The Saffron Gate

by Holeman, Linda

Aszulay studied me, balancing the tagine with one hand. I was aware of how I looked, my eyes red and swollen, my hair a disgusting tangle. I pulled a strand of hair away from my cheek, where it was stuck with perspiration.

  ‘We brought you some beignets, Sidonie,’ Badou said. ‘But what’s wrong with your eyes? They—’ Aszulay put his free hand on the boy’s head, and the child was immediately quiet.

  ‘I thought perhaps …’ Aszulay said, and then stopped, as if unsure how to continue. ‘Yesterday Badou told me … he said that the day before you had cried out, and fallen to the ground. He came to you, but you only stared at him, without speaking. Then you got up and … he said you were unable to walk properly, and fell again, but left the courtyard. I knew then that Manon had deeply upset you. I’m sorry for what she had to tell you. About Etienne,’ he added. ‘As I have said, Manon does not always speak or act in the most suitable way.’

  There was silence. I had cried out, fallen? Now I knew what had happened to my knees. Finally I looked at the tagine and said, ‘Thank you. But … I think it’s better if I’m alone at this time. But thank you, Aszulay,’ I repeated. ‘And thank you, Badou.’

  Aszulay nodded. He still had his hand on Badou’s head. He took it off and set the tagine on the floor just inside the door. A lovely smell rose from it — lamb and apricots. Rosemary ‘Come, Badou, give Mademoiselle O’Shea the beignets, and we will leave her.’

  I took the ring of little doughnuts Badou silently handed me. By the lingering way his small hand remained on the length of grass, I knew he had expected to share the meal — and this treat — with me. Even in the short time I had been in Morocco, I understood its hospitality, and how utterly rude — no matter what my mood, and even to a small child — I appeared.

  I thought of returning to the bed, wrapping myself in the coverlet, alone with my thoughts..

  ‘Wait,’ I said, as Badou let go of the doughnuts, and they both turned. ‘No, no. Of course, you must come in and eat with me.’ At that moment a boy appeared behind them with a carafe of orange juice and a glass on a silver tray. He looked at Aszulay for a moment too long.

  ‘You may put the juice on the table, and fetch two more glasses, for my guests,’ I told him.

  He nodded, putting down the tray and leaving.

  ‘Come in,’ I said to Aszulay and Badou, ‘come in, and sit.’ I picked up the tagine and set it on the table beside the juice. Through the open window came the faint, insistent bray of a donkey. Aszulay and I sat on the two chairs, Badou on Aszulay’s lap.

  I took the lid from the tagine. Steam and the fragrant aroma rose into the air. ‘Please, eat. I … I don’t know if I can,’ I said, and Aszulay and Badou put their fingers into the dish and ate.

  I simply sat there, knowing that if I put food in my mouth it would not stay down. Once again, to me the silence, as Aszulay and Badou ate, was uncomfortable, but they didn’t seem aware of it.

  The boy returned and set down two more glasses. He again glanced at Aszulay, and Aszulay nodded at him. The boy lowered his head in a respectful manner.

  When at last Badou had had his fill of couscous and lamb and apricots, he ate two of the small beignets. As he reached for a third, Aszulay took the boy’s hand in his. ‘That’s enough, Badou,’ he said. ‘Your stomach will hurt. Remember the last time.’

  Badou obediently nodded, but his eyes were still on the remaining beignets.

  ‘I have only a few hours — simple work — at the gardens today. I will take Badou with me,’ Aszulay said.

  I nodded, distractedly.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to join us.’

  ‘No,’ I answered immediately. I couldn’t imagine going out into the noisy street, fighting my way through the cars and horses and donkeys and crowds of people. Did Aszulay not realise what I was going through?

  ‘Monsieur Majorelle has brought in some new birds. I thought you might be interested in seeing them.’ He was speaking to me as if I were Badou, cajoling me as he would a child, and this annoyed me. I remembered how he’d spoken to Manon like this, calming her.

  ‘I said no, Aszulay. I don’t … I …’ Tears came to my eyes, and I turned my head so that he wouldn’t see them.

  ‘It’s a difficult time. I understand,’ he said, standing. ‘I’m sorry you have come all this way only to be disappointed. Come, Badou.’ He held out his hand to the child.

  ‘His death is far more than a disappointment,’ I said, quietly.

