Then, recalling the high point of his adventure, he clapped his hands and turned to face me to be sure of having my full attention: ‘Listen, Suzanne, if it hadn’t been that woman, when I was in the underground city, I would have – O God, it was all twisting passages as if you were inside an ear – I would have been lost and starving, I could have died down there and nobody would have known. How would I have got up again?’ ‘An underground city? Like an ear?’ I repeated, losing patience.
‘Yes. The woman took me in a tram, and she began walking from one underground tunnel to another. It was like being in the land of the jinn. She’d go up a level and down a level, with me clinging to her hand and clutching my heart, terrified that she’d leave me …’
When I heard him snoring, I jumped up, but instead of shaking him by the shoulders I switched on the light and went to fetch a glass of water. I sat on the edge of the bed and called his name. When he opened his eyes, he said, ‘God bless you. What’s wrong?’
I handed him the glass of water, acting cool and calm, and said that I’d decided to accept his offer of marriage. To my surprise he didn’t answer, but closed his eyes again and said, ‘God willing.’ For a moment it was as if I’d gone back to being the Suzanne who sat in front of the television in the suburbs in Texas with my hair tied back and nothing in my life but sentimental soap operas. Miserably, I wondered how he had dared to bring home a woman, and why I was no longer Suzie and Suzanne and Sand-and-Sky. I went to wake him again, and shook him, not realizing how violent I was being until my arms and shoulders began to hurt. I was full of anger because I’d agreed to marry him and he’d refused me. As usual when I wanted the truth from him, I made him swear by his children before he said anything. He sat up in bed, and to my surprise he announced that he’d been afraid of me the previous day and felt disgusted by me. My thoughts strayed back and I couldn’t think of any reason. Was it because I’d bought another piece of jewellery, or told him that I preferred life in the desert to life here? ‘Why? Why?’ I asked him, irritable in my curiosity to find out what sin I’d committed. He answered that I’d done things for my own pleasure like a man. When again I sifted through what had happened the day before and still couldn’t guess what he meant, I shook my head questioningly, and he said calmly and gravely, ‘God created you to bear children, and to give pleasure to a man, and that’s all.’ I didn’t understand. Perhaps I hadn’t understood his English? Naturally I’d had children, and naturally a man enjoyed me just as I enjoyed him. Wide awake by this time, Maaz repeated seriously, ‘God created woman to make children, like a factory. That’s the exact word, Suzanne. She’s a factory, she produces enjoyment for the man, not for herself.’ I laughed, and replied quickly, ‘If God doesn’t want her to enjoy it, then how and why do I enjoy it?’ He looked confused and, not finding a ready answer to my question, he shouted, ‘Yesterday you were like a she-devil.’ Then he mumbled, ‘I swear, in God’s name, I was disgusted by you, and by your whole race. You seemed like a man to me, when you were crying out. I said, Maaz, this woman’s a hermaphrodite. She’s both a man and a woman.’ Then he added, ‘You enjoy it because you’re a hermaphrodite.’ Although I felt embarrassed when I remembered my unstoppable wave of desire of the day before, I began to laugh. I thought of the grave way he had spoken, the pain he’d expressed, and I laughed. No doubt my laughter confirmed to him that I was indeed a devil, for he began looking at me with distaste. ‘And what about Fatima,’ I asked, tears of laughter running down my cheeks, ‘is she a devil too?’ ‘Foreign women must be made out of different clay from ordinary women,’ he replied. I didn’t find it strange about Fatima, and her lack of pleasure and desire; when I was in America, I’d stopped having sex with David or doing it by myself, and I was no longer conscious of my body and sexual enjoyment, except occasionally when I was asleep and I dreamt that I had it with the local policeman, or my children’s teacher, or the edge of the table or the bath water, and I’d thought at the time that it was my body fulfilling one of its functions in spite of me.
I moved closer to him and, in an attempt to reawaken his desire, asked him if he’d brought the woman back here to sleep with her. ‘Poor woman. You insulted her,’ was his only reply. ‘I thought that I’d introduce her to you because she was nice.’ I tried again, playfully: ‘Does this mean no more Suzanne? Ever, ever?’
When he went on staring at the ceiling, I was sure that he’d made up his mind not to give in to me, even though he wanted to, but suddenly he shouted, ‘Now I understand why you’ve never got pregnant by me …’
Serious now, and eager to understand his way of reasoning, I exclaimed, ‘For God’s sake, why?’
Before I’d finished, he interrupted, ‘I know you’re not a man, but you’re not a woman either otherwise I would have made you pregnant.’
Laughing again, I told him that after Jimmy was born I’d had an operation to seal off my tubes. At this he brought his palms sharply together, then rubbed his eyes and said, ‘God forbid! You heathen.’ Then with spiteful glee: ‘I see, God’s punished you, so now you’re a hermaphrodite.’
