’Please, Nahid, tell me the truth. Swear on the life of your mother. Am I as fat as the Princess?’
’God forbid, no. It’s all in your mind. It’s all because of Spare Tyres Muhammad. Just take a look at her enormous feet, will you. While your legs and feet ...’
’OK. I’m not going to ask you again. You’re not being honest with me. How can you see her legs, when her skirt reaches down to the floor?’
’Look at her ankles. Just look at them. They’re like two garlic pounders.’
’OK, OK.’
So what if the Princess’s feet were like two garlic pounders, thought Amira. Although her own legs and feet were very attractive, having nice feet and legs never made her secure or gave her assurance. Her feet never stepped on hotel floors and rested, one leg crossed over the other, one foot firmly rooted to the ground, safe in the knowledge that no one could ever chase them away. They never convinced her she would find a good punter.
The Princess was sitting at the table like a guru; her place in the world was secure from the moment of her birth, everyone in the palace waiting for her first cry. When Amira uttered her first cry, it was echoed by the disappointment and regrets of the women who attended her mother during her birth, who wished that this baby girl could return to the womb, and stay there while they prayed to God to change her sex.
Amira could imagine the Princess playing in the palace garden, while she sat with her brothers and younger sister around the radio in Morocco, listening to an Egyptian play. One of her brothers came in, screwed up his nose. What was that stink? Approaching Amira, he knew. His face showed his disgust. Amira’s underpants. She had to queue for the toilet, and couldn’t wait. Afterwards, there were no clean pants for her to wear. When Amira was ill in bed with a fever, only the cat noticed. Amira’s teacher gave up on her parents and it was she who taught Amira how to clean her teeth, and to gargle with salt water. Amira started to steal money from anyone; she stole sanitary towels from shops to replace the rags that never absorbed the blood, and left her clothes stained. She stole hairpins and soap - she wanted to be clean and fresh, to meet the man of her dreams. One day she did, though his teeth were rotten; he told her he was going to get a university degree, and a job, and then he would be able to fix his teeth.
Amira’s mother reneged on her promise to the family of Amira’s fiance to give Amira a trousseau of a lounge suite, refusing to sell her gold bracelets to pay for it. When Amira threatened to take her own life if her mother didn’t fulfil her promise, her mother screamed and threw the pail of water at her that she’d been using to clean the house. Amira fled to the rocks by the sea but once there she changed her mind and decided to approach her aunt’s husband and ask for help: he’d lived in London, he’d worked in a hotel kitchen. However, when she told him that she’d been going to kill herself he didn’t ask why, he only shouted in an accusing tone, ’What’s happened? You’re not trying to tell me that one of my children has drowned?’
’Nahid, the Princess looks Moroccan too, don’t you think?’
’And Egyptian,’ Nahid responded. ’We’re alike. Aren’t we all Arabs?’
’I wish, I wish.’
Amira let Nahid take the first punter. She didn’t want to work that night. She waited until the Princess decided to leave, then walked out behind the retinue, and observed that one of the companions was handing out money from a fistful of fifty-pound notes: to the piano player, to each waiter, the doorman, and one, two, three, four, five, six notes to the head waiter.
A driver with a Rolls-Royce was waiting for the Princess and her retinue. Watching their heads as the car drove off, Amira concluded that the Princess would never be left all alone whatever happened.
Amira walked down the steps of the Dorchester Hotel and gave the porter who opened the taxi door a ten-pound tip, promising herself that next time it would be fifty. She’d made a decision: she would never stretch out her hand for five hundred pounds again. She didn’t want to remind herself that she used to accept three hundred.
She entered the taxi in a manner as unruffled and impassive as a Cleopatra carried by her countrymen. She spoke in a low, soft voice to the driver when she gave him her destination. Many dreams, cheerful ones, made her smile until she realised the taxi was passing Wasim’s hair salon, and she tapped on the glass and shouted to the driver to stop immediately.
Wasim was working in the back room of the salon, the one reserved for veiled women, although, in fact, it was used by women who smoked, and by sex-starved women who enjoyed Wasim’s touch. The voice of Warda al-Jazairiya came from the speakers and there were dishes of Lebanese food stacked on a tray in the corner of the room.
Amira waited while Wasim finished doing the hair of a woman in her fifties. He played with her hair, brushed the woman’s cheek as he pulled her hair forward. The woman scolded him contentedly. If only I could pass myself off as a male hairdresser, thought Amira. I could manipulate these women as easily as chewing gum, and flirt with them even more outrageously than Wasim - they’d give me bigger tips than they do him.
’Wasim, I want you to tint my hair black, and straighten it like silk. I want it cut just below my chin, and no spray, no teasing, just shining like an eggplant.’
’I don’t think that’s a good idea. It will make you look hard. Believe me, Madame Amira, the older a woman gets, the lighter her hair should be. Now if you were fair-skinned, I’d be the one to suggest it; I’d be pleading with you to tint your hair blue-black, or tulip black.’
’Wasim, I know what I’m doing. Can you start now?’
’No way ... tomorrow ... any time tomorrow. By the way, do you want to see the wigs Bahia ordered?’
