The Storyteller of Marrakesh (23 page)

I'll begin at the point where I returned to Karim's shop with the jellabas, Mustafa said. When I entered the room, I found, to my great surprise, that she was alone. Seeing her again, I immediately felt better and asked her where her husband was. Instead of answering, she blurted out a question of her own.

Oh, she gasped, why did you have to come back so soon?

I stared at her uncomprehendingly, trying to make sense of her distress. Perhaps it was because she was apprehensive of being alone in a dark room with a stranger? All the same, I was reassured by the fact that she didn't seem angry with me for having returned, and I hastened to allay her fears.

It's all right, I said gently, don't worry. You're safe with me. Where is your husband?

There was a prolonged silence, and then she said:

He has gone.

Gone? But how did he let himself out? I thought I'd locked the door.

He found a way, she said. Her voice sounded tense; she seemed on edge.

I stared at her in astonishment, hesitated, and was silent. I didn't know what to say; it simply didn't make sense. Where could he have gone at this time of night? And how could he have left her by herself? The more I reflected upon it, the more I felt bewildered, until suddenly a very different train of thought encroached upon my mind. I hardly needed to explain it to myself, but I wondered if her husband had abandoned her. It seemed bizarre, but her words had seemed to hint at a more permanent departure than a merely temporary absence. Perhaps they had had an altercation and he had walked out on her? Stranger things have been known to happen. If that were so, then the field was clear for me; I could claim her for myself. He had gone away – and she could go with me! She could be mine! We would never need to be apart again.

While these thoughts were racing through my mind, she'd been standing in statue-like repose in the shadows. Now she stirred and broke the silence. Speaking in low, rushed tones, she said:

Why are you staring at me like that?

Try as I might, I couldn't reply. I'd hardly heard what she had said, and, in any case, I seemed to have lost my voice. I wished I could see her face, but it didn't really matter because I had committed it to memory. I knew exactly where the mole on her right cheek was, the barely visible scar above her right eye, the dimple on her chin. I felt myself tracing her arms, shaping her elbows, encircling her wrists. Gazing at her shadowy form, I felt parched, like some desert creature whose thirst only she could satisfy. My heart began to pound, a tremor shook my body, I…

Excuse me, she said, intruding into my thoughts again. You're making me uncomfortable, standing there staring at me like that.

I started and came back to reality. I realized that her husband might return soon and I had to make the most of the time that I had with her. I surely wouldn't get an opportunity like this again, and I knew that I'd never be at peace with myself if I held back now from telling her about my feelings. I decided to reveal the truth. I saw no point in hiding it.

I'm in love with you, I said boldly.

I sensed her looking at me and hesitating. She took a step back and thanked me, but her tone lacked assurance.

You're very kind, she said, but you forget that I'm married and terribly in love with my husband, who will be back any moment.

It doesn't matter, I said resolutely. My love for you will alter the way you feel. Love begets love, longing begets longing, and the same can be said of desire. You can learn to love me.

But I already love someone else! My husband is my world. He means everything to me.

I bit back a retort and pressed on.

That may be so, I said, but nothing in the entire universe means what you mean to me. It's been that way from the very moment I set eyes on you. In all that you say and do you are the woman of my dreams. I look at you and know that you are where I want to be. I want to write songs to your eyes. I want to swim in your heart; you are my ocean and my prayer and the fount of my seed.

Listen! I added breathlessly, forestalling her response. Have you ever swum with dolphins?

By her long silence I could tell she was taken aback.

At length, she ventured: Dolphins? No.

What about swordfish? I persisted.

No, she said again, and I could sense her wondering if I'd gone quite mad.

Then I will take you to a place off the isle of Mogador where you can see them jump right out of the water as you swim.

Oh? And why would they do that?

To please you, I said. As a tribute to your beauty.

In the darkness, I sensed a smile hovering on her lips.

Liar, she said.

