The Saffron Gate (54 page)

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Authors: Linda Holeman

Tags: #Fiction - Historical, #Romance & Love Stories, #1930s, #New York, #Africa

BOOK: The Saffron Gate
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Badou crouched beside the motionless water, which mirrored the sky, his little shoulders tense, staring into the smooth surface dotted with lily pads. Aszulay spoke to him in Arabic, and Badou put his fingers into the water and wiggled them, breaking the glass-like surface. Almost immediately a turtle popped its head up, only inches from Badou's fingers. Badou jumped back, gasping, and then turned and looked at us, and laughed.
'Une
tortue,'
he said, still smiling. 'He scared me.' He again crouched and splashed his fingers in the water. 'I want him to do it again.'
The turtle came nearer, possibly hoping for food, and again lifted its round head, this time opening its toothless mouth, and then quickly plopped back under the water.
Again Badou laughed, delighted. He was a different little boy like this, the usual serious expression gone.
'This is the first time I have heard your laughter,' Aszulay said.
I covered my mouth with my hand, unaware that I had laughed along with Badou.
Aszulay studied me. 'Why do you look as though you regret laughing?'
I blinked. 'I'm not sure.' I thought about the baby, about Etienne, about all that had happened in the last number of months. I realised I hadn't laughed since Etienne had left me. Did I feel I had no right to laugh? To happiness?
I looked down at Badou, flicking his fingers in the water. He had made me, for this brief moment in the sun, forget about the heaviness of my recent life. I glanced back at Aszulay. He wasn't looking at me, but I had the distinct impression he pitied me.
I didn't want this man to feel sorry for me. I left the bench to kneel beside Badou. 'Let's make the turtle come out again,' I said, and lightly splashed the surface of the water with my fingers.

 

As we left the gardens Aszulay spoke to Badou in Arabic. Badou's mouth opened and his eyes shone. 'Yes, Oncle Aszulay, yes, when will we go?'
'In one week. Seven days,' he said, lifting Badou into the cart, which had waited for us. Badou looked at his fingers, his lips moving as he counted. 'Every few months I visit my family,' Aszulay added, turning to me. 'Badou likes to come with me. He likes to play with the children there.’
His family.
'Oh. You have children?' I asked, somehow startled. Somehow . . . disturbed. Why? I realised I presumed he had no wife, no children, mainly because when I'd gone to his home I'd seen no one but the older woman who served me tea. Was it also because of his association with Manon? Because I thought him above having a lover outside of marriage?
'No,' he said, then pointedly turned to Badou and spoke to him about the turtles.
Once we had left the cart, Aszulay and Badou walked me back to Sharia Soura. Badou asked, 'Sidonie, are you coming with us to the
bled
?

'No, Badou,' I answered, stopping at my gate. 'But I hope you have a good time.' I turned, knocking on the gate.
We waited, and then Aszulay said, 'Do you wish to come?'
I thought he was just being polite. But that was my assumption: an American assumption. It was not Aszulay's way.
He added, 'We will be gone two days.'
The gate was opened by Najeeb.
Two days meant we would stay overnight. As if reading my mind, Aszulay said, 'There are women's quarters.'
I thought about my night in the
bled
with Mustapha and Aziz: the stars, the silence, the wild camel. Again I thought of the word
family.
Aszulay had said he didn't have children, but did he have a wife there? Two, or even three?
'I have
une camionnette
,' he said. 'We will go in it.'
'A truck? You own a truck?'
He nodded. Somehow I was surprised. I had only imagined him walking down the dusty
piste,
like the first Blue Man I had seen. Or perched upon a camel.
'You find it odd?'
I smiled. 'No. Not really.'
'And so? Do you wish to come?'
‘Yes,' I said. 'I'll come. Unless . . .' I stopped. Unless Etienne had arrived by then.
'Unless . . .?' he asked.
'Nothing,' I said.
'I will come for you in seven days, after breakfast,' he said.
'Will you bring us food tomorrow, Oncle Aszulay?' Badou asked, looking up at him.
Aszulay put his hand on the boy's head. 'Tomorrow I must work too many hours. But I have left food. Falida will cook it for you,' he said.
'Will Maman come home soon?' Badou then asked.
Aszulay nodded. 'Soon.'
I looked from Badou to Aszulay. 'I could go to Sharia Zitoun and check on Badou and Falida,' I said.
'Yes. Come to my house, Sidonie,' Badou said.
'As you wish,' Aszulay said.
'I'll see you tomorrow, then, Badou,' I told him, and he nodded.
Aszulay took Badou's hand, and I went inside my gate.