  At this Aszulay turned his head sharply. ‘His death?’ he repeated.

  I looked up at him, and something in his expression made me catch my breath. ‘Yes,’ I said, still staring at him.

  ‘But … Mademoiselle O’Shea,’ he said. ‘Etienne … he’s not dead. Why do you say this?’

  I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look at him. I fixed my gaze on the tagine, the orange juice, the glasses. They pulsed as if beating with life. ‘But …’ I covered my mouth with my hand, then took it away and looked back at Aszulay.’ Manon … she said …’ I stopped. ‘She said Etienne was dead. Buried, in the cemetery. She told me he was dead,’ I repeated.

  In the silence, Aszulay and I stared at each other.

  ‘It’s not true?’ I finally whispered, and when Aszulay shook his head, a sound burst from me, a sound unlike anything I’d ever made. I had to cover my mouth again, this time with both hands, to stop it.

  ‘She really told you this?’ Aszulay said. His lips straightened, but he said nothing more.

  ‘Tell me the truth, Aszulay. Just tell me what’s happened to Etienne. If he’s not dead, where is he?’

  Aszulay didn’t speak for a long moment. ‘It’s not my business,’ he finally said. ‘It’s between you and Etienne, you and Manon. Between Manon and Etienne. It’s not my business,’ he repeated. ‘But for Manon to …’ He didn’t finish the sentence.

  I reached across the table and put my hand on his forearm. It was hard and warm under his blue sleeve. ‘But why? Why would Manon do this to me, lie like this? Why does she hate me enough to drive me away from Marrakesh in such a terrible way? I haven’t done anything to her. Why does she not want me to be with Etienne? Why would she go to this length — to announce him dead? Why is she so full of hatred towards me?’ I was repeating myself, speaking too quickly. It was too confusing, too unbelievable.

  Aszulay looked at Badou then, and I looked as well. The little boy’s face was watchful, his eyes intelligent. Full of life. But also too full of something else. He had seen and heard far too much, I knew. Not just today, but all his short life.

  ‘She has deep unhappiness within her,’ Aszulay said. ‘The reasons are hers alone. I don’t know why she told you this.’

  ‘And what is the truth, then? Where is Etienne? You can see she won’t tell me. I understand … we are in similar positions, aren’t we?’ I am — was, am, I no longer know — Etienne’s lover; you are Manon’s lover.

  ‘Positions? I don’t know what you mean. But Etienne was here, in Marrakesh. He stayed with Manon for perhaps two weeks. Then he left. Left Manon, and left Marrakesh.’

  ‘Did he go back to America?’ Could I have passed him, missed him as he journeyed one way and I the other? Was he looking for me in Albany? This was the stuff of Shakespearean drama, of Greek tragedy.

  ‘No. He said he would remain in Morocco, now that …’ He stopped, looking at Badou again.

  ‘Is that all? Can you tell me nothing more?’

  ‘Perhaps we can speak of this another time.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Another time,’he repeated. He took Badou’s hand and left.

  The rest of the day passed in a strange twilight. I alternately lay on the bed or sat at the table, looking out the window. I wanted to rush back to Manon’s house, to confront her, to demand that she tell me the truth. And yet I was filled with an odd exhaustion, an inability to move more than a few steps. I was confused by my feelings. Only a few days ago, upon meeting Manon, I had been filled with hope at finding E
tienne. Then Manon had told me he was dead, and I keened and despaired. And now … according to what Aszulay had told me — and of course I believed him over Manon — Etienne wasn’t dead, but alive, somewhere in Morocco …

  I was no closer to finding him, no closer to understanding why he had done what he’d done — abandon me, without telling me why. But something had shifted. Something very small. I had grieved for Etienne, convinced he was dead. Something in me had gone cold. Was missing. And finding out he was still alive hadn’t brought it back.

  I thought of all of this, trying to understand. I put shreds of cold lamb into my mouth, licking the grease from my fingers. I drank the rest of the orange juice. I bathed my knees, inspecting the abrasions and bruises.

  And then it was dark, and again I took off my clothes and once more lay naked on the soft bed, the night air hot on my body.

  In the morning, flies were crusted on the remains of the tagine. I drew a bath and pinned up my hair. I put on a clean dress and threw out the remains of the food, then went out into the street and hailed a taxi to take me to the gates of the medina.

