Stormy Affair

by Mayo, Margaret

  Amber shuddered, picturing the scene only too vividly in her mind. 'I don't know how they could watch such a horrible thing. I know I couldn't.'

  'I agree, but there is a story of a certain young man named Alipuis who was induced to come here much against his will. He was determined to keep his eyes shut while the fighting went on, but the shouts and screams were too much for him and he looked. Although it was horrifying he was so fascinated that from that moment on he could not drag his eyes away and he found himself shouting and cheering with the rest of them. He became addicted after that and although he did not want to go he could not help

  himself and apparently admitted that he enjoyed watching humans struggling for their life against the lions and that the warm smell of blood was intoxicating.'

  Amber screwed up her face in horror. 'How awful! How could he? It's barbaric!'

  'It was sport to them,' shrugged Hamed. 'Have you seen enough?'

  She nodded and although the ancient building now held no trace of its former savagery—the sunbaked bricks a lovely warm honey colour and birds flying happily through arches and nesting in the galleries—she could not push from her mind the scene conjured up by Hamed's story.

  He kept his arm about her shoulder until they reached the car, and somehow Amber did not mind. Those few moments in the empty theatre had helped build up a rapport between them which she felt it would be a pity to break if they were to be confined so closely together during the next forty-eight hours.

  Soon they were approaching what Hamed fondly termed 'The Sea of Olives'. For miles they drove through olive groves with the trees stretching out in every direction. 'There are eight million of them,' he explained, 'and for the villagers in this region it is their livelihood. If they have a good crop they are rich and can invest in more trees, or perhaps marry and pay the dowry in trees, but if there is a drought and the trees do not fruit then they are destitute.'

  'Is there no other way in which they can make a living?' asked Amber. 'It seems a bit hard if they have to rely entirely on the weather.'

  `So does any farmer,' he said, 'but they do also make

  soaps and lubricants from the crushed stones, and the wood of old trees which have become barren is used for carving, or making looms, or for fuel.'

  Amber noticed that he still did not volunteer any information about his own olive business and wondered why he was so reticent about himself. Judging by his house and standards it was a very successful business with none of the worries of drought bothering him.

  They drove for nearly another hour before Hamed stopped again. This time in Sfax, the second largest city in Tunisia, where they drank coffee and took a leisurely look around the shops.

  Soon they were on their way once more and the tension between them had gone completely. Amber found him a charming companion as he chatted about the various aspects of Tunisian life and commented on any passing scenery that he thought might be of interest.

  It was close on lunchtime when he slowed down the car. 'How would you like lunch at an oasis?'

  Amber nodded happily, immediately picturing them sitting beneath the shade of a few palms in the desert, a picnic lunch spread about their feet. The fact that they were driving between hundreds of date palms did not occur to her until Hamed stopped the car in front of a hotel. He laughed at her wide-eyed surprise. 'This is Gabes,' he said, 'one of the largest oases. It has over three hundred thousand palms and twelve great saucers of water. After lunch we will walk through it. The experience is something you must not miss.'

  But before their walk they spent some time on the beach which backed on to the hotel. Replete from

  their lunch, they enjoyed relaxing on the warm white sand, and the sun here was much hotter than further north. With Hamed in this convivial mood Amber felt she could go on like this for ever and later did not need much persuading to go for a swim. The sand and the palms, the sea and the sun, were like a drug, intoxicating her senses, until she was chatting and laughing with Hamed as though she had not a care in the world.

  Later, walking through the labyrinth of footpaths through the oasis, they held hands, Amber exclaiming in delight at the palms laden with almost ripe dates, the olives and figs, the pomegranates and flowers. It was like a fairytale place and she was glad she was here with Hamed. They walked across narrow palm tree-trunk bridges spanning little streams and here and there were fences made from palm fronds laced together, and a thousand different scents filled the air.