’Yes please.’
He looked into the mirror and gestured at an apprentice hairdresser. The young man opened a cabinet and brought over a bag of wigs, which Wasim handed to Amira. She picked out one after another, and finally chose a blonde wig. ’I’ll try it on at home,’ she said to Wasim, ’and decide whether it suits me. Either way, I’ll bring it back tomorrow.’
She left and walked along Upper Berkeley Street. Noticing the back of the Cumberland Hotel, she remembered the Gulf man from the aeroplane - she was not only putting on weight, she was getting thick in the head as well! How could she have forgotten to tell Nahid about the Gulf man? But wasn’t the tea at the Dorchester this afternoon a revelation?
Confidently she made her way towards the lift, carrying three bunches of flowers that she had bought opposite the Cumberland Hotel.
She knocked on the door of Room 609 several times, before a voice replied irritably, ’Who’s there?’
’Open the door, if you’re not dead already,’ she said under her breath, and aloud, ’It’s Amira. We met on the plane.’
’Amira?’
The Gulf man opened the door. He was dressed in pyjamas and bedroom slippers. ’Hello! How nice to see you! Come in!’
She handed him the bouquets of wilting flowers and he held them up to his nose and sniffed. ’Lovely! A prayer for the Prophet and his household. They’re wonderful!’ he exclaimed, although the flowers had no perfume.
Uncertain what to do with them, he eventually put them down on a table, on top of some books about London.
’I’d like to invite you to dinner,’ said Amira, ’to welcome you to London.’
’It’s late. I’ve had dinner. Why were you screaming on the plane? Don’t you know that our lives are in God’s hands?’
’I know. I was confused, that’s all. Do you want to come out with me to take your mind off your eye operation? It’s tomorrow, isn’t it? We could go to a cabaret or walk in Edgware Road.’
’I can’t. I have to stay here.’
’I booked a table in a restaurant. I wanted to invite you.’
’Shall I order room service for you?’
Amira declined and sat down next to him. He had not switched off the television.
’The operation is tomorrow, isn’t it?’
’I hope so. It’s a very simple process with lasers. I’m fed up with the eyedrops. They’re making my life a misery, I tell you, especially at night, when my eyes give me a lot of trouble.’
’They’ll examine your eyes tomorrow first. They’ll have to be satisfied with them, otherwise they’ll postpone the operation.’
’How do you know? Have you had it yourself?’
’What are these?’ Amira pointed to her eyes.
’Eyes.’
’And this?’
’A nose.’
’And this?’
’A mouth.’
’And this?’ She pointed at her chest.
He laughed.
’And this?’ She pointed below her waist. She lay on the bed and with a gesture invited him to lie beside her.
’I knew you’d be good company. At Dubai Airport I wasn’t quite sure whether you were a respectable married woman or a whore!’
As Amira stood up to leave, he asked her to stay another half-hour, until it was time for his drops. After about a quarter of an hour, Amira said briskly, ’Come on, then,’ and administered the drops. Before she left the Gulf man gave her even more money than she had hoped for.
She walked along Edgware Road and saw European and Arab women, some in groups and others alone. As she passed the Moonlight Café the street was fragrant with the perfume of narghiles. Inside, she could see that the café was thronging with Arabs smoking, and she quickly realised what was going on: inside there were women like her stalking their prey, while the men didn’t dare to glance once in the direction of their pursuers because their fathers- or sons-in-law were sitting beside them.
She stopped off for a shawarma sandwich at Ranoush Juice and saw that it was no longer patronised exclusively by Arabs. It was crammed with English customers, especially young men from the fashion world and the media. She went into the Ladies and sat hunched on a toilet seat, rummaging in her bag for the blonde wig. She put it on, then took out a large silk scarf and draped it over the shoulders of her suit. She adjusted the wig in the mirror and returned to the Cumberland. When she knocked at the door of Room 609 and there was no reply, she said to herself, ’You must have run out of strength. Did Amira wear you out?’
’Who is it?’
’This is Nawal. I’m a relation of Amira’s.’
’Amira? Did you forget something?’
’No. I’m Nawal. A relation of Amira’s.’
She waited almost five minutes and was about to knock again when the door opened.
’Hello. I was fast asleep.’
’Good morning.’
’Is it morning? Please come in.’
She went in and sat down shyly and hesitantly, keeping her eyes on the ground and rubbing her hands together.
’Amira called and asked me to visit you and say hello. She thanks you very much.’ She glanced involuntarily at his expensive slippers.
’What did she really say?’
’That you were extremely elegant and a real gentleman. Imagine, she woke me up! She told me you were going to have an eye operation and would probably move back to your home and then I wouldn’t have the chance to meet you because you’d be with your family. She said you were a really good person.’
’She must have said other things.’
’I’m embarrassed to tell you.’
’Don’t be.’
’She said it was incredible, but you were better than a boy of eighteen.’
’I don’t drink and I don’t take any medicines. My conscience is clear, thanks be to God. But your voice is so like hers. It’s amazing.’
