The Saffron Gate (45 page)

^{'You didn't see the evidence?' she asked, the mouthpiece just touching her lips.}

^{I blinked, trying to find answers in her face.}

^{'He had only the earliest signs, but can you really tell yourself you didn't see it? The moment I saw him, when he arrived here, I knew. He was possessed in the same manner as our father. Are you really so thick-headed? So blind?'}

^{I envisioned Etienne at the hospital, and then at my home. When we were out for dinner, when he drove his car, in my bed. Small, unimportant images flashed through my mind: the way he sometimes dropped his fork or knife with an unexpected clatter on to the table, his occasional tripping over the edges of carpets. A sudden lurch and stumble as he walked across the bedroom to me one night, when I assumed he was simply exhausted from a long day at the hospital, or that the continual glasses of bourbon he took after dinner might have affected him more strongly that particular evening.}

^{I thought of the empty pill bottle I'd found in his room, the medication that could be taken for palsy.}

^{'Etienne inherited everything from our father,' she said. 'I was left nothing. But now I'm glad, for along with his wealth, Marcel Duverger left his son something else.'}

^{I felt behind me for the stool, and lowered myself to it.}

^{'Our father also left Etienne the
djinns
he carried in his body,' she said. 'The disease that killed him will now kill Etienne. But not for a long time. First he will suffer, as our father suffered.' She smiled, a calm, slow smile, tilting her head the slightest, as though hearing music from afar, music she recognised and loved. 'Am I sorry for my father's suffering? No. My father paid for his behaviour towards me.' Her smile suddenly turned to a grimace, and her voice was bitter. 'This house,' she waved one arm in front of her, 'was bought for me by Etienne, before he left for America. But it wasn't enough. There will never be enough to even the score. I was glad when my father died, and now I'm glad Etienne will suffer in the same way. He's welcome to the inheritance, and now he will live with it until it kills him, crying and soiling himself like a baby.'}

^{What was it? What did she mean, the
djinns
in their bodies?}

^{'The
djinns
travel from parent to child,' she added, then repeated, 'Parent to child. Father to son.' '}

^{The disease was genetic. She was talking about genetics. I remembered Etienne's interest in genetics.}

^{Badou came back into the courtyard with the dog. He again sat beside his mother, holding the dog around the middle. The little creature's short legs stuck straight out. Badou reached, tentatively, towards the round of bread still sitting on the plate, glancing at Manon. When she didn't react, he took the bread and broke off a small piece and fed it to the dog. Then he stuffed the rest into his own mouth.}

^{'But . . . if Etienne is in Morocco,' I said to Manon, 'surely he'll come back to Marrakesh. To see you, and Badou,' I stated, my eyes darting from her to the child. These two people were his only family. 'When will he come again, Manon? If what you say is true . . . I need to see him even more now.'}

^{She shrugged again, drawing in a deep breath from the mouthpiece, and then parted her lips, very slightly, letting a thin waft of smoke drift upwards into the still, warm air.}

^{TWENTY FIVE}

^{I
walked for a number of hours. If this time Manon told the truth — that Etienne had a disease that would eventually take his life in a gruesome way — perhaps I had found the answer I wanted.}

^{Etienne had left me because he didn't want me to have to marry a man who would walk through what remained of his life with a noose around his neck, a noose that would grow tighter and tighter with each month, each year.}

^{He had left me because he loved me too much to do that to me. But he didn't realise the depth of my feelings. I couldn't envision him any other way than as I had last seen him, strong and loving. Whatever form the disease took — whatever
djinns
Manon spoke of — I could cope. I could care for Etienne when he eventually grew weak, as I'd cared for my mother.}

^{I went back to Sharia Zitoun and pounded on the gate; it was mid-afternoon.}

^{There was no sound from within. I knocked again, trying the handle, but the gate was locked. I hit the flat of my hand against the gold paint. ‘Manon!’ I called. ‘Badou. Badou, are you there?’}

^{There was a tiny sound; bare feet against tile. 'Badou?' I said again, my mouth against the minuscule line of light where the gate met the jamb. 'It's' me, Sidonie. Mademoiselle O'Shea. Can you open the gate, please?'}

^{After a complicated scraping of the inside lock the gate swung inward. Badou looked up at me. 'Maman said nobody can enter,' he said.}

^{'But it's me, Badou. Can I come in for only a moment?'}

^{He studied my face, and then nodded solemnly, stepping back. In the courtyard was a tub of water, sticks floating on the surface.}

^{Badou went to the tub and pushed one of the sticks around as though it was a boat.}

^{'Maman is sleeping?' I asked him.}

^{He shook his head. 'She went to the
hammam
to bathe,' he said, not looking at me.}