  Near one of the pools beautiful yellow flowers grew and strange-looking butterflies hovered. The final climb brought them out on the cliffs where, looking back, the valley floor was breathtakingly beautiful with its palms and fruit trees mirrored in pools with rushes growing near their banks.

  Amber listened with interest when Hamed told her that just as the people living near the olive groves relied on the olive for their livelihood, so too did the oasis dwellers rely on the palms. 'They crush the stones into ersatz coffee or fodder,' he said, 'they use the fronds to thatch roofs and make furniture, the trunks to build footbridges and roofs, and the fibre to weave into rope.'

  He pulled a low-growing stalk off one of the palms

  and plucking a shiny brown date popped it into Amber's mouth. It was delicious and her eyes were as shiny as the fruit themselves when she asked for another.

  Her childlike enjoyment amused him and he played a game popping the dates into her mouth. 'Of course,' , he continued, 'although the oasis dwellers more or less live off the palm they also give it a large part of their working life. They need to bore wells to water them, and they prune them meticulously. And then there is the mating.'

  This last statement Amber laugh. 'Mating?'

  `Yes. Did you not know that the palm is unisexual? In June every year the men climb all the male palms and get pollen from their flowers which they then put on the female flowers to ensure pollination.'

  This information was news to Amber, but of -course this country had opened up a whole new way of life to her and made her realise that all the comforts she had taken so much for granted at home in England meant nothing to the people out here. Yet they were happy. Not once had she seen a Tunisian who had not had a pleasant smile. Despite their poverty they were content and she guessed that this meant more to them than having cars and stereograms and automatic washers.

  Back at the car she felt almost too awed to speak and their journey continued in silence. This time, however, it was a companionable silence and she felt happier than she had since first meeting Hamed. They were driving across plains now, with only occasional eucalyptus trees and soon not even them. The sun shining through the windows had a soporific effect on Amber and soon she was asleep, unaware of Hamed's

  tender glances or that his hand stroked her shiny, sun-kissed hair.

  She did not wake until the car stopped, then looked apologetically up at her companion. He smiled indulgently, his devastating good looks once more sending her senses into a whirl. `I—I'm sorry,' she stuttered, `I didn't mean to be so rude.'

  `You did not miss much,' he said, 'and riding a long way is always tiring.'

  It occurred to her that Hamed himself must be tired. All the time she had been asleep he had driven, needing to keep fully alert. She glanced at her watch, noting with amazement that it was after six. 'Is this where we're staying?' she asked, looking out at a rosy brick wall with an entrance in brown, blue and beige Italian-type tiles.

  He nodded and together they climbed out of the car, stretching their stiff limbs, glad to be free from the confined space. They walked into the reception room where Hamed spoke in rapid Arabic to the man behind the desk. Amber wandered through another door opposite which led outside into a huge sandy area where white chalets with thatched roofs stood in neat orderly rows. A central area was set out with gaily coloured tables and chairs and behind that a larger but which, when she looked through the doorway, turned out to be a dining room. Palms waved their feathery fronds above—and dusk was gathering.
It was yet another fairytale place in this whole new world Hamed was showing her.

  When Hamed appeared she followed him willingly between the rows of huts. He stopped in front of a painted brown door and inserted a key into its lock,

  swinging open the door before standing back to allow Amber to enter.

  Inside it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, for the only window was tightly shuttered. It was not until Hamed came in too, putting down their cases and closing the door behind him before snapping on the electric light, that the full import of what was happening struck her. There were two beds in the room and a small table and a mirror. Nothing else. But what registered most were the beds —two of them! She looked from them to Hamed and back again. 'Does this mean that you

  `I'm afraid so,' he said, his voice apologetic but his face showing not the least concern.

  'I might have known there would be some catch in it!' Amber's voice rose as she glared at the dark man leaning back indolently against the door, his thumbs hooked into his belt. 'I suppose you planned this all along—soft-soaping me so that I would raise no objections. Well, you're wrong! You either find yourself another room or take me back right now. I refuse to sleep in here with you! '

  He sighed. 'Much as I regret the situation there is nothing I can do about it. We were lucky to get this room. It's not often they're full up. I've never had to book before, but it appears they had an unexpected coach party and this is the only but left.'

