Should she return to the table alone, wait for him until he gets tired of dancing and rejoins her? But before she reaches the table she stops suddenly, rooted to the spot, involuntarily reminded of the tale of the man who promised his neighbour fruit from his date palm and when the tree bore fruit the man went to collect the fruit promised to him and the owner of the palm tree said to him, ‘It’s better if you wait till the fruit is riper.’ When it was riper, he said, ‘Leave it until it’s soft.’ And when it was soft, he said, ‘Leave it until the sun has dried it.’ When the sun had dried it, the owner of the palm tree went back on his promise and didn’t give his neighbour a thing.
She returns to the dance floor and the noise of the music. She stops in front of him; his face is contorted as if he is in pain; he swings his head in all directions, apparently trying to break free of it. She wonders if he is weeping silently. She stands right up close to him and puts her arms around him. When he doesn’t hold her or open his eyes, she whispers silently, ‘How can you give me something that you don’t have?’
She hurries to the table to pick up her bag. A woman guest stops her: ‘Your dress is wonderful. You look like a daffodil in it.’ Yvonne thanks her and goes on her way.
As she drives away, her last image of him dancing alone stays with her, and will remain stuck in her mind for a long time to come.
She is glad she didn’t said goodbye to him, so that if she remembers him one day and remembers the wedding, she’ll smile instead of sobbing and lamenting her fate. James was like the man who walked by when she was lying on the sand sunbathing: just for a moment his shadow embraced her, covering her completely.
She has escaped the blaze. She drives quickly now, racing the river that suffers from insomnia because of all the lights gleaming and twinkling from buildings and moored boats. She has everything she needs: stomach, heart, gut, two legs, as well as somewhere to live, a bed and a pillow. Supposing James had agreed to come with her that night, he would have fallen asleep sooner or later while she dozed alone, although at least she would have been in his arms. But even ants can’t live on their own. If an ant finds itself alone one day it goes on hunger strike, preferring death to loneliness. It dies within a week, and when the other ants gather round to pay their respects, they smell its excretions and realise it has died of loneliness, and that there was nothing else wrong with it.
Suddenly Yvonne bursts into tears; then she starts laughing. She remembers something her neighbour said to her husband: he had apologised shamefacedly to his wife for farting in her hearing and she had answered, ‘Never mind. I’m glad I finally got something out of you.’ Yvonne laughs again, uncontrollably. She opens all the windows. The breeze carouses merrily around the car.
A message on the phone. She jumps, praying it’s from James so she can turn round and go back to him. It’s Huda. Great, Huda’s at home, I won’t be alone.
5
Yvonne’s mobile rings when she’s in the lift. Her heart begins to beat, making the lift move at a crazy speed. It isn’t James. ‘Where are you? Where are you?’ says Huda’s voice.
‘In Malta! I’m in the lift!’
She sees the door of her flat and her throat tightens. When she left home at noon, she was all expectation and enthusiasm, certain that she would meet a man at the wedding and bring him back here – at his insistence of course – so she had tidied the living room and the kitchen before she went out.
Huda rushes towards her and begins to tell her what happened between her and Ta’abbata Sharran, beginning with the demonstration at the American Embassy, continuing with the virginity strawberry and ‘I’ve married you before God and His Prophet’, then the trip to the restaurant and how she’d escaped from Hisham’s claws.
Yvonne gasped. ‘My God, you’re so crafty! You could milk an ant, Huda.’
‘Oh God, how did I let myself fall into this trap, and I laid it myself. “He who digs a hole for his brother, is the first to fall into it.” And who with? A religious fanatic. And it was as if we were in the Tower of Babel and didn’t understand each other’s languages.’
‘You’re a thug!’ exclaims Yvonne admiringly. ‘But you haven’t told me the juicy details.’
‘It was a joke. As if he was driving an automatic. Can you believe that for the sake of a few drops of blood, he brought two witnesses?’
‘How strange is a person’s relationship with his God.’ They both start to laugh, then Huda says: ‘But what’s annoying me is that I was forced to go to your office. I’m sorry, Yvonne, I shouldn’t have, but he insisted on coming with me, although I tried my hardest to avoid it, but he still insisted, so I pretended your office was where you lived. So watch out, he might come there tomorrow.’
‘You should be afraid for him. I’m going to strangle him with his own shirt collar, pull his trousers so tight he won’t be able to breathe. I promise you’ll hear the sound of me beating him up wherever you are.’ Even a religious man, obsessed with God and the hereafter, allows Huda into his heart, then goes crazy about her, thinks Yvonne irritably. Of course he claims that he wants to please his Lord, but the truth is that he wants to hang on to her by whatever means.
‘Oh Huda!’ Yvonne begins to cry.
‘What’s happened, Yvonne? What’s happened?’
‘I briefly fell in love, Huda. But he loves someone else. We were at the wedding and the pot found its lid, then I discovered he still loved the woman he’d split up with. Why is bad luck always just around the corner? Did my mother make a pact with the Devil so that every man I like runs away from me?’
‘Grow up, Yvonne. If the Devil obeyed your mother’s orders, she’d be ruling the world by now!’
‘That’s true. I never thought of that!’
