“The buildings are still lovely if you don’t look too closely,” Dominique remarked. Laid out by Europeans for Europeans, modern Alexandria, until the revolution, had been admired for its broad avenues and Belle Époque architecture. Now the grand buildings crumbled with neglect and the exquisitely landscaped avenues were choked with weeds.
“Alexandria is still beautiful,” Solange acknowledged, “but the time has come for me to sell the beach villa, if I’m to get anything at all for it.” She sighed. “Though I can’t imagine who will buy it with the town deteriorating as it is.” Her face became pensive and her hand slowed its agitated fluttering of her fan.
“Sell the beach villa?” Dominique turned to her mother in surprise. “But it’s miles from here! The neighborhood is still lovely.” Why, the villa held her fondest childhood memories. Memories of summer, when her father had for three months taken a rest from work and spent his time squiring Solange and their daughters around Alexandria.
“I don’t know how long it will be lovely,” Solange said with a resigned shrug. “It’s best to sell while I still can.”
Dominique regarded her mother with a pained expression. Everything was changing! Everything was slipping away. She closed her eyes and thought of the Alexandria of her childhood. Unlike Cairo, where the lives of adults and children were strictly segregated, Alexandria meant family outings and endless lazy days lived in bathing suits instead of starched school uniforms. There had been boat excursions and garden parties, musicales and the theater. And when their mother and father had outings of their own, Dominique and Danielle would rise at dawn and drag Nanny to the beach until dusk. As they approached adolescence, Nanny had insisted they travel a mile down the promenade to the beach that was exclusively reserved for women. The sisters didn’t mind at first, because there had been a marvelous ice-cream pavilion adjacent, built to resemble a circus carousel. As they grew older, however, they would tell Nanny they were going for a walk, then hike back down to the beach frequented by both men and women. Dominique smiled now as she remembered Nanny’s good-natured resignation at her charges’ small adventure.
Now, as the car approached the customs building, the cacophony outside grew louder. Dominique opened her eyes and saw that smokestacks from three ocean liners now obscured the horizon. Smaller boats, like toys beside the huge vessels, bobbed on the calm cerulean water of the harbor. Alexandria had been the most important port in the Middle East before the revolution. Now Beirut had gained ascendancy. But ship traffic was still heavy. Tugboats were already circling the luxurious French ship Dominique and Solange would board, preparing to guide it out of the harbor.
Dominique thought the scene would have been cheerfully frenetic had it not been for the scores of Egyptian soldiers who stood about glowering, their guns at their sides.
But as soon as the car pulled to a stop in front of the government customs house, Dominique’s view of the soldiers—and everything else—was blocked by the mob of porters who converged on the Rolls. They all spoke at once, a disorderly chorus of Arabic. Solange’s driver impatiently shooed them away. The valises were his responsibility. When the porters had retreated a few feet—and looked as though they would be held at bay by the driver’s warning expression—the servant opened the door to the car and handed out the ladies.
“Let’s hurry up and get on board,” Solange said, taking Dominique’s elbow. The two women entered the government building and went to the desk belonging to the cruise line. Solange showed her tickets and was directed to a passport checkpoint. She glided confidently through the crowd until she reached an Egyptian officer dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant. She addressed him in Arabic, “Sabbah el-Khair.” Good morning.
The lieutenant nodded coldly at her. His eyes stared at a distant point somewhere over her shoulder. “French citizens?” he barked. Solange nodded. “Aywalla!”
The lieutenant clapped his hands and another man, this one dressed in the uniform of a customs policeman, hurried to his side. “Check them,” he ordered, still not looking at the women.
Dominique felt a prickle of apprehension, but tried not to be unduly alarmed. After all, procedures seemed to change with each voyage she and Solange took. And she was thankful they had not been turned over to the army, which was responsible for most of the affronts to foreigners, but instead to customs, whose police didn’t even carry guns.
The policeman, a rotund, worried looking man with a disproportionately large handlebar mustache, gave Solange a pleading look and directed the ladies to follow him.
