Sahara

by Oscar Luis Rigiroli

  “That's not much comfort to me. By the way, do you know why she has not arrived yet?”

  “She was retained downtown by a meeting with foreign financiers that are in the city. And Charfadine? I am concerned that she comes so late”.

  Typical Souady and her penchant for her youngest daughter. What was explainable in Zoubaida was a source of concern in the case of Charfadine.

  “She has practical works. It ends at nine pm.” Replied resignedly Cristian.

  Then the sound of keys in the door of the House was heard and Zoubaida entered.

  “Pouf!.” Growled “The subway was so crowded that I had to miss three formations before I could climb and travel standing. More travel frequencies are necessary.”

  She left her purse on the table and threw her shoes in anger. Cristian ceded the first turn of the shower while playing with his son on the floor.

  When he left the bathroom found had also Charfadine had arrived with similar complaints about the means of transport.

  “When we went away from Chad you didn´t tell us about transportation problems in Buenos Aires, otherwise I would not have come.” Exaggerated.

  “That is a sign of good integration to the country and its customs.” said the man “Complaining about everything.”

  After dinner and bedtime to Hubert, the four adults gathered for a coffee.

  Zoubaida narrated the negotiations with financiers.

  “The main difficulty to obtain financing for African countries is the inter-ethnic tension, which explodes with any excuse.” She explained.

  “Which largely comes from the boundaries drawn with a pencil by the colonial powers of the time.” Cristian said.

  “Yes, it's true, but there has been time long enough since independence to settle the problems in an unbloody manner” Sid his wife.

  “Argentina's independence was declared in 1816, and only in 1852 some lasting peace was achieved. During the interregnum the warlords dominated the scenery.” insisted he.

  “That was in Century 19th. We are in the 21st. The world does not tolerate such remnants of the past any more. There is no alternative to negotiated solutions, even in Africa. There are cases of various Nations that coexist perfectly, as Switzerland, with four national languages and two religions.”

  “Yes, but countries highly civilized as Canada or Belgium have problems to handle the differences between their linguistic groups.” He replied stubbornly.

  “It is truth Cristian, but they do not settle their differences with ethnic cleansing.”

  “Note the cases of the former Soviet Union and Yugoslavia. And now it will restart in Ukraine.”

  “It is precisely my point. That is intolerable. We must settle differences, and if necessary change the borders to more realistic ones, but without bloodshed. No, the cliché of the colonial borders does not explain the current massacres, is looking to the past or blame foreigners to evade the current responsibilities, as you Argentineans love to do.”

  Cristian finally surrendered. He knew in advance that he could not beat his wife in an intellectual terrain, mostly in one she had worked so hard. To sum up the differences between both arguments were reduced to the glass half full or half empty issue and he did not want to appear as pessimistic or fatalist.

  “I will have to travel to New York.” Said Zoubaida after a brief silence “I have to attend a meeting of African countries at the United Nations.”

  “There is always some reason.” Said bitterly Cristian “We have barely seen you in the last month.”

  “I want it to be different this time.” Replied enigmatically the woman.

  Aware of the expectation she had created, Zoubaida began to persuasively explain her intentions. The other three knew in advance that finally they would to yield, both by the ascendancy Zoubaida had as by the degree of elaboration that in general had her proposals.

  “Taking advantage of the fact that Maman will be in Buenos Aires for another fifteen days and Charfadine is having winter holidays at the Faculty, I think both you and I can travel together.” She said referring to Cristian. “I feel much nostalgia and a desire to relive the moments and places of the time in which we met.”

  Zoubaida continued reasoning with her usual consistency, and everyone understood that she had carefully planned every detail.

  “Though I benefit in this plan, it does not look fair for your mother and your sister.” Protested Cristian. “Leaving them with the burden and responsibility for the child and the house while we go on a sentimental ride.”

  “For me there is no problem.” Said immediately Souady, while Charfadine remained silent. The man shook his head resignedly and tried to reach some compromise.

  “I propose that at least the two you and Hubert carry out the plan which I had already talked about. It's go to the Córdoba hills, a classic site for winter holidays. It has a cold but healthy climate without so much moisture and of sunshine afternoons.”

  Clearly the silence meant consent.

  “When would this be?” Asked Cristian “Indeed I have vacation time available in the editorial, but I must plan how to leave my work in progress to my colleagues. I can't be a burden for them either.”

  Finally decided that since Zoubaida had to be in New York in less than a week, she would travel alone and Cristian would join her one week later, when the diplomatic meetings have concluded. In this way the work needs of both were taken into account.

  “Thank you for having us in mind.” Whispered Charfadine to Cristian once the meeting was over. “I’m sure that I will love to leave Buenos Aires with this cold.”

  “Bah! I see it as a mere consolation. But I promise I will compensate you in the future.”

  Zoubaida had already departed heading to New York, and Souady, Charfadine and Hubert would be traveling to Cordoba in half a week. Cristian decided to spend the nights in the bedroom of his second wife, although the bed was narrow.

  “Since the main wife departed, it's now the turn of the concubine.” Said ironically but with a hint of bitterness Charfadine.