  'I don't believe you,' declared Amber flatly. 'I saw no one. The place looks deserted.'

  He shrugged helplessly. 'Go and ask for yourself.'

  `Don't worry, I intend to,' she retorted, wrestling with the door handle and pulling on the door so that Hamed was forced to move.

  But the man behind reception spoke no English, only Arabic and French, which was just as bad. Amber's knowledge-was limited to what she had learned at school—which was not very much since she had not had much interest. Now she wished she had as she furiously tried to tell the man what she wanted, using sign language and speaking in very slow, very clear English. 'I—want—another—room: When Hamed appeared she rounded on him hotly. 'I bet you planned this as well ! How much have you given him to pretend he doesn't know what I'm talking about?'

  `Do you really believe I_ would do such a thing?' asked Hamed, frowning tightly. 'Believes me, I have no wish either to spend the night alone with you.'

  `You can't really expect me to believe that ! ' snapped Amber, aware that the other man was watching them with interest, his elbows leaning on the desk, his bright eyes swivelling from one to the other. He was waiting now for Hamed's response, confirming her suspicion that he knew what they were saying. Nothing would make her believe that this had not all been arranged and that this dark-skinned Arab was in on it too.

  'It is the truth,' he returned simply. 'I have no desire to spend the night in the room of a woman who is afraid.'

  `If you're going to make this into a personal argument, let's get out of here,' grated Amber. 'Your friend here is listening to every word we say, and don't try to tell me he doesn't understand, because you won't convince me.'

  Back in the small room with its two beds covered in handwoven blankets she rounded on Hamed. `You're so right, I am afraid. Afraid that you might take

  it into your head to rape me. It's what you planned all along, isn't it—you just didn't want to do anything so sordid in your own house in case the servants found out.'

  Hamed's eyes narrowed until they were no more than slits. The shadows cast by the single light bulb threw the rest of his face into harsh angles and his breathing deepened until she could see his chest rising and falling.

  `Do not drive me too far, my pretty one, or you might find those beautiful features marked for life.'

  'And I expect you'd enjoy doing that,' she slung back, uncaring that she angered him further. 'It's just what you would like—hurting someone weaker than yourself! '

  `I might at that,' he said thickly, grasping her arms and pushing her down on to one of the beds, 'if you try me far enough.'

  And in his present mood Amber knew that he spoke the truth, so she said no more for the moment. She would wait until his temper had abated. Then she would again tackle him about sleeping together in this tiny room. There must be something that could be done. Surely they could discuss it like rational human beings instead of bawling at each other.

  After looking down at her for a few angry seconds Hamed turned and left the room, closing the door with such violence that the light bulb swung on its wire, causing the shadows in the room to eddy about her. The walls and roof were wood-panelled, the bedcovers in dark reds and browns, and the floor concrete with a black woollen rug. It was sombre and somehow frightening. A stupid thought when just outside the door was a world full of beauty. It was her row with Hamed that had done this to her, made her afraid that something lurked in the dark corners. She brushed her hair and then went outside to find the toilet block which Hamed had pointed out earlier.

  It was clean arid airy and painted white, making her realise how ridiculous her fears of a few moments ago were. But it was empty, and this puzzled her. If the place was full where were all the residents. When she had washed and returned to the but she changed into a yellow slack suit that buttoned up to the neck and had long sleeves, because although the day had been one of the hottest she had known so far the evening air was chilly.

  Soon Hamed came back. The tenseness had gone out of his face, but he had lost that carefree attitude of the afternoon and Amber was sorry. He had been at his best then and if it had not been for the fact that she was expected to share this room with him everything would have still been the same. 'Are you prepared to talk this thing over rationally?' he asked.