 

THIRTY
T
he next morning, carrying
a basket of bread and a pot of
kefta

minced, spiced lamb I'd made

I had Najeeb accompany me to Sharia Zitoun. It was just before eleven when I knocked on the gate.
Najeeb leaned against the outside wall, and I knew he would wait for me no matter how long I stayed
.
I had to knock twice before Falida called out, cautiously, to ask who it was. When I told her, she pulled the gate open slowly.
'My lady is not here,' she said, her eyes wide.
'I know. But I've brought some food, and came to see Badou.'
She nodded, and let me into the courtyard.
Badou came down the stairs; again, I could see that his hair had been brushed and his face washed. 'Sidonie,' he said, looking at the pot, then back to me. 'Look,' he said, pushing his tongue behind his front tooth. 'My tooth is funny.'
I smiled, looking closer. 'It will come out in a litte while,' I said. 'And another tooth will grow.'
'Will it hurt?'
'No. Or only a tiny bit.'
'Good,' he said, so trusting, again looking at the pot.
'Do you like
kefta?'
I asked, and he nodded, running ahead of me into the house. I followed him into the kitchen, and Falida followed me. The kitchen was spotless. 'You are looking after everything so well, Falida,' I said, and her mouth opened, as though surprised. Then she smiled. The smile transformed her face; although she was so thin, and had dark circles under her eyes, she would soon be very pretty.
'Falida gives me a bath every day when Maman is not here,' Badou said.
'I can see that,' I said, and smiled at Falida. She ducked her head as though embarrassed.
I dished out the food and we each carried a plate to the courtyard. I sat on the daybed while Badou chose the ground, setting his plate on the table in front of him. But Falida hung by the door. 'Come,' I said to her. 'Eat with us.'
She shook her head. 'I am not allowed,' she said.
I looked at her. 'Today you are,' I said, and she shyly came forward and sat on the ground beside Badou.
Before I left, I promised Badou and Falida that I would come the next day.
When I got back to Sharia Soura, Mena was in the courtyard. She had been quiet with me the evening before, after I'd returned from the gardens with Aszulay and Badou, and I wondered if she was feeling ill.
I hadn't seen her this morning, before I left for Sharia Zitoun, but now, as soon as I came in, she took a pair of her husband's shoes from where they sat near the gate. She pointed at them, then at me. I didn't understand at first, but she kept gesturing at the
babouches,
holding them to her chest, then pointing them at my chest. Finally she said
rajul,
the Arabic word for man.
She was asking where my husband was.
I struggled for a way to make her understand, gesturing towards the gate. Out there, I wanted to tell her. The man who will be my husband is out there, somewhere in Morocco.
Then she said Aszulay's name in a questioning tone.
I shook my head. 'Aszulay,
sadeeq
.' Aszulay, friend.
But Mena frowned, shaking her head.
'La, la,'
she said. No, no. She pointed at herself, and said
imra'a,
woman, followed by
rajul.
Then
sadeeq, la.
I knew exactly what she was saying:
woman and man, friends, no.
I understood that this wasn't possible in her world. Of course I understood. And yet . . . how else could I describe Aszulay?
'Sadeeq,
Mena,
na'am.
Friend, Mena, yes,' I said, looking at the gate again, thinking of Aszulay.
I wondered what he was doing, imagining him in Le Jardin Majorelle, lifting a huge earthenware urn with little effort.

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