  “You know that it is not so.” Cristian turned into Spanish, in which his skills of conviction were better “but let´s not waste time in recriminations.”

  He slipped his hands between the sheets and introduced them in her nightgown of the woman, patting her belly. The arguments once again gave way to hormones.

  Cristian took the women and children to the bus terminal and waited until the vehicle that would take them to La Cumbre departed. Then he turned to his work to complete second last working day before leaving. He didn't want to acknowledge it himself, but the idea of reviving the idyll with Zoubaida in New York, times when everything was clear, straight and bright had excited him.

  CHAPTER 18

  Zoubaida and Cristian were fatigued. Malik had carried the man from the airport the previous night and after a day of tour and some shopping on Fifth Avenue they returned to the hotel laden with packages. After showering they went to have dinner in a nearby restaurant. Most of the New Yorkers had already eaten, so it was not difficult for them to get a table; Zoubaida noticed that after a year and a half living in Argentina their habits had changed, including the hour of dinner.

  They returned to the hotel hand in hand, took an espresso in the coffee shop, and then went up to the room. There Zoubaida took his hand and said sweetly.

  “Undress me slowly.”

  “You want to repeat our first night?

  “No. That was a whirlpool, a hurricane. Let´s leave it for another day. Now love me with care as befits a lady.”

  “To a Princess?” Cristian was mocking Malik.

  “Yes. Is it that you have doubts?”

  “No, none at all.” As it was customary, he not could object to the arguments of his wife, shielded from her own logic. He began to unbutton her dress.

  The next day they decided to continue their sentimental journey in the Gramercy Park area, where they had passed the second part of their stay in New York, u
nder pressure from ethnic and political enemies of Zoubaida´s father. They walked hand in hand along the elegant streets, sipped a coffee in one of its coffee shops, and then wandered in the libraries. They could not sit in the Park, whose entrance is forbidden to those who are not neighbors holding a key.

  That afternoon, as the weather allowed it they decided to go to the Central Park, explore the extensive trails, sit and stroke each other in a bench discreetly covered from outside looks by small groves, and feeding small animals approaching them without fear. The state of reverie carried them to two years before, with its infatuation full of urgency, intensity and anxiety, feeling that had been partially extinguished with coexistence and troubles of life in the desert first, and in the city then, but whose embers were alive and ready to gain strength again when the circumstances were propitious. Zoubaida sighed happily with the feeling numb and now rediscovered.

  That night they invited Malik to dinner at a good restaurant. The man appeared with his immense body contained in an elegant suit, with white shirt and tie to the tone of the costume.

  Zoubaida was dressed in a sober somewhat Westernized tribal outfit, enhancing her magnificent figure. Cristian was as always with green wrinkled cotton trousers and a worn Brown faux leather jacket.

  Since in previous days he had not been able to ask Zoubaida- by time pressure for her meetings and also by prudence- Malik was eager to know about the life of the couple since they had left New York. He congratulated them for their son, and if he was surprised to learn that Cristian had also married Charfadine- who he did not know personally, only by references- he hid it very well.

  At that time Zoubaida asked by his wife and four daughters, one of which was preparing to enter the University of Columbia. When the subject turned to the political situation in Chad, Zoubaida summarized the latest developments, beyond what was published in the news media.

  “Chad looks calmer now, although we know that supporters of Al-Qaida are on the lookout to rekindle the flame of ethnic conflict anytime. But they suffered many losses in the last internal war, of which did not recover. They are now also involved in the Central African Republic, your homeland, and probably cannot keep so many fronts open at the same time.”

  Malik gave a brief description of the continuation of the struggles in New York after the couple had gone out. Although he avoided every gruesome detail, the lid had been bloody, and had not transcended only because it was masked in the gang wars. Before Zoubaida questions about old acquaintances, in some cases he should report that they had died. Others had instead returned to Africa due to the prospect of peace and economic improvement in certain areas.

  Returning late to the hotel, the woman disrobed with certain brightness in her eyes that Cristian knew very well.

  “Well, shall we continue in the slow and sweet wave?”

  “None of that! After Central Park, I want now to reconnect with fire.”

  Souady, Charfadine and Hubert were waiting at the airport in Ezeiza, in Buenos Aires. Charfadine had premiered her new driver's license, in her eagerness to complete her Argentine documents, maybe an involuntary testimony of her mental integration to the country. Now Cristian was driving back home.

  Returning the five on board with the suitcases put to the test the Ford cargo capacity, while he risked any possible objections from the police.

  Zoubaida opened the suitcases but only took off them only the gifts brought for all, putting off the laborious time of extracting and accommodating her clothing and personal effects.

  Hubert finally agreed to embrace his mother; This time the child initial reluctance of the child did not impacted Zoubaida, because it was discounted on the one hand, and her emotional state. Even for a person with a personality as strong and stable as her, the trip to the city where she had lived many years of her life and in particular the period she had spent with Cristian had a very high positive emotional impact.

  The day in which Souady should return to his country finally arrived, since she missed her husband and had a number of long-postponed household chores and duties. Transfer to Ezeiza airport was again with the car full.

