The Saffron Gate (70 page)

^{'Don't,' I whispered, sickened at her imaginings.}

^{'After we became lovers, I had him purchase this house for me, and put it in my name. I had him draw up a legal document that would afford me a generous allowance every month, in perpetuity. In perpetuity,' she repeated. 'He would always have to support me. Of course that was when I let him think I loved him, that I wanted only him, that we would always be together. That no man could satisfy me like him. He fell for it all. He promised he would stay, in Marrakesh, and work as a doctor in La Ville Nouvelle. We agreed there would be no children.}

^{'He did not propose marriage. Of course not. He, the great French doctor, marry a lowly Moroccan servant? Oh no. I would always be his concubine. In his heart I believe he thought no woman worthy to marry. A woman for companionship, for sex,
oui.
For marriage, no.'}

^{I had expected him to marry me.}

^{'But when I had the house, and was secure, I told him. When I knew I was in his head, held fast, with all his thoughts consumed with me, I told him. I waited until the perfect moment, as his face was over mine, and him deep inside me.'}

^{'Manon,' I said, 'please.' Why didn't I get up and leave? Why did I sit, as though I were the one under a spell, and listen to her sordid story?}

^{'We looked into each other's eyes, his so full of desire, of love, and I told him.
I'm your sister,
I said. I had to repeat it. He couldn't understand what I was saying.' Again she smiled, that awful, victorious smile. 'But when I said it for the third time, he pulled away from me as if my body were a flame, and I had taken all his air. Etienne, being Etienne, challenged me, asking me what proof I had. And it was then I showed him my mother's letters from our father.'}

^{I felt ill, imagining the scene. I could see her face, enjoying every moment of it, and I could also see Etienne. The horror and shock. Etienne, always the one in control, the one with the answers, the right thing to say at the right time.}

^{'He became sick, right in front of me. He raged, he wept. And then he left. That's why he went to America. Because he could no longer be in Marrakesh. He could no longer even be on this side of the ocean, so near to me, but never again able to possess me.'}

^{'Manon,' I breathed, shaking my head. 'Manon.' I could think of nothing to say}

^{'But it was easy to keep track of where he was. Of course I have many influential gentleman friends in the French community. When I realised Etienne had left me pregnant — a complete accident, like you, eh? — I considered getting rid of it. It would have been easy; don't I know enough about these things? I have rid myself of others.' She stared into my eyes. 'But something told me it would be better to keep the child; a further insurance policy. I wrote regularly to Etienne over the years, telling him I was a mother, talking about the child. But I made no accusation. He never replied. And then, last year, my needs grew, Sidonie. So I wrote to him that I was sorry I had used him, that I had changed, and wanted to repent. And that there was a deep secret, something I could only tell him face to face. Of course he suspected, and so because of my urging — and to get away from you — he came back to Morocco.' Then she lowered her chin, looking at me almost coquettishly.}

^{'Did you not wonder why Etienne — a man like Etienne, clever and worldly — wanted a woman like you, Sidonie?'}

^{I blinked. 'What? What are you talking about?'}

^{Manon's face was full of contempt now. 'You idiot. Can you see nothing? Etienne never stopped dreaming of me, wanting me. It's me he loves, not you. Do you not look in the mirror, and see what I see? Do you not recognise that Etienne saw in you something that reminded him of me? Of the one woman he loved? Even the fact that you painted, well . . .' She shrugged. 'He chose a shadow, since he couldn't have the bright light. That's all you were to him. A feeble reflection of the woman he truly loved, but couldn't have; he only turned to you because you reminded him enough, in appearance, of me. And he knew that he could so easily possess you. He could never possess me, but you — don't you see? Every time he held you, every time he made love to you, Sidonie, he was dreaming of me, closing his eyes and seeing me. You never meant anything to him. Nothing at all.'}

^{I stood, knocking over the brass tray; it hit the tiled floor with a clanging ring. In the dying echo I heard Manon's words, over and over, as if holding a mirror to a mirror, all the reflections closing in on each other.}

^{Nothing at all.}

^{THIRTY EIGHT}

^{I
sat on my bed, seeing myself in the mirror across the room. I was exhausted. After all these months of waiting and hoping, now it was over.}

^{What Manon had told me was not inconceivable. If I hadn't seen Etienne, seen him with her, witnessed his inability to speak up to her, I might not have believed her. But I had seen it for myself.}

^{The afternoon call to prayer came, and I looked towards the window, picking up the
zellij.
I thought of Aszulay, remembering his touch as he bathed my feet.}

^{He had told me not to wait in Marrakesh for Etienne. After we had been in the
bled
together he told me he hadn't wanted me to be alone when I went to Etienne on Sharia Zitoun. He knew the truth about Etienne and Manon, and thought that I would be devastated, shocked. He worried about me.}