I don't lie about these things. I live in Essaouira, by the sea. I worship the sea gods. The ocean is my garden.

Don't you think you're mixing the sacred and the profane?

Her voice no longer sounded apprehensive but amused, and once more there came upon me that strange sense of buoyancy, of boundless confidence, and a proud awareness of my own feelings.

I love you, I said again. I've never said that to anyone.

You're very direct, she replied a bit crossly, but I could tell that she was pleased. It was clear that she was listening to me, and her air of calm consideration encouraged me.

Yes, I am direct, I confessed. That's because I am young, like you. We work quickly, like fire.

Fire burns. I had a room burn down around me once. It was terrifying.

You're not frightened of me, I hope?

No.

Good, I'm glad, because I am speaking from my heart.

She did not answer.

You are my prayer! I added fervently. If only you could see yourself through my eyes. Your heart is my universe; your soul fulfils my needs.

But you don't know anything about me, she pointed out.

On the contrary, I not only know you, I've been waiting for you all my life.

I sensed her shaking her head.

You're glib, she said.

I'm sincere.

Then you are deceiving yourself.

That is not what my heart is telling me. You are my salvation, my redemption, my promise.

You speak of redemption, she said, suddenly sombre, but I can tell you from experience that for every redemption there is a price to be paid.

I will pay it. Without regret.

Do you understand what you are asking for?

I am asking for your heart in exchange for mine. Listen to me, we'll live by the ocean. I'll be the sand that surrounds you, grain and beach. You'll be the air I breathe.

Stop speaking to me like this! she said. I haven't given you permission.

And I haven't asked for it, I said gaily, because my love for you has made me giddy and swept away all the usual proprieties, which I find tedious, in any case.

You're like a greedy child who hasn't learnt self-control.

I'm like the ocean burnished by your sunset.

You're incorrigible!

I am, and I readily admit it, as long as you acknowledge being my guiding light, my golden thread, the compass of my world.

Are you a poet? she asked, and I sensed a return of her smile.

No, I replied, but you inspire me.

I think you should take up writing poetry.

That is my father's province, I replied, and my brother's. I'm a humble artisan. I make lanterns out of camel hide and sheepskin. Sometimes, I paint. But that's the extent of my artistic endeavours.

Then you are a painter with words.

You are too gracious, but I'll accept your compliment. Let me assure you that I am also capable of backing up my words with actions.

Oh, I'm sure you are, she said hurriedly. I have no doubt about it.

Then bless my feelings for you with reciprocity.

You know very well that I can't.

Why not, for God's sake?

For all the reasons that I've already explained to you, she said patiently.

You are heartless, cruel – and I've never felt as helpless as I do now! Can't you sense my despair?

I'm sorry, she said in a small voice, but I'm not responsible for your illusions.

Illusions! What you call my illusions are now the sum and substance of my reality.

Then I can't help you, she said gently.

Kiss me, please. Just once, out of pity.

No, I can't. I don't want to hurt you, but you must understand that I won't compromise my loyalty to my marriage.

I hung my head.

Then at least breathe with me for a moment if you won't grant me anything else.

There was a silence. Then, with a catch in her voice, she asked:

Breathe with you? What do you mean?

I want to feel the rivers of your breath resound in my soul, I said with fervour. I want to carry that feeling with me for the rest of my life.

She was light on her feet. She came over and kissed me on the cheek. I could see her eyes shining in the darkness. My own emotions left me dazed and a full minute must have passed before I grasped what she was telling me.

I will always be with you, she said. But you must leave now.

The firmness in her voice took my breath away.

I don't even know your name, I protested.

Names aren't important. Now go, please.

I stared at her, my confidence deserting me.

Couldn't we talk about this? I asked, suddenly deflated.

She swung away from me with a quick, lithe movement.

If you truly love me, she said in a low voice, then you will do as I request. I can't force you to leave, but I'm counting on your feelings for me. Don't ask me for explanations. Please.

Don't worry, I murmured. I'll go.