  Souady walked with firm step towards the gate of access to the international area, without looking back to prevent breaking down. Hubert cried to see his recently recovered grandmother suddenly leave again.

  The following days, the absence of Souady made feel with all intensity for all, especially for Charfadine and Hubert, who were those who had had a more solid connection with the matron.

  Friday Cristian returned home a little earlier.

  “How are you going with your studies?” He asked Charfadine.

  The girl gave all kinds of explanations, which showed clearly her enthusiasm and expectations.

  The talks between the two were long in Spanish due her insistence on the need to master the language, particularly for his studies in the Faculty, which required a fluid management and somewhat intimate of the language that she considered as well as the French subtle and elegant. Since she also unfolded friendships with peers of the Faculty, she gave importance to speaking the River Plate dialect spoken in Argentina.

  “In short, you want to become one Argentine.” Stated rather than asked Cristian.

  “Except for the color of the skin.”

  “There is no "Argentine" skin color. That doesn't seem to bring you problems either. Don't believe that I don't see how men down the street watch you.”

  “Do not tell me that you're jealous.”

  “Should I be?”

  Then Zoubaida joined them, asking about the subject of the conversation.

  “I really feel the looks of men stuck on my butt. Worse than in France or Italy.”

  “Really difficult that your buttocks can go unnoticed here.”

  “That is because there are no black women.”

  “Boys traveling to Brazil sigh with the buttocks of the mulatas.”

  The talk had diverted its course for the taste of Charfadine, from the color of her skin to the back of her sister. She tried to then bring it back to safe ground.

  “The next is a long weekend. Any plans?”

  “We can go to the coast.” Proposed Cristian.

  “It is almost winter.” Objected Charfadine. “What can we do in a beach resort?”

  “Take a walk along the beach.”

  “There will be no one there.” Replied Zoubaida.

  “On the contrary. There are the winter school holidays. Many families migrate looking for new landscapes and getting out of the cities.”

  They rented two pieces at a hotel in a resort called Costa del Este, consisting of a series of blocks with houses of varied dimensions, not big but very attractive, with streets of pavement or sand and a small shopping centre. Pine trees and other tree species created everywhere a habitat not indigenous but very natural and healthy. There were few people, reason why the jeeps and ATVs drove at high speed through the winding streets. The hotel, was directly on the beach, so they barely accommodated their stuff in the closets and changed with sports clothing and got out to walk on the sand. Hubert ran on a completely unknown environment, stumbling and falling into the arena that was novel and surprising. Resins of pines and other fragrances created a cool environment.

  When they were together the three adults spoke in French not to exclude Zoubaida whose Spanish was more basic than Charfadine´s, partly because she spent much less time in Buenos Aires due to her travels abroad.

  “What a huge beach!” Exclaimed Charfadine. “I had never seen anything like this before.”

  “In low tides you have over a hundred meters wide.” Cristian explained “And this extends to other beaches by miles and miles.”

  “And are the waters deep?” Asked Zoubaida.

  “Yes, of course, is the Atlantic Ocean, but the decline is gradual, less abrupt than in Rio de Janeiro and Miami.”

  Hubert came trotting literally covered with sand and Zoubaida began to laugh.

  “You will soon h
ave chance to try the sand in Chad!”

  A shiver ran through Cristian spine. He looked into Charfadine eyes and noticed that her reaction was similar. The theme was a thorn that could dig into their flesh at any time.

  They toured hundreds of yards along the beach until the houses ended and beaches ended in high and endless dunes.

  “Dunes like in Sahara!” “Said Zoubaida “this landscape is more familiar.

  They sat down in the dunes to rest for a while, until the rays of the Sun started retreating from the beach.

  “Better go back.” Said Cristian.” Hubert is already tired and I have to carry him in my arms.”

  When arrived at the hotel the shadows were already falling on the beach and the grove surrounding the building was a dark mass.

  After dinner they stayed at the lobby where they rarely saw any delayed tourist or night hotel employee. They remained there long hours at the heat of a wood fire in a large hearth. Hubert fell asleep on his mother´s lap, while the adults talked about the day's experiences. When the subject was exhausted, the weight of the conversation fell on Zoubaida, who with her contralto voice narrated her activities in New York, during the meetings of African countries.

  “.. .with all its weaknesses and greatness, there is growing conviction that the effort to rid Africa of its wars, plagues, famines and exiles must come from Africans themselves. Others will hardly place their consciousness above their interests. And this is true for Europeans, Americans, Russians and Chinese.”

  A silence followed her words.

  “What, not interested in the topic?” Challenged Zoubaida.

  “What can add from our small beings to the great mission that you have drawn?” Surprisingly said Charfadine without double intentions.

  “There is no such grandiose mission! The task is for not an enlightened élite, but for everyone, at least those who are children of that continent.”

  “That excludes me “Cristian replied.

  “Not! You have interests in this adventure. Two wives and a son, no less.” Answered quiet but emphatically Zoubaida. “We have to earn the right to be proud of our continent as you are demonstrating these days to be it of your country.”