^{'And Falida? Where is Falida?'}

^{'In the souks, buying food.'}

^{I looked at the house. 'You're here alone?' I asked.}

^{'Yes. I am a big boy,' he said, busily taking the sticks from the water and setting them in lines on the courtyard floor, kneeling and arranging them in different patterns. 'Maman says I am a big boy, and can look after myself.'}

^{I was quiet for a moment, and then said, 'Yes, yes, you are a big boy, Badou.'}

^{I studied his features as he concentrated on his sticks. I saw Etienne again: this look, right now, of intensity. The intelligent forehead under the thick hair. The long, slender neck.}

^{I thought, again, of what our child might have looked like.}

^{'Are you sad, Sidonie?' Badou asked, and I realised he had stopped arranging his sticks and was looking up at me. He hadn't called me mademoiselle, as usual.}

^{My initial response was to say
oh no, of course I'm not sad,
and try to smile. But as before, I couldn't bring myself to be dishonest with this serious child. 'Yes. Today I'm a little sad.'}

^{He nodded. 'Sometimes I'm sad too, Sidonie. But then I think for a while, and become happy again.' He was so earnest.}

^{‘And what is it that you think of, Badou, when you are feeling sad? What do you think about to make yourself happy again?'}

^{'Once, a long time ago, my mother made a lemon cake,' he said, his lips turning up in the beginning of a smile.'Oh, it was so sweet, and so yellow. When I think of that cake, I'm happy. Inside my head I make a picture. I put the cake in the blue sky, beside the sun. The sun and the lemon cake. Like two suns, or two cakes. Two are always better than one.' He stood. 'Maman used to paint me pictures. I asked her to paint this picture for me, of the two cakes, but she didn't. I wanted to put it on the wall beside my bed. Then I would always be happy, because I could look at it whenever I liked.'}

^{Unexpectedly, tears came to my eyes. Was it normal for a six year old to speak like this? I didn't know.}

^{'Sidonie? Now you must think about what makes you happy, to make the sad things go away.'}

^{I kneeled, wincing at the pressure on my sore knees, and put my arms around him. I pressed his head against my shoulder.}

^{'What are you thinking about?' he asked, his voice muffled against me. He pulled his head back and looked at me again. 'Is it happy?'}

^{I couldn't answer. His soft cheek, his thick hair. I looked into his huge eyes. He was so still, as always, watching me. And oh, so clever.}

^{'You can think of the lemon cakes, Sidonie,' he finally said, easing out of my arms and again picking up the little sticks, smiling at me.}

^{Half an hour later Manon returned, carrying two buckets filled with various implements. When she saw me she glared at Badou, and he stared back at her with a stricken look.}

^{'Don't be angry at him,' I told her. 'I made him let me in.'}

^{Manon set down her pails.}

^{I licked my lips. 'What about you, Manon? Do you have the disease as well?'}

^{'No,' she said, and I wanted it to be true, looking at Badou. I couldn't bear to think of something dangerous and harmful within his small, perfect body. 'But how touching,' Manon went on, her voice laced with sarcasm, 'that you care about my health.'}

^{I didn't answer for a moment. 'I just want to know either where Etienne is, or when he'll come back to Marrakesh. It's even more important, now, that I tell him that . . .' I stopped, suddenly knowing it would be unwise to divulge anything more to this woman.}

^{'As well as not discussing his weaknesses, Etienne obviously didn't share his dreams with you, either. As he did with me,' Manon said, not answering my question. 'He had a dream of fame and glory for his work. He wanted to discover a way to prevent the passing of the
djinns.'
She was still staring at me. 'And he did,' she added, then fell silent.}

^{'And so?' I finally prompted. 'What did he uncover?'}

^{'That there would be no glory. That there is only one way to prevent the disease. Only one. He was very despondent, Sidonie, when he came here.'}

^{'Of course,' I stated. 'He realised his future.'}

^{'Yes. But also something else. He told me he had failed.'}

^'Failed?'

^{'He told me about you. I know everything, Sidonie.'}

^{I blinked, remembering how she'd mentioned my life in Albany, facts she couldn't have known. So Etienne
had
spoken of me, had told her about me, and she had known who I was from the first time I came to her door. But why had she toyed with me? Why had she pretended she knew nothing about me? She had put on such an air of innocence when I introduced myself. Manon Maliki was an actress extraordinaire. Every time I saw her, this became more clear.}

^{'He told me about the child.'}

^{I instinctively put my hands to my abdomen, and her eyes followed.}

^{'Obviously you lied, to try to force him to marry you. Such an old and tiresome trick, Sidonie. But then I would expect something like this from a woman like you.' Again she smiled, that slow smile I hated. 'I saw with the first glance there was no child. Foolish woman. How did you think you would explain this to him if you caught up to him? Another lie, this one about losing it?'}