  Amber nodded, afraid to trust her own voice, for a sudden certainty that he had spoken the truth assailed her, leaving her nerves trembling.

  He sat down on the second of the two beds, as far away from her as he could get. 'I would not lie to you, Amber. I have no reason to. I had planned this trip with the very best of intentions and I was as shattered as you .when they told me that these were the only two beds left.'

  'But—' Amber threw her hands apart helplessly, 'where is everyone? It looks deserted.'

  He smiled then, his teeth looking very white in the

  dimness. 'This was to be another of my surprises. They have gone on a safari into the desert. I am afraid we shall have to wait till morning before we can make our trip.'

  'Safari? On camels?' Amber knew she sounded stupid, but site needed confirmation that she had heard him alright.

  He nodded. 'Only for a few hours, but it is yet another experience to add to your collection. Did you know that we are right on the edge of the Sahara?'

  `No, I didn't.' She had known they had travelled a long way, but having fallen asleep had lost all track of where they were going. 'These camels—are they safe?' She was not so sure she wanted to ride on one of those huge swaying beasts.

  Her apprehension made him laugh. 'You won't be left to cope alone. It's a tourist gimmick really, their owner will lead you there and back, but you certainly cannot come this far without going into the Sahara. The sand there is like none other, so fine and white it is unbelievable.'

  'I see, so that's tomorrow settled, but what about tonight? What are you going to do about that?'

  'What can I do?' he asked, his lips tightening fractionally.

  Amber lifted her chin. 'I should have thought a man of your status would have no difficulty,' recalling Rafika's words that he was a respected man. 'Or hasn't your reputation reached this far?'

  'If you want to try and walk home, that's all right,' he shrugged, 'but as for me, I'm tired, and I'm not going another step until I've had a good night's sleep.'

  In all fairness Amber knew he made sense, but some

  determined streak made her insist. 'So you don't care how I feel. My reputation doesn't matter. Who do you think is going to believe
that we slept in the same chalet but that it was all perfectly platonic?'

  'No one's going to know unless you tell them,' he insisted harshly, brutally. 'You're really being very silly over this whole thing and I don't want to hear another word. You'll be perfectly safe with me. I'm too damn tired to care whether you're in the same room or not. You could be another man for all the notice I'll take of you.'

  What else could she say? He had made it perfectly clear that he no longer found her desirable and although it was a relief to know that no attempts would be made on her virginity it hurt that he should so coolly and calmly reject her.

  Suddenly they heard noise and voices outside. The others had returned. Hamed stood up and opening his canvas bag took out a towel. 'I'll freshen myself up before dinner. Why don't you take a look around?'

  There wasn't much to see. The rows of chalets were all the same, except that somehow they looked different now that crowds of holidaymakers were milling about. They were a mixed crowd, French, German, Dutch—Amber heard all sorts of languages.

  Behind the chalets were tents where the staff slept. They were made from a thick woollen material in shades of natural to dark brown, draped over wooden poles. Handwoven bedding was spread out on piles of brushwood near the entrance to these tents. The camp looked deserted and Amber, driven by curiosity, peeped inside one of the tents. It was scrupulously clean, but contained nothing except a few brightly

  woven rugs and some orange boxes. Presumably they used these tents for sleeping in only, their meals being taken at the hotel.

  A few minutes later Hamed joined her. He had changed into a pair of blue jeans topped with a thick navy zipper. 'Ready for dinner?' he grinned, as though nothing had happened. `.I'm starving!'

  Realising it would be juvenile to carry on their argument Amber smiled and nodded. The meal was superb. They started with tomato salad, followed by briks which, Hamed told her, were a close rival to the couscous for the national dish. The brik consisted of a triangle of super-light pastry folded round an egg and deep-fried. 'You eat it like this,' he smiled, as Amber doubtfully eyed the delicacy. He picked up a corner in each hand and bit boldly into the centre, taking care that the egg did not run down his chin.