  It was time to confront Manon. Although I never wanted to see her again, I would not let, it end like this.

  I would not let her think she had driven me away. And I would stay until I made her tell me where I could find Etienne.

  TWENTY FOUR

  When I arrived at Manon’s just after nine o’clock, Badou was in the courtyard, playing with a yellow pup with white paws and one ragged ear.

  ‘Bonjour, Badou,’ I said, after Falida let me in and went back to listlessly sweeping the courtyard with a short-handled broom made of dried brush. ‘Where is your mother?’ I asked him.

  ‘She’s sleeping,’ he said, cradling the little dog against his chest. It gnawed, lightly, on his knuckle, and he smiled down at it, then up at me. ‘Look at my dog.’

  I sat down on the wide edge of the fountain. ‘Is he yours, really?’ I asked, and Badou shook his head.

  ‘Non’ he admitted, sadly. ‘He belongs to Ali, across the lane. Sometimes Ali lets me play with him. But I would like him to be mine. I want a dog.’

  I thought of Cinnabar, and the comfort she had brought me, even though I had been ten years older than Badou when she came into my life.’ I know,’ I said. ‘Maybe one day your maman will get you a dog.’

  But Badou shook his head again. He put down the dog and came to stand in front of me. ‘Maman said no. She said a dog is trouble. She said I can never have one, and not to ask any more.’ He spoke without the expected childlike disappointment, but again, with a mature stoicism that touched me.

  ‘But it’s good that you can play with this little dog,’ I said.

  The dog danced around him, jumping up to pull on Badou’s sleeve. ‘Sidonie, I do not like your dar,’ he said, ignoring the dog.

  ‘You don’t like my house?’ I said. Basic Arabic words were becoming familiar to me now.

  ‘Yes. I do not like it,’ he repeated. ‘It’s too big, with too many people. And they do not love you,’ he added, gravely.

  ‘Love me? Who, Badou?’ I asked, confused by his statements, his morose expression.

  ‘Your family. All the people in your big house,’ he insisted, and then I understood. ‘They do not love you,’ he said, again.

  ‘Oh, Badou, that’s not my house. It’s a hotel,’ I said, realising, as I spoke, that he didn’t understand the word. ‘A … yes, a big house. But not my house. I’m only staying there for a short while. And the people aren’t my family.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know them. Strangers.’

  ‘You live with strangers?’ His eyes grew even wider. ‘But Sidonie, how can you live without your family? Aren’t you lonely?’

  I looked at him. When I didn’t respond — because I wasn’t sure what to say — he went on.

  ‘But … where are they? Where is your mother, and your father? Where are your children?’ Badou already understood the Moroccan importance of family. In spite of the coldness of his mother, he spoke of love.

  Perhaps he read something, some small and subtle thing, in my expression. He then added, so casually and yet with such weight, in the way of a child who knows too much of the world, too early, ‘Dead?’

  There was only one way to respond to a child like Badou. I nodded, slowly. ‘Yes. They are all dead.’

  Badou came to me then, climbing on to my lap as I had seen him do with his mother and with Aszulay. On his knees, he laid his cheek against mine. I felt the heat of his skin, smelled the dust in his thick hair. I absently thought that he needed a bath.

  I couldn’t speak, but simply put my arms around his small back. I moved my fingers to feel his ribs, and then the faint bumps of his vertebrae. At my touch he relaxed into my lap, so easily. The yellow pup settled at my feet, lying on its side on the smooth, warm stones. Its pink tongue protruded slightly, and its one visible eye twitched to repel the flies. Falida continued her languid sweeping, the sound of the soft broom a rhythmic lull. We sat in the dappled light of the courtyard, Badou’s head under my chin, and waited for Manon to awaken.

  Eventually Manon called for Falida, her voice hoarse and querulous through an open upstairs window. Falida went up the stairs, but returned in a moment, going into the house. Badou stayed on my lap.

  In another few moments footsteps came down the courtyard steps; I braced myself, ready to face Manon.

  But it wasn’t Manon. A man, his dark blond hair roughly smoothed across his forehead and his face shadowed by the night’s whiskers, looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He was quite handsome, and wore a well-cut, although rumpled suit of cream linen, and carried his wide-brimmed hat.