Thank you, she said.

I crossed the room helplessly. As I approached the door, a feeling of impotence, of sheer despair, surged in me, followed by a sense of rebellion. I checked my steps and turned around. Trying to control my vexation, I said:

Why do you insist on my leaving you? I love you, and with love comes responsibility. I accept the fact of your marriage. I will come to terms with your being in love with another man. I give you my word that I will not contest it. So why must you force me to go away prematurely? Every moment that I spend with you now will sustain me for the rest of my days. Let me wait here until your husband returns, at least, and as soon as he does, I will take my leave.

No, she said with a peculiar obstinacy, you can't stay here. Please don't argue.

The words had come in a rush; she obviously wanted me gone. This wasn't going the way I would have liked, and I continued to hesitate. Her disapproval, even her impatience, far from checking me, simply goaded me on.

It isn't safe to leave you by yourself, I observed.

Must you argue? This is embarrassing. I trusted in your goodwill and you are reneging on it.

I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice.

You talk about goodwill? Well, that goes both ways, doesn't it? I rescue you from the square. I bring you to a safe place. I leave to get you clothes that you can wear. But when I come back, your husband has disappeared without explanation and you can't wait to see me go. Tell me, is that goodwill? May I also remind you that this is my friend's shop? His name is Karim. You are here by my good graces.

There was a long silence as we stood facing each other. I knew that she had ceased to smile, but her lips were still parted, for I could see the white gleam of her teeth. The smell of her perfume drifted towards me, and it took me some effort to exercise restraint. I contented myself with gazing steadily at her face and, exhausted by my tirade, held my peace.

She'd been standing stiffly erect, but now she bowed her head. Speaking haltingly but clearly, in a subdued and softer tone of voice, she said: We're both very grateful to you for what you have done for us. A friend couldn't have done more. You've been wonderful, and I'm moved by your concern for my safety. It means a lot to me. I know that my intransigence concerning your departure must be difficult to accept. But please understand that, if that is so, it's because it's the way things are. Beyond that very inadequate explanation, I simply cannot tell you more and can do no better than to ask for your forbearance.

Much as I wanted to respond in kind, I held myself back.

You're right, I said coldly. I don't understand. If you are worried about getting out of here, I know the souks like the back of my hand. I can help you find your way out in an instant.

We are already being helped.

Oh? By whom?

A man.

A man? That tells me nothing. Is he a friend? Does he live here? Is he from here?

I can't tell you that.

I drew myself up. A whole series of contradictory feelings swept over me. We'd spoken in undertones, leaning a little towards each other, and I'd had a closer view than I'd had the entire evening of the pale beauty of her face, made vulnerable by fatigue. I felt bewildered and overtired myself, at the mercy of every impulse.

I hesitated. The more you speak, the less I understand, I said.

Perhaps that is why I have held back from telling you more, she said. She didn't say anything else, and I did not press her further.

I was turning to go when all of a sudden she said:

Tell me about the dolphins again.

Ah, I said, halting in mid-stride, they will not leap any more.

Why?

Because they will know my sadness.

You asked me my name. It is Lucia.

I am Mustafa, I said.

She extended her hand and I grasped it.

You've touched me with your nearness to the sea gods, Mustafa, she said. The last time I was blessed by them was in Mexico, in a place called Baja California. It's very far from here. It was a time of immense joy for me, great peace; I met my lover there. One night we were sleeping out in the open, on the beach, beneath a starry sky. You must know what that's like. The air was damp and salty, the surf white and black in the darkness. I thought: This is the most wonderful night of my life. I fell asleep to the music of the ocean, but I woke in the middle of the night to a very different sound. It was high-pitched and barely audible above the roar of the waves. I sat up, my curiosity aroused, and was astonished to see a pod of dolphins swimming by the beach, alarmingly close to land. I watched them for as long as they were there, and when they returned, one by one, to the depths, I bid them farewell.