My thoughts strayed to the occasion he’d first seen me naked, and how he’d said something which I hadn’t understood then, but now I did. I found it strange that he’d been amazed at the sight of my pubic hair, and felt sure at the time that it was because he’d never seen a completely naked woman before me.
I would have liked to reply to him, but I heard his breathing growing louder, and turned over to try and sleep myself. I concluded that I’d been protected all this time by his naïveté and ignorance, and wondered why I wasn’t annoyed by what he’d said, or hadn’t taken him more seriously. I vaguely tried to think what my reaction would be if David thought about me in the same way, and automatically clenched my fist. But I looked at Maaz and smiled, captivated by his sincerity and spontaneity, which put me on a level with Marilyn Monroe. I felt safe at his side and vowed to myself that I would always sleep beside him like this, with his money, his gold watch and his possessions on the floor the other side of him.
Only as I packed my bags, delighted with the clothes I’d bought for my daughters and the gold jewellery Maaz had bought for me, and delighted to be going home, did I think how much this trip had changed Maaz, and our relationship. But I didn’t doubt that he would keep coming to see me, until we were back at the desert airport and I saw how he behaved with the friends who’d come to meet him, and how they looked at me, and then how he went off with them, without even bothering to find out if David was waiting for me outside.
I continued to sit there, resting my cheek on my hand, while Maaz and Ringo pored over the dozens of brochures about Sri Lanka, talking in English and Arabic and using their hands. Ringo was encouraging Maaz to go to Sri Lanka as if it were the only place in the world worth visiting, and when he felt that his description might not be conveying a true picture he would purse his lips into a whistle of admiration. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I didn’t want to shout at Maaz, so I attacked Ringo instead and asked him why he didn’t go back to his own country if he liked it so much and thought it was the most beautiful country in the world. Ringo didn’t understand the reason for my outburst and said hesitantly, pushing a lock of hair off his face, ‘I’m happy here.’ Mockingly, Maaz took his hand and pointed to the gold bracelet with his name on it and the gold ring, then stood up to pull the chain with a gold heart on the end of it from around Ringo’s neck, and said, ‘How could he get all this gold in Sri Lanka? He’d only be given tin there!’
5
Sita’s bottle stayed where it was, and I was still in my house in the desert. I no longer saw Maaz. From time to time it was again as if I were the only woman who existed, almost a rare specimen. I wasn’t under a misapprehension about this, and it wasn’t difficult to find men. The men in their white robes searched for women among the freezers and foodstuffs in the supermarkets. They tailed foreigners and car passengers who weren’t wearing veils. As they walked along the street they
stole glances at the gates of houses just in case a woman going in behind the high walls gave them a smile: telephone and electricity workers and private gardeners were the worst offenders. The first time I was hesitant; I pushed my trolley around the supermarket, and concentrated on reading what was written on the packets and tins, not looking at the man who was looking at me and going through a charade of coughing and spitting to attract my attention, nor at another who tried to test whether I was really there to shop by moving his lips and moistening them with his tongue. I pushed the trolley along at speed, paid the man at the cash desk and rushed to the car. But on the second occasion, in the bookshop this time, I found myself making an approach to a man who I’d heard talking in English, whose American accent and good looks gave me encouragement. For some reason I said to him, ‘Since you speak English, perhaps we could talk together and you could help me understand the nature of the males in your country.’ I began to tell him about Maaz and how he’d left me, although I knew that these things weren’t relevant while I was with this man. He looked at me in astonishment, obviously thinking that I was crazy, and didn’t reply, but went on turning the pages of a magazine, then looked around for the foreigner he’d been talking to before. I told him that I wasn’t mad and seriously wanted to understand the personality of the Arab male. The man looked to one side then the other, before feeling in his pocket and taking out a card which he left on top of a magazine at the edge of the table. Then he vanished. I snatched up the card, covering it with my hand, and stuffed it into my bag with a sigh of relief. I dialled his number day and night until one day he answered and said that he’d been at his engineering project in the heart of the desert. I had to meet him: his voice gave me a strange feeling of warmth. The boredom I’d felt since returning from my trip abroad evaporated, and I rested my hand on my heart, afraid that he’d try to avoid meeting me. A long time passed before he did arrange to meet me. He asked me to come and visit him at his project, and agreed a time with me and described the car which would be waiting to take me at the entrance to the store.
The other man was the one who had come from the department of health because of a dog which used to come to my neighbour’s doorstep at dawn every day with a cat or a large rat in its mouth. The man didn’t even want to look at the dog which we’d shut up in my neighbour’s garden. Instead his gaze shifted between me and my neighbour, and he told me later that he knew from the way I’d spoken to him on the phone that it was him I was interested in, not the dog.