“What is this?” Solange demanded loftily of the army lieutenant. He turned away and picked up a telephone. Solange looked dumbfounded. Never had she been treated with such a lack of respect.
She rounded indignantly on the policeman. “What is this?” she repeated.
This man was more human. He looked apologetic as he said, “Routine check.”
Suddenly a look of understanding crossed Solange’s face. “Aah…” she said. She smiled winningly at the young man. “Baksheesh?” she offered. “Perhaps there is a permit we neglected to purchase? How much is required?”
The little man was furiously shaking his head even before Solange finished her sentence. “No, no,” he whispered, casting a frightened glance at the nearby officer.
Solange followed his gaze and lowered her voice. “How much does he want?”
“No, no!” the policeman grew more agitated. His mustache jumped with each exclamation.
Solange stared at him, puzzled. She had never before encountered such a reaction. Baksheesh—tips or bribes, depending on the viewpoint—had for centuries been an accepted way of life in Egypt. The practice occurred openly and was considered a necessary expense of any transaction with the government.
“You must come!” the policeman explained, his voice imperative.
Now Dominique grew worried. She thought of the money they had hidden in their brassieres—the only means by which they had been able to take out enough for their trip.
Solange cast another glance at the back of the lieutenant, as though debating whether to insist on speaking to him. He appeared engrossed in his telephone conversation. She turned back to the policeman. “Very well,” she agreed. “Let’s get this ridiculous thing over with.” She turned to her daughter. “You wait here for the bags.”
“Madame,” said the policeman, “your baggage is in our possession. And your daughter must come also.”
Solange frowned. “What do you mean, young man? I haven’t time for delays. We have to board that ship!” She gestured with her fan in the direction of the boat.
The policeman stared at Solange for a moment. “You will follow me,” he said. Without waiting for a response, he turned and began to push through the crowd. Solange let out a noise of exasperation and followed him. They were led down a narrow hall lined with crooked pictures of President Nasser and his cabinet, then into a tiny, stifling room with no windows. Once beige, the walls were now pocked and graying.
Solange and Dominique gasped when they saw that their valises lay open on a battered wooden table. Two customs police were buried up to their elbows in the contents, rifling through the clothes, indifferent to the havoc they created.
“What is this!” Solange’s voice rang out.
The policemen turned to face the arrivals, smirks on their faces. One of them, a gangly man with an acne-scarred face and a gold tooth, moved toward the women with an insolent expression. He didn’t answer Solange, but rather sauntered to the door, looking the women up and down as he walked. Mother and daughter kept their eyes stubbornly ahead as he moved behind them. They both started when the door slammed shut.
Dominique felt the man’s eyes on her. It made her flesh crawl. But she kept her gaze straight ahead on the third policeman, who had so far remained silent. He was clean-shaven, with blunt, Germanic features. Dominique thought he must be of mixed blood, for his hair was red. Though there was nothing sharp about his features, his sly expression a
nd his red hair reminded her of a fox.
From behind Dominique, the gold-toothed one, who seemed in charge, addressed the women’s escort in a gruff voice. “They’re loaded. Jewels, furs, everything.”
He wandered back in the direction of the table, but not before taking a detour to circle Dominique like a farmer inspecting a prize heifer. As he drew near, Dominique’s spine stiffened. What gave him the confidence to treat them so arrogantly? What did he have planned for them? She knew they had discovered nothing wrong with their baggage, so he had to be bluffing. Taking out his anti-European sentiment on them. He was just a sadistic bully, Dominique concluded, and the best way to deal with bullies was to stand up to them. She turned to face the man squarely. “What is it you want?” she asked icily.
The man leered at Dominique and walked over to one of her trunks. He dipped his hand in and picked up a pink silk camisole. He held it to his nose and, with an exaggerated look of appreciation, inhaled the Chanel No. 5 that wafted up from it.
Dominique’s head whipped in Solange’s direction, expecting to see outrage on her mother’s autocratic features, but Solange seemed paralyzed with shock, her eyes fixed on the gold-toothed man. What was wrong with her? Why didn’t she object?
