz didn't look at me or speak, also walking towards the car. I hurried behind him, and when he opened the passenger door and climbed into the back, I pushed in as quickly as possible, relieved as I sat in my own seat. I didn't know what would happen next, but at least I was in the car; for a moment I had imagined them driving off without me, leaving my cases sitting by the side of the
piste
where they'd unloaded them earlier.}

^{We sat in the car for what felt like a very long time. I knew it was best if I didn't say anything, but found the silence and stillness disconcerting. Flies buzzed around me with a steady, monotonous drone, lighting on my damp skin. I knew the men would be insulted if I offered more francs; this wasn't about money, but about their honour. I was a woman — a foreign woman — and I had offended their sensibilities.}

^{I stared ahead. The immensity of the situation loomed. I had no idea where we were. The land was featureless, the red stony earth bleak and solitary and somehow oppressive. How long would we sit here? Although neither man seemed violent, the possibility that they might force me out was a tangible threat. They might take all of my money and leave me here, alone on the
piste,
and drive away. What was stopping them, except their own principles — whatever they were. What did I know about the workings of the Arab mind?}

^{I was frightening myself further. Slowly, I took my small sketchpad and pencil from my handbag on the floor. I made some lines on the paper, imagining I would draw some of the trees and cacti I had seen, to calm myself. But instead, human forms emerged from the charcoal tip. A man. Another man. I had never attempted people, and yet it came quite easily. When I was done, it was a drawing of Mustapha, in his vest over his robe, and Aziz, with his fez at a jaunty angle. The men stood side by side. I felt that in this quick rendering I had managed to capture their essence in their expressions and the way they held themselves.}