^{I was shocked, yes. But I wasn't devastated. When I had seen Etienne, I had looked at him as though he were a stranger. He had become the stranger I'd seen in my bedroom, all those months ago in Albany. But had he really changed, or was it me?}

^{I was no longer the woman from Juniper Road.}

^{I had come to Marrakesh to find Etienne. I had found him. I understood why he had left me. It was simple: he had never loved me.}

^{I hadn't known many truths about Etienne. In actuality I had never known the real man. He had only disclosed what suited him. My short time with him had been a fantasy. Perhaps what I thought was love was also part of that fantasy.}

^{It was such an old story, one every woman can see from the outside. But it's difficult to see when one is inside that story, with all its fictions and whimsies and hopes. And now it was completely over. The story had an ending.}

^{I was alone again. But not in the way I had been alone before Etienne, before knowing a man, and before the thought of my own child.}

^{I went to the table where my latest canvas — of the jacaranda tree at Sharia Zitoun — was propped against the wall. I thought of Badou opening my paintbox, so proudly and reverently in the courtyard, and at that I put my fist against my chest.}

^{Badou. As Etienne's child, did he carry the monstrous gene in his small, perfect frame? Now I moved my fist against my mouth, thinking of the warmth of his body as I held him. I remembered my unbearable concern when I thought he was lost in the dust storm. The relief and joy when Aszulay brought him back.}

^{The night in the truck with Aszulay, and what I had felt.}

^{I remembered the words of Mohammed, with his monkey, in D'jemma el Fna, telling me I would find what I searched for under the Southern Cross. Mohammed had been right. I had found something.}

^{But I couldn't keep it. Aszulay was a Blue Man of the Sahara. Badou was another woman's child. I had fallen in love with this country, its colours and sounds and smells and tastes. Its people. One tall man, one little boy.}

^{I thought of my growing friendship with Mena. The protectiveness I felt toward Falida. Badou's hand in mine. Again, Aszulay.}

^{The best I could do would be to go back to Albany and remember it with my paints. But even there, in the cold of winter, I would not paint Morocco with the detached eye of a tourist, a mere observer. I was no longer an observer, but a participant in this life.}

^{But it's not your world, I repeated to myself.
C'est tout.
That's all. The story is over.}

^{I couldn't eat. Mena asked if I was ill.}

^{'No. But I am sad. I go home soon,' I told her, in Arabic.}

^{'Why? You don't like Sharia Soura? Nawar speaks badly to you?'}

^{I shook my head, shrugging. It was to wearying to try to explain, in my simple Arabic.}

^{She licked her lips, and something came over her face. 'My husband? He hurt you?'}

^{'No. No, I never see him.' Her face relaxed.}

^{'But Aszulay?' she said. 'I think he is a good man.'}

^{'
Na'am
,' I said. Yes.}

^{'Not all men are good,' she added, and unconsciously reached up to touch the back of her neck, and I thought of her scar. Of Manon kissing Etienne.}

^{I was lying on my bed in the darkness, still in my kaftan, when I heard men's voices in the courtyard. I recognised Mena's husband's voice, and both the sons, and then . . . It was Aszulay's voice. I rose, so swiftly, and hurried to the window.}

^{He was there, sitting with them, drinking tea. They were talking as if it were simply a friendly visit. They finished their tea, and the husband and sons stood.}

^{Aszulay said something further, and the husband looked up. I pulled my head back from the window, but in a moment there was a quiet knock on my door.}

^{I opened it. It was Mena. 'Aszulay is here,' she said. 'He asks to see you. Wear your face cover, Sidonie,' she said, frowning. 'My husband is home.'}

^{I did as she asked. She went down the back stairs, the staircase the women could use to avoid going through the courtyard if a man was there. I went into the courtyard. Aszulay stood.}

^{'Are you all right?' he said.}

^{'Yes,' I said.}

^{'But you've seen Etienne,' he stated. 'I went to Sharia Zitoun earlier this evening. Manon told me you had been there. She told me . . .' He stopped, and I looked at him. 'Now do you understand why I didn't tell you about Etienne immediately? Do you understand what I meant by wanting to protect you? I knew I couldn't stop you from uncovering the truth — Manon would be certain you knew everything — but I wanted . . . I'm sorry. I was selfish. I wanted you to have a few more days . . . I wanted . . .'}

^{I sat on a bench. He didn't say anything more, also sitting down again. Finally I said, 'I understand, Aszulay. It didn't go well at all this afternoon.' As I uttered the words, I suddenly thought of Badou. The last thing he'd witnessed was me slapping Etienne, screaming at him. I put my hand over my eyes, imagining the distress and fear on his face as he ran to Falida; both their expressions as they fled the courtyard.}

^{They would see me as no better than Manon. They would see me as a woman who screamed and hit.}

^{'Sidonie?' Aszulay said, and I lowered my hand.}

^{'I was thinking of Badou,' I said. 'Poor child.'}