Solange’s inaction galvanized Dominique. She stalked toward the policeman and snatched the garment from his dirty hand. “You’ve no right!” she spat.
Solange drew in her breath sharply. The plump man winced. Fox-face, who had not spoken, gave Dominique a dangerous look. The gold-toothed man reacted as though she had slapped him. His expression darkened frighteningly. Dominique involuntarily bit her lip and took a step back, suddenly afraid he would hit her. But his reaction chilled her more than if he had shown anger.
Ever so slowly, as though he were savoring each move, the man reached for the garment in her hand. His eyes locked onto Dominique’s as he gave the camisole a tug. Dominique was dumbstruck. Her fingers offered no resistance as the silk slipped away. The policeman’s black eyes remained fixed on Dominique’s. She wanted to avert her gaze, but was afraid to. She felt, irrationally, that if she kept her eyes on him, he would eventually back down. He was just trying to scare them. He would let them go when he grew tired of the game.
But the game didn’t seem to tire him at all. He lifted the filmy camisole and held it to his chest with both hands. Then with a motion so deliberate that it appeared to be in slow motion, he pulled each half in opposite directions. There was the pop of a seam, then the high-pitched sound of the material being torn in two.
Solange made a noise of distress, but Dominique kept her eyes on the man in front of her. He crushed the two pieces of material in one hand, then held his balled fist in front of Dominique’s face.
Dominique jumped back. The look of hatred on his features was like a physical assault. This was much, much more than a game to him!
With a broad, angry sweep of his arm, he threw the silky pieces of cloth at her feet. Dominique recoiled as one of them slithered over her shoe like a snake.
The policeman gave her a malicious smile that bared his gold tooth. He looked like a jackal, Dominique thought, a grinning jackal. Without turning from her, he reached behind him and snapped his fingers. He barked a one-word command and his companion handed him another silky garment from Dominique’s trunk. Gold-tooth held it up in front of him like a magician about to do a handkerchief trick, then he put one end of the fine cloth between his teeth. His lips curled into a snarl as he jerked his head one way, his hand the other, and tore it in half, like an animal savaging its prey.
Dominique’s mouth went completely dry as she watched the evil glint in his eye grow brighter. Her throat was so tight she felt that if she tried to speak, she would choke.
The policeman took a step toward Dominique.
She stepped back. She felt clammy all over. Clammy with terror and stifling heat.
With an exaggeratedly casual gait, Gold-tooth continued to saunter forward as Dominique backed away. Until she felt the wall stop her with a thud. Her whole body shook as she plastered herself against it. She wished she might disappear through it, like a ghost. Never had she felt such menace directed toward her.
Gold-tooth lifted his hands and placed them palm down on the wall on either side of her head. Dominique was surrounded by the rancid smell of his sweat. His filthy breath, a mixture of cheap tobacco, garlic, and unwashed teeth, assaulted her. It crept into her nostrils, her mouth, and her eyes like a noxious vapor. The room started to spin around her. Her knees trembled so wildly that she was sure she would collapse. But she was filled with horror at the thought of being unconscious and helpless in front of these men.
“Leave my daughter alone!” Solange’s voice, shrill with fear, resounded in the little room.
Gold-tooth whirled about in fury and shouted in Arabic at the other two men. “Arrest her!” he cried. The eyes of the plump one widened in fear. He looked indecisively from the leader to Solange. But the other, more arrogant man briskly moved toward Solange, withdrawing his handcuffs from his belt as he approached her.
As Dominique saw Fox-face reach for Solange with his grimy hands, a hot surge of outrage doused her fear. Inflamed beyond reason, she rushed past Gold-tooth. She shoved the second man as he was about to clamp the handcuffs on the struggling Solange. “Leave my mother alone!”
Fox-face lost his balance and fell back against the table. He uttered an oath of pain as his elbow caught the edge, and he tumbled to the floor in an undignified heap, the handcuffs clattering down beside him.
