Felfel stopped in front of the entrance to a public park and turned to Teymour to let him know the ride was over. They got off the bicycle and went to lean it against a tree, then followed a dirt path down to the riverbank. The young girl was seeking the right place for intimacy and she led Teymour to the foot of a dwarf date palm whose broad leaves provided natural protection from the impudence of voyeurs lying in wait behind the parapet of the high road. They sat down in the grass and remained silent for a long time, gazing at the muddy water of the river dotted with tiny waves as it flowed into the nearby sea. In front of them, very close to the opposite bank, a lone sailboat was making its way with age-old laziness. Suddenly the sun reappeared, lighting up the triangular sail with such uncommon brilliance that it looked like a magical bird. Felfel was bursting with tenderness, but she was also in awe of the young man sitting next to her, indolent and nostalgic, like a rich king for whom her humble offering was of no interest. Now that she was alone with him, beneath the shelter of this date palm whose wide leaves protected them from the intrusion of the hostile world she despised, a feeling of reserve and modesty prevented her from confessing all her love, and her great fear of losing him. She could not know that, far from being indifferent to her presence, Teymour was savoring with exquisite sensual delight the brand new emotions aroused by his adventure with the young girl. Because she had freed him from the obligation of spouting the lies that, since the beginning of time, were meant to serve as a prelude to lovemaking, he was deeply grateful. He needed no lies, no insidiousness in his approach to seduce this young, primitive creature who had come to him without wile or ruse. He forgave her ahead of time everything she would do or say over the course of their short or long affair, because she would never be the enemy of whom one had to be suspicious, but always the child who needed to be protected and loved in complete confidence. Reaching out his arm, he squeezed the young girl’s shoulders, then leaned in and kissed her softly on the cheek. She did not move, but felt glad, full of secret joy.
“I’m happy to be here with you,” he said.
Felfel did not answer. She was looking directly ahead of her, staring at the boat with its white sail, which was now beginning to resemble a motionless kite in the azure. Suddenly, without turning her head toward Teymour, she said in a voice as faint as a murmur:
“When are you leaving?”
The question disconcerted him and it took him some time to reply.
“Who told you I intended to leave?”
“I don’t need to be told. I know you won’t stay in this city for long.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because it’s not a city for you. I’m sure you’re dreaming of leaving here as quickly as possible.”
“No, you’re wrong. I’ve come back to stay.”
“That’s not true,” said Felfel with the stubbornness of a little girl. “You’re just saying that so I won’t be hurt. But I have a premonition you’ll be leaving soon. How can a guy like you be happy in such a hateful place!”
Teymour smiled at the young girl’s obstinacy; he didn’t understand where she had got the idea that he wanted to leave.
“I’m very happy, I swear.”
“You’ll leave; I knew that the first day I saw you on the café terrace. You looked like an orphan.”
“You’re right,” said Teymour, laughing. “I cut a sorry figure. It was the first time I had been out and I wasn’t yet used to the change.” He stopped laughing and held the girl closer to him. “I was stupid. But that’s over. I love this city and want to live here.”
She turned and looked at him with a kind of commiseration mixed with anxiety, as if he had just said something totally absurd.
“I’m not lying,” the young man said. “Listen, I’m going to tell you something that will prove it to you: I’m looking for a place to live.”
“Why? Don’t you want to live with your parents any more?”
“I need a place where I’ll be freer. Somewhere we can see each other in peace. Do you understand? I’m even counting on you to find it for me. Look for something in the old city; it will be more discreet.”
Felfel raised her face to him; it retained its doubtful expression. She seemed to regard this as an outrageous whim.
“What will you do? Are you going to work?”
“Oh, no! I won’t do anything. We’ll just love each other and have a good time. That’s all I plan on doing.”
“A man as educated as you cannot remain idle,” said the young girl with childish gravity.
“You’re mistaken,” said Teymour jovially. “First of all, I’m not as educated as you think. My diploma, if you must know, is nothing more than a piece of paper.”
He was pleased at the idea that he did not have a real diploma and that he ran no risk of ever working in the sugar refinery, or anywhere else for that matter. And he wondered to what he owed the keen insight that had allowed him to grasp the true meaning of life. Having landed among millions of slaves, by what good fortune had he come to be conscious of the possibility of escaping the common condition? It would have taken almost nothing for him to have fallen into the fatal trap laid out to men since the beginning of time by the bloodthirsty caste that got its power from imposture and deception. Only a miracle had saved him from this hell.
He shook his head as if to cast out a nightmare, then looked at the young girl staring at him uncomprehendingly, her eyes wide with surprise.
“You cannot understand,” he continued. “But it doesn’t matter; I’ll explain it to you later. For now, try to find me a place to live.”
“I’ll start tomorrow,” answered Felfel. “What kind of place are you looking for?”
“I trust your judgment. Let’s just say something worthy of a saltimbanque.”
“But you’re not a saltimbanque.”
“Yes I am; you just can’t tell. You’ll understand when you know me better. We are of the same race; that’s why I love you.”
“Do you know how to ride a bicycle?” asked Felfel, proud of her dexterity in this domain.
“I am the kind of performer who does not perform for crowds. There are a few of us in this city.”
“Here?”
“Yes. But don’t tell anyone. We don’t want to be recognized. People think we are dangerous conspirators, and we let them believe it because it amuses us.”
Felfel did not attempt to shed light on the meaning of these puzzling words. It was as if she expected Teymour to express himself in a language that was mysterious and incomprehensible to her; this was in perfect keeping with the image she had formed of the young man. All she had retained of his words was the spontaneous confession of his love for her. That was enough to fill her with happiness.
Teymour took the young girl’s face in his hands, contemplated it for a moment, then kissed her, this time on the mouth.
Felfel did not pull away. At this stage in the rite of love, her inexperience was obvious, but she was trying not to let it show by hanging on to Teymour’s neck as if it were a life-preserver. When he released her, she laughed a little embarrassedly, then turned her head away and gazed again at the river.
A large rowboat was passing close to the bank, overflowing with several generations of a family. They were piled up in the craft — women, old men, children — like people fleeing a catastrophe, wolfing down all sorts of foodstuffs with the voracity of castaways. The boatman was rowing steadily and vigorously, like a precise and well-oiled machine, and seemed to be ferrying his pitiful cargo toward some infernal goal. Suddenly they all stopped eating and stared open-mouthed and frozen, scandalized by the intertwined couple seated on the grass.