Yes, he said. So you live with Qaabil?
No. He just invited me to stay there. I haven’t got my own place to sleep yet. El Kebdani introduced me to him. I told you.
I know. See you.
B’slemah!
I heard only my own footsteps in the dark, silent street. Then there was a shrill scream from two cats nearby. One of them ran in front of me, the other pursuing it. He’s after her, I thought. But she wants to get away from him. I hoped Sallafa would not refuse me the delight of being with her at this early hour. To make love early in the morning before dawn! This will be the first time I shall have gone to bed with a woman at the hour of the fjer. A first experience.
I got to the shack, and stuck my ear to the door. Once again I heard the yelling of the cats, but from a distance. I slid the key carefully into the lock and opened the door.
There was a light in the bedroom. Is she still awake? I shut the door and turned the key, locking it. Then I gave the key an extra half-turn so that the door could not be unlocked from the outside. I tiptoed into the bedroom. A half bottle of wine sat on the taifor, and beside it the sebsi and the box of kif. She is lying on her right side with her knees drawn up. It’s sad to see a girl sleeping alone.
I went back into the sala and turned on the light. Two blankets and two pillows had been tossed onto the couch. Now I understood. A pillow and a blanket for me, and the same thing for el Kebdani. I took off my jacket and trousers, remaining in my underwear. There was a sound from the bedroom. When I went in to look, she had changed her position. She was still lying with her knees bent, but now she was facing in the other direction. I sat down on the edge of the bed and put my hand on her shoulder, hesitant to awaken her. It would be better to get into the bed behind her, and then run my hands over her until she wakes up and feels me there beside her. I climbed slowly into the bed.
Then she said very clearly: Your feet are like ice. Get them away from me.
What’s the matter? Are you angry with me?
She did not reply. My right hand began to touch her body here and there. It’s like an orchard, I thought. There are apples and oranges up here, and pears and peaches back here. And here between her thighs are persimmons. When my hand arrived there, she pushed it away with force.
Don’t touch me, she said. It’s the wrong time of the month. Go to sleep.
You mean you’ve got blood? I said incredulously.
Yes. Of course I have. What do you think?
I remembered Monique in her bathroom, sitting on the bidet, washing the blood from between her legs. So now Sallafa is the way Monique was.
I understand, I said. How long does it last?
Oh, at least three days.
So the hope of making love early in the morning is gone, I thought. I may have the chance again some time, and I may not. Who knows what will happen between us in the next few days? My sex is standing alone in the region of the peaches. When it tried to walk a little back and forth, she moved suddenly and lay on her back, saying: Haven’t you any shame at all? That’s something I won’t do with you.
Just a little walk, that’s all.
What are you talking about? she cried. Are you crazy, or what?
I’m going to follow this through to the end, I said to myself.
Why not? I asked her.
Because that’s something you don’t do with women. It’s a sin. Don’t you know that?
A sin?
Of course. A sin.
I lay on my back now, as she was doing, and looked at the place where the blanket pointed upward, where my sex stood alone. The pressure of the blanket hurt a little, and I arranged it so it would lie back on my belly. How to make it rest? It’s stubborn. This was the first time I had been made aware of how extremely stubborn it was. I took hold of her hand and held it for a moment. Then I brought the hand up and placed it on my sex. She said nothing. At the touch of her hand, the sex grew even more eager. I waited for her to play with it as she had done the first night. But her hand merely remained holding it tightly. When I placed my hand over hers and pushed it back and forth, she pulled away from me.
Leave me alone. Can’t you just go to sleep? Her voice was plaintive.
This time it was my own hand instead of hers that moved back and forth. I started to give it a workout and a rubdown.
What are you doing?
Without looking at her I said: Just let me alone. I’ve got to satisfy it or it won’t ever lie down.
You’re going to get me filthy, she said. Go into the other room and do whatever it is you want to do.
I got out of bed, imagining that I was about to seize Asiya by the tank, and walked into the other room holding my sex in my hand so it would not get cold. But I had to use both hands to cover myself with the two blankets. I quickly gave it back the warmth of my hand, so it would not weaken.
About nine o’clock in the morning we had breakfast together in the sala. We did not speak. She looked pale, sad and dreamy. I too felt tired and depressed as a result of the imaginary rape. Is it not a kind of insanity to conjure up the image of a woman and then proceed to rape her? And I do not even know whether the girl is still living. It would have been better to have stayed there in bed, warmed by Sallafa’s body, feeling her alive and moving beside me. I could have touched her and smelled her. Asiya was only a great void in my imagination, and I had worked myself into a frenzy of excitement over this nothingness.
Neither el Kebdani nor Qaabil arrived. Could something have happened to el Kebdani? It was normal enough for Qaabil not to have appeared, but I was worried that el Kebdani might have fallen into the hands of the Customs men. He is the best friend I have found so far in this city.
Is it Sallafa’s bleeding that worries her now? I feel sorry for women. Sometimes they get raped. Sometimes they have to bear children. And blood runs from them for several days each month. Perhaps she is thinking about Bouchra, who still has not come back. It could be. El Kebdani was right about Sallafa and Bouchra; Bouchra is the point where Sallafa’s strange sadness begins. I wonder what will happen if Bouchra stays away much longer. I am certain it is not Qaabil who preoccupies her thoughts, and I feel a sudden surge of warmth towards her. It would be good to ask her forgiveness, but I do not dare. I turned and looked at her: she was totally immersed in her reverie. I liked to see her in this sad state. Never before had I seen her give in to her melancholy in this way. She has let something go inside her, and now it is lost. Perhaps she is thinking that it is lost for ever, or she may be trying to devise a way of getting it back. It would be better to go out and leave her to herself. The world is sad and decayed.
I stood up.
I’m going out to see what it looks like in the town. I haven’t seen it since the day of the trouble.
She glanced up at me for an instant, surprised. Then she bowed her head, as if she could not bear to be separated from her obsession. She remained staring into emptiness while I stood there in front of her.
After a moment she raised her head and focused her eyes on mine. Did Qaabil pay you for your work last night? she asked me.
No. He hasn’t paid me yet.
Wait a minute. She got up and went into the bedroom. Until now I had not seen her behave in this serious, adult manner. Today she looks like Bouchra. It was unusual for her to have mentioned Qaabil’s name and not have followed it up with an insult. She will say of him: I know that pimp. I understand that rotten mind.
Surely she has a surprise for me, I thought. What can it be? As I waited I grew more impatient. She came out carrying three watches in one hand and two hundred-peseta notes in the other. I stared at the pretty blue foulard she had just wound around her head. Now she looked like an ancient Egyptian queen whose picture I had once cut out of a magazine. I went on looking at her in astonishment.