For a moment, the room was dead silent. Then Fox-face scrambled to his feet and started toward Dominique. Gold-tooth jerked his arm back. The red-haired one looked at him, then at Dominique. Through clenched teeth, he said, “She can’t get away with that!”
Dominique, panting, glared at each soldier in turn. None of them moved. But the hostility that radiated from them was heart-stopping. How would she and Solange ever escape now! Dominique’s mind tried to make sense of the panic rising in her, but before she could compose her thoughts, Gold-tooth spoke.
“So… you like to fight…” He smiled and said in a pleasant tone to Fox-face, “Give me the handcuffs, Mustafa.”
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with!” The words spilled desperately out of Dominique. “We’re very good friends with the deputy minister. He’ll punish you for this!” Her voice rose shrilly, bordering on hysteria.
Fox-face sniffed with disbelief. “Hah…” Then his eyes brightened with a lascivious gleam. “They say you French make the best whores,” he jeered, as he cast a conspiratorial look at his comrade.
The more timid of the three injected in a worried voice, “Amir, maybe we shouldn’t—”
“Shut up!” boomed Gold-tooth without taking his eyes off Dominique.
The little man fell silent.
“The handcuffs, Mustafa.” The leader snapped his fingers impatiently. Fox-face dropped the metal objects into his hands.
Dominique was transfixed. With horrified fascination, she saw the policeman start to move toward her, his partner close behind.
“Don’t come near me!” Dominique cried in a voice so strident that the two men stopped in their tracks.
For an instant, she felt that reason might somehow prevail. She tried to control the twitch of fear on her face. “On what grounds do you propose to arrest us?” she demanded with bravado. Her tongue was so thick that, like a drunk, she had to concentrate in order to enunciate clearly. She tried to pronounce each letter as though it were a word unto itself.
Gold-tooth sniffed in derision, obviously unaffected by her performance. “Those jewels and furs. You’re taking far more than your allotted currency limit out of this country if you count their value.”
“But no one does!” Solange leaped from her chair. “They’re our personal belongings. We’re allowed to take what we like!”
Dominique’s eyes shifted back and forth as she followed the exchange. She was petrified at the thoug
ht of the cash she had stuffed into her brassiere. Her breath came in short ragged gasps. She sensed catastrophe and wanted to bolt. But, of course, there was no place that was safe. She felt like an animal in a trap.
As if reading her thoughts, Gold-tooth turned to Dominique. She held her breath as she tried to gauge his expression. Fixing his gaze on Dominique’s breasts, he said to Solange, “Your daughter is very beautiful.”
Dominique froze. She stared straight ahead, no longer daring to meet the policeman’s eyes. She wanted to dissolve into the filthy floor, out of sight of the men. If they touched her, she would lose her grip on reality. She would scream and scream and—But no! Stay calm. It was her only chance. “Leave me alone!” she said roughly.
That only fueled Gold-tooth. Dominique heard him take a step closer to her. Once more, she could smell his unbathed body. Combined with the heat of the room, it made her gag. But she didn’t dare show it. Didn’t dare do anything.
Like a vulture circling the dead, Fox-face joined his companion, circling Dominique as he exhaled a terrifying chuckle. The policemen’s movements were slow, unhurried, clearly savoring Dominique’s debasement.
Dominique kept her head steadfastly down, refusing to meet their gaze, but she could feel their excitement growing. It vibrated through the room. Gold-tooth stopped directly in front of Dominique. Her heart pounded through her chest. She knew the policeman could smell her fear.
“Mustafa,” he said, his voice low but nonchalant, “hold the mother. I don’t want any trouble from her.”
Dominique’s head shot up. Her eyes met Solange’s. Solange opened her mouth, then closed it. Her eyes were huge with dread as Fox-face approached her.
Dominique cringed as he came to stand behind her mother. But all he did was place his hands on Solange’s shoulders. “Don’t move,” he commanded. And somehow, his calm, the absence of the handcuffs or any other object of force, were more frightening than any previous action. It was as though the policemen knew they didn’t need force because they could do what they pleased to the women and suffer no consequences.
No More Lonely Nights Page 10