“How did people react?” Marwan asked her in French.
She pouted. “There wasn’t a large crowd,” she said. “And the car was moving fast. There were lots of policemen lined up on the street.”
“If he came to Damascus, the crowds would come out to welcome him,” said the director as he flicked the wooden peg in a new joint.
“All that because they blocked your film,” Jacques added, laughing.
“What could be less important to us now than Assad and his underlings?”
I took my turn with the joint, and passed it to Jacques, who asked me: “Have you found a publisher for your book?”
“Not yet.”
“That’s how things go with Arab governments,” he offered, while giving me a scrutinizing look.
The driving rhythm of the piano was still struggling to reach the climax. It seemed to be towering over it, and was suddenly accompanied by a human moan expressing pain or pleasure or both together.
“Will you be staying long in Beirut?” I asked Jacques.
“Maybe,” he replied. “I don’t know. I’ll be going back to France in two months’ time to take part in the election campaign.”
I looked at him inquisitively.
“I’m a member of the Socialist Party,” he explained. “We have a good chance this time. If we win the elections, then Mitterand will be president.”
He laughed. “What… you don’t like Mitterand?” he added.
“Isn’t he the one that declared that Israeli aggression in 1967 was a war that Israel waged to defend itself?”
“You don’t ever want to forget? Is that it?”
“Why should we forget?”
He busied himself with accepting the joint from Marwan, taking several drags from it and offering it to me. I took two drags and passed it to Antoinette.
Her nails rested on my fingers for a moment, then wrapped around the joint and pulled it slowly through my fingers, touching me all the while.
The human moaning that accompanied the piano’s melody occurred again. A feeling of numbness spread through my legs and my perception of the music grew keener.
Antoinette announced suddenly that she had to leave, in order to get back to her house in East Beirut. Jacques’s wife offered to let her spend the night with them, but she refused, insisting that her mother would be worried if she wasn’t at home. She flashed her eyes in my direction, so I stood up, too.
“We’re headed in the same direction.”
She nodded, saying, “I’ll take you there.”
Jacques and his wife saw us to the door. As soon as we headed out into the street, the cold air hit our faces. Antoinette was unsteady and clung to my arm, resting her head on my shoulder.
“Can you drive?” she asked.
“No,” I answered. “Why?”
“It feels like everything is spinning,” she said.
“We’ll leave the car and take a taxi.”
“We won’t find one at this hour. No. I’ll drive.”
She pulled a keychain out of her purse and we got in the car. She spent a long time looking for the car key before she found it. She turned the key in the ignition and the car started off with a surprising lurch that violently jerked me backwards.
“Easy does it,” I said.
“I don’t think I can drive all the way to East Beirut.”
“So stay with me.”
I turned my attention to the road, expecting an accident any second. But the streets were empty. It wasn’t long before we crossed Hamra Street, and soon we were heading toward Wadia’s apartment.
She stopped the car in front of the building and slumped her head forward on the steering wheel, saying, “I want to sleep.”
“Come up with me and sleep at our place,” I said.
“Clearly that’s what’s going to happen.”
I stepped out of the car and waited until she got out and locked the door. Then I walked to the door of Wadia’s building and called for Abu Shakir. Moments later, he opened up to let us in.
The elevator was on the ground floor so we got in. I held on to her arm just as she was about to stumble on the threshold. Then I closed the door and pressed the button.
She leaned her head on my shoulder, and I held her in my arms. She raised her face toward me and I looked into her eyes.
“Are you sure I’m not putting you or Wadia to any trouble?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” I replied. Her eyes were incapable of staying focused, like the eyes of drunks. Her mouth was close to mine. Her lips were open and moist.
“Don’t you want to kiss me?” she asked.
At that moment, the elevator stopped. I pulled aside its glass panels, then pushed open the metal door. We left the elevator and I took the apartment key out of my pocket.
I pressed the buzzer first. Then I put the key in the keyhole and turned it. I felt the door pull from the other side, then it opened wide to reveal Wadia.
His face lit up at the sight of Antoinette.
“Welcome,” he said, stepping aside for her.
She walked in, saying, “I’m afraid you’ll have to put me up for tonight.”
Wadia put his arms around her and planted a kiss on her neck, then said, “Only for tonight?”
He directed his words to me while he was still embracing her: “When the heavy fighting was going on at the start of the war, when night fell, you spent the night wherever you were.”
She gently freed herself from his embrace and headed to the bathroom without having to ask where it was. I followed Wadia to the living room after locking the door to the apartment. From his movements, I sensed that he was drunk.
He grabbed a bottle of vodka on the table and asked me, “Can I pour you one?”
I shook my head as I threw myself on the couch. He poured himself a glass and added a little orange juice to it.
“The night is wide open,” he told me, after taking a swig.
Antoinette came back from the bathroom, having washed her face. He offered her vodka but she declined.
“I’ve got some pot, if you’d like,” he offered.
“A cup of coffee would be better,” she said.
I stood up. “I’d like one, too,” I said. “I’ll make it.”
I went to the kitchen and lit the stove. I put the coffee pot on the burner. I waited until it boiled, and then I poured it. I carried two cups of coffee on a tray out to the living room.
I found Wadia engrossed in rolling a joint, while Antoinette rested her head on her palm and was lost in thought. I put a cup in front of her. I sat on the couch sipping my coffee.
Wadia finished rolling the joint, lit it, and offered it to me. I took two drags and gave it to Antoinette, who took a puff and then gave it back to him.
He took several pleasurable drags, then offered it to me, but I declined, saying, ‘‘I’ve smoked enough. I want to go and get some sleep.’’
“I have to go to bed now, too,” added Antoinette, “so I can work in the morning.”
Wadia finished the joint and then went off to his room and came back with a wide loose robe that he handed to Antoinette.
“I’ll let Antoinette have my room and I’ll sleep in the living room,” I said.
“I can’t take your room from you,” she replied.
“I’ll sleep in the living room,” Wadia offered, “and Antoinette will sleep in my room.”
“The problem is that I can’t sleep by myself. I won’t sleep a wink all night long.”
“Then sleep with me in my room: it has two beds,” said Wadia, putting his arm around her shoulder.
There were two beds in my room, too, but I didn’t say a word. I left them and went to the bathroom to wash my face. Then I went to my room, took off my clothes, and put on my pajamas.
I stretched out on the bed. A little later I felt thirsty and went out to the living room and then the kitchen. The door to Wadia’s room was open and the light was on. I noticed Antoinette in her underwear in the middle of the room. When I passed by again on my way back with a glass of water, I saw the door to his room was shut.