I didn’t think about Maaz again until a tall man knocked on the door of my house one morning. Ringo opened it, smiling, thinking that he’d come to see him. The man ignored Ringo’s smile and as I stood behind the kitchen door listening, I heard him asking if this was Mr David’s house. Then he asked about me. I hesitated before coming forward. ‘I can’t say anything until I’ve consulted my lawyer,’ I told him. The man looked startled; he said quickly that he was a friend of Maaz’s and had come with a request from him. Maaz had begun to pester me in various ways, hanging around my friends, phoning me and then putting the receiver down or hanging on without speaking; once he’d come to drink Scotch at our place, accompanied by an Indonesian nurse. Why had this man mentioned my husband’s name, and how could he permit himself to come in and sit down on the couch and help himself to a cigarette? I thought the time must have finally arrived when they were going to make me leave the desert. Who was behind this tall Arab? Maaz? The engineer I’d met in the bookshop? Someone from the telephone exchange? The owner of the bookshop? The owner of the drugstore? The man lit his cigarette and said that Maaz had told him where my house was and sent me his best wishes. He was lying, but I regained my composure and said nothing. I stood listening and wondering whether I should contact David, chase him away, phone Maaz, or believe what he said. Then I heard him coolly stating that he preferred them between the ages of sixteen and twenty and that he was ready to pay from three hundred to five hundred dollars provided that the meeting took place in my house. He fell silent while he extinguished his cigarette and I stood before him in amazement. ‘They must be going to force me to leave,’ I thought, ‘and they need evidence against me.’
I told him I didn’t understand what he was talking about. He laughed and struck his hand against his thigh, and I noticed the clean whiteness of his robe, the gold watch, the expensive ring. With another affected laugh, he said, ‘You understand quite well. When will you be in touch?’ He stood up, put his hand in his pocket, and took out a card. I hesitated and then fear made me take it. Under his name I read the title of his official post. This time his laughter was genuine and, adjusting his headcloth, he said, ‘Government officials are men too … and you know the situation here.’ ‘They’ve spoken against me,’ I thought, confusedly. The neighbours, Maaz, the engineer whom I no longer saw, the owner of the bookshop, the pharmacist. The man went calmly over to the door. He turned to me and reached out his hand to shake mine. ‘Don’t forget. I’ll be waiting.’ Although he spoke in a low voice, his tone was commanding. I held out my hand and he immobilized it between his and said, ‘Maaz’s very lucky.’ Then he thanked me for the coffee and my kind hospitality. I almost leapt back into the sitting-room. I didn’t see the coffee cups but pictured myself packing my bags and cast my eyes around me, taking in everything at a single glance. Mad with anger, I stamped my foot, vowing that I would never leave this place. My thoughts were in a turmoil and I no longer knew how I should act. I called Ringo and told him what had happened, pacing around the table and not paying attention to him telling me in a soothing voice that he was sure the man had genuinely come in search of a woman. I knew there was nothing for it but to enlist Maaz’s help, but he hadn’t been to the house since I’d refused to let him in late one night.
When I couldn’t find him at his office I made my way to his house. Fatima opened the door and seemed astonished to see me. She looked at the telephone as if she couldn’t believe that I’d really phoned her minutes before and here I was now in front of her. Although I begged her not to go away because I could only stay a few minutes, she rushed off into the kitchen. I sat there smelling the same old smell, which I’d never liked. How the house had changed since they’d known me! Everything my eyes fell on was pleasingly familiar: the horn fish, the picture of Mecca worked in white metal, the shaggy mustard-coloured moquette rugs, the artificial flowers which we’d bought together.
Fatima appeared with a big bowl of fruit and a broad smile. She pointed to her stomach and said, ‘I’m having a baby.’ I smiled back at her, as if it didn’t concern me, which it didn’t. All I wanted now was to seek help from Maaz so that I could stay in this country. When I asked Fatima where he was she shrugged her shoulders. ‘Son of a bitch,’ I said in English. ‘Thank you, Madame Suzanne,’ replied Fatima, smiling delightedly at her English. She pointed at the dish of fruit, then at me, wanting to know why I wasn’t having anything. When I started towards the door, she stood in my way seizing me by the hand and dragging me towards the fruit. She held out the bowl to me then took a banana and apple from it herself and pushed them into my hand.
I went back to the car. I must be imagining things. This wasn’t the way to drive me away from here. Maaz must come and visit us again like before. He was a lifeline: his regular visits to us had given me a sense of security and I was beginning to miss it on occasions, like today for example. Or the man may have been genuinely after a woman and known Maaz. He must surely have heard about my daughters’ visit from the States: perhaps he’d followed us and conducted his own investigations, or perhaps he knew about me from friends of Ringo’s. Ringo’s desert admirers were on the increase and he accepted every invitation, claiming that in this way he stood the chance of meeting one suitable person and then he would break off his numerous relationships and settle down. It wasn’t that easy: the desert was full of people like him; European firms had begun to favour appointing gays to desert posts for both practical and financial reasons. They spared them the expenditur
e on large houses, family travel, children’s schooling, and problems with wives who had too much time on their hands. There was no desperate longing for a woman, no sexual frustration leading to lack of concentration at work and an inability to tolerate the desert, and requests for transfers back home or continual holidays.
Women of Sand and Myrrh Page 22