She put a piece of gum in her mouth, hoping it would distract him from her voice. She helped him off with his pyjama jacket and stroked his chest, and he let out a sigh. She moved her hand down to waist-level and, as she expected, the fish was dead. What had happened earlier in the evening had been a reawakening of life, or a final explosion of life when death was looming on the horizon. She did not try again but moved her hand back to his chest.
’Is what’s-her-name, Amira, your sister?’
’No, my cousin.’
’How blonde you are!’
’My mother’s Dutch.’
’Praise the Lord! He didn’t want to upset Mother or Father, so he gave you blonde hair and dark skin.’
’Amira told me she loved you. She was right about you.’
’She’s a good girl, really. She put drops in my eyes. She screamed such a lot in the plane!’
’Shall I put more drops in for you now?’
’I don’t know what the time is. I fell asleep.’
’Midnight.’ She added on an hour.
’Shall I put the drops in?’
’It’s meant to be every six hours,’ he yawned.
’I’ll wait two hours with you, then put the drops in. You should get into bed and rest.’
’And leave you? I couldn’t!’
’The important thing is that you rest.’
They both stood up, but she sat down on the bed and held out her hand to him.
’So Amira said she loved me. What about you?’ he asked.
She flopped back, shut her eyes and guided one of his hands to her breast and the other to her stomach. To her surprise he asked her to take her clothes off. She was afraid he would notice that her suit and underclothes were the same. She dismissed the thought when she saw his pupils, tiny and black, like the seeds she used to eat when she was a girl, back at home in Morocco, instead of scattering them for the pigeons. He lost himself in the folds of her flesh, murmuring indistinct words over and over again as if asking her where to begin.
She tried to help him but he was like a turkey-cock’s wattle. She writhed and groaned and heard a guffaw. He was laughing, slapping her gently. He turned her over on her back and held her tight, amused and affectionate, and tweaked the mole on her shoulder, shaking his head in disbelief. ’God forgive you! Admit it! You’re Amira. Why did you lie? You went to all the trouble of dyeing your hair, changing your voice and your name, everything except that mole on your shoulder. Why didn’t you come straight to the point? Admit it, Amira! Be honest. Let me hear you say it. You’ve fallen in love and can’t keep away from me!’
Amira could not sleep. She tried Nahid’s mobile phone but it was engaged. She wanted to tell Nahid about the idea that had attached itself to her like a blowfly attracted to the blue light in the butcher’s shop.
However much a man such as the one from the Gulf wanted a fling with a foreigner, he was attracted by women of his own kind; it was they who held an aura of distance, of mystery. Or this is what Amira surmised: every time she picked up a copy of What’s On and read the classifieds the call girls from the Gulf outnumbered those listed as Angie, Stars of Syria, Beauty of Lebanon and the rest. The page was almost full of Gulf names: Flower of the Gulf, Princess and the Angels, A Bedouin Girl in London.
She realised that circumstances altered the nature of men’s fantasies. In London, what drew them was the notion of a woman who’d been hidden away in the dark, wrapped in a black veil, like a packet of dates or henna. She assumed that the names in the magazine dissipated the confusion and fear that the visiting men felt when they were faced with London, the big city, and its bewildering array of tightly clad arses; it reassured them that they would get what they wanted, in their own surroundings, and their own language, not in an English that either condescended to them or stole their money.
As a result, Amira had been inspired to reinvent herself as a precious jewel, accessible only to those who knew the secret. She would present herself as a princess, since she deserved to be one anyway. She already lived like one, sleeping until noon, adoring nice clothes and never picking up a dirty plate.
III
The interest that every colleague or acquaintance who bought and sold Islamic art began to show in Nicholas, once he started working on Sayf’s collection in Oman, amused and disgusted him at the same time.
David was soon on the phone a
gain. ’Nicholas, will the Arabs buy the gazelle? How high do you think they’ll go?’
Sometimes he could not hide his annoyance when, like David, the person made it plain that he or she considered Nicholas an accomplice, a predator, seeking out any opportunity to take advantage of the Arabs. However, it had been Sayf who first approached Nicholas, and asked for his advice and assistance. It was just when Nichoias was starting to feel that life at Sotheby’s had become impossible: Liz’s gaze was boring into him daily, as if he himself were an artwork that she was trying to dissect in order to put it back together again the way she wanted.
’Do you mean Sayf? No, he won’t buy it. He only collects Islamic daggers. Anyway, the gazelle would be out of his range.’
’Do you expect me to believe that there are prices which are beyond their range? Nicholas, please stop being evasive! Are you trying to tell me they know the actual extent of their wealth?’
’No, David. They’re too busy trying to count it out on their fingers and toes ... goodbye.’
After taking his degree in history at Oxford, Nicholas felt no desire to go on with the subject, and he acknowledged to himself that he’d made a huge mistake when he gave up his interest in astronomy, a fascination that dated back to his childhood, when he’d declared that he was going to discover his own star and build a rocket to take him up into the sky, and to a warm summer night on a Hampshire hillside as he lay on his back studying the stars and wondering whether, if his grandmother in London looked at the moon at that precise moment, their eyes would meet.
Only in London Page 8