  ‘Oh. Madame,’ he said, stopping halfway down the stairs. ‘Good day.’

  ‘Good day,’ I responded.

  ‘Manon is waiting for her morning tea. I don’t think she’s aware she has a visitor,’ he said. ‘Shall I tell—’

  ‘No,’ I interrupted. Too many things were swirling through my head. This man had obviously spent the night here. Was he her husband, then? No. He couldn’t be, could he? I glanced at Badou; as the man had come down the stairs, Badou had jumped off my lap and was now pointedly petting the dog, his back to the man. And what of Aszulay? ‘I’ll wait here for her,’ I said.

  ‘As you wish,’ he said, bowing slightly at the waist, and then left the courtyard. He had completely ignored Badou.

  As the gate closed behind him, I wondered where Badou and Falida slept at night, wondered what they were subjected to.

  Badou ran upstairs. I heard his high, clear little voice telling his mother I was in the courtyard.

  ‘What does she want?’ Manon responded, her voice cranky.

  ‘I don’t know, Maman,’ he said. ‘Maman, her papa and mama, her children, they’re all dead.’

  There was rustling. ‘She doesn’t deserve a family,’ Manon said, shocking me, not only because of her open resentment towards me, but because it was a terrible thing to say to a child.

  I thought of the sweet curve of Badou’s head as he leaned against me. ‘Manon!’ I called, rising from the edge of the fountain before she could say anything more to him. ‘I must speak to you.’

  ‘You will wait until I’m ready,’ she said, in the same irritable voice she had used with both Falida and Badou. Again, I had no choice but to sit down again, and wait until she appeared at the top of the stairs.

  Finally she descended slowly, as if she had all the time in the world. She wore only a loose, almost diaphanous kaftan; I could clearly see the slender and yet curvaceous outline of her body through it as the light touched her. Her breasts were still high and firm. Her hair was uncombed, and her kohl smeared around her eyes. Her lips were puffy, as though slightly bruised.

  As I watched her come down the stairs in such an imperious manner, with such studied nonchalance, I wanted to rush at her, to push her, hard, so that she fell down the steps, to pull her
hair, to slap heir. I wanted to shout at her that she was a liar, and a deceitful person not worthy of her beautiful little son, her gracious home. Not worthy of her lover — her other lover — Aszulay, who had such a presence, who treated her and Badou with such consideration and loyalty. Did he know she deceived him as well as me, although in a different way?

  But I didn’t do or say anything. I stayed on the edge of the fountain, my hands gripping each other, my mouth a tight line.

  She seated herself on the daybed, and once more called, sharply, to Falida, and the girl hurried out, carrying a tray with a teapot and one glass, rounds of bread and a bowl of something that looked like dark jam. She set it on the low table. Badou, moving almost stealthily, had come down the steps and now sat beside his mother.

  ‘Did you see my man, Sidonie? The charming Olivier? Quite something, isn’t he?’

  I didn’t respond, staring at her. What did she want of me? To agree with her on the qualities of yet another lover?

  ‘You look poorly, Sidonie,’ Manon said now, as if it pleased her. ‘Pale, and shaken. Not well at all. ‘There was the hint of a smile on her lips. She first took a sip of tea, then spread a spoonful of the fruity substance on the bread and bit into it.

  I had absolutely no expectation that she would offer me anything. But she didn’t offer anything to her son, either. He watched as his mother ate and drank.

  ‘How do you expect me to appear, after what you told me?’ I didn’t attempt to keep the anger from my voice. ‘Manon. Did you think I wouldn’t find out about your lie? That I would simply believe you, and quietly pack my bags and leave Marrakesh, like a beaten dog?’ Of course that was what I would have done, had Aszulay not told me the truth. ‘What kind of cruel game were you playing with me? And why?’

  Manon’s mouth worked at the bread and jam. She swallowed. ‘I have had many things to survive in my life. Many things,’ she repeated. ‘My level of unhappiness far surpasses anything you might ever feel.’ She lifted her chin as if daring me to argue, then glanced at Badou. ‘Go away,’ she told him.

  I shook my head impatiently, still gripping my hands so I wouldn’t rush at her and strike her across the face. I had never hit anyone in my life. But I wanted to, so badly, at that moment. Badou crossed the courtyard and went out the gate, making kissing sounds to call the pup.