They laugh and sip wine and it goes to their heads a little and makes their eyelids heavy but then Yvonne jumps to her feet again, sobbing uncontrollably.
She tells the story of her encounter with James, and the warmth and love and longing that had transformed her into a blazing torch at the wedding begin gradually to die away. If someone took an X-ray of her now, it would show how her insides had changed from fiery red to blue, the colour of cold water. ‘I don’t know what else to do, Huda. I’ve lost weight; my personality’s changed; to put it bluntly, I’ve become a mouse, and yet I still have no luck!’
The two of them attempt a laugh without success.
‘I was offered a drink of water, then it was taken away before I could drink, like the tide ebbing and flowing. Perhaps now I ought to buy sperm and have a child, and forget about men. I should remember what my granny used to say: trusting men is like believing you can carry water in a sieve.’
‘Yvonne, stop it. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill. He’s sure to think about you sooner or later. Who knows, maybe he just happened to remember his ex for a few moments when he saw someone who looked like her at the wedding, and imagined that he still loved her. I remember meeting the mother of one of the Arab actors I worked with in Canada, who told me that she was in love with a singer and heard his voice in her head constantly, even in her sleep. It turned out the singer was Abdel-Halim Hafez. When I told her he’d died more than thirty years before, she answered with tears in her eyes, “I know, I know! But I still love him. He’s always with me and I still remember every moment that we were together.”’
‘No, it’s better that I don’t hold out any hope. I don’t want to go back to being the old Yvonne. Come to think of it, today’s been a great success. I’ve escaped from James by the skin of my teeth and avoided all the sacrifices, the sleepless nights, the wavering between yes and no, and you’ve managed to have your revenge on Ta’abbata Sharran and said a proper farewell once and for all to your childhood. Absolutely no nostalgia allowed!’
‘How did you know what I was thinking?’
‘Didn’t you know that true friends know each other’s thoughts without any need for words?’
‘I love people like you who are always ready with a go
od answer, like a magician producing a dove from his sleeve. And I want to tell you something else. I’m so lucky that my play is going to transfer to London so I’ll be able to see you all the time. But you should enjoy the memory of your meeting with James. Let it be a source of happiness for the rest of your life, like the memory of a beautiful dream, rather than a relationship doomed to failure.’
‘Do you want me to be like the actor’s mother who still wakes up and falls asleep to the voice of Abdel-Halim Hafez? Shall I call the analyst and tell her what happened to me at the wedding? Maybe I did wrong to leave without saying goodbye to him.’
‘On the contrary, the way you left was really great. You made it clear that you could do without him.’
‘But I don’t want James to think that I like playing the field. I want him to know that I was attracted to him.’
‘He’s not an idiot! He’ll know exactly what happened between you. Come on, let’s go to sleep. You must be exhausted. I know I am. I want to be absolutely ready for my appointment at the theatre tomorrow morning. Sleep well.’
But Huda finds herself calling Mark in Canada, who is expecting her call even though they haven’t planned it. Hearing his warm, sincere voice makes her regret what she has done with Hisham. Never mind, she consoles herself. Maybe a new play will come out of it, and I’ll give the role of Ta’abbata Sharran to my dear actor.
Yvonne closes her eyes, sending James messages in her head, just as the fortune-teller told her to do: ‘Before you go to sleep, you must think of the hummingbird: he never forgets the flower whose nectar he has sipped. So if you send mind-messages to the person who has tasted your kisses, whose body has touched yours, he’s sure to come back to you asking for more.’
Yvonne sleeps deeply, unusually for her, and doesn’t wake before nine in the morning. So it’s true that night can sometimes be heaven if you’re trying to escape from something. Suddenly she remembers Huda and rushes to the room next door. When she finds Huda still fast asleep, her eyes fill with tears. I’m alone, she muses to herself. If only I shared this flat with Huda, things would be easier.
Yvonne dresses quickly. She has to design an advertisement that will catch the eye of all London; she’ll make James come crawling after her on his hands and knees. Success is the best revenge.
She attempts to follow the advice of the Lebanese proverb: ‘If you have a door that lets in a draught, block it off and forget it.’ She takes down a book of Arabic proverbs to cheer herself up. Opening a page at random, she reads: ‘If a tree is cut down with an axe, it grows again.’ Great, I like it. She searches for more sayings: ‘Patience is the cure for sorrow’; ‘Time is the great healer’. She nods in agreement, but then reads: ‘Sex is the cure for love’. She throws the book on the floor, then picks it up again and puts it back in its place.
6
Yvonne feels comfortable for the first time since the previous day, walking in streets full of people and cars and noise. When she enters her office and sees the posters she has designed over the years covering the walls, her self-confidence increases. The hours pass and although she has an eye constantly on her phone, this doesn’t distract her from designing a new poster, inspired by the wedding reception. The subject should be food, to attract James’s attention!
The entry-phone buzzes frequently, but suddenly she is aware of her receptionist answering, ‘I’m sorry. We don’t have anyone here called Huda.’
She rushes to snatch the receiver from him. ‘Are you asking about Huda?’
‘Yes, Huda,’ says the voice of the youth from the desert.
‘Just a moment. Wait one moment.’
When he’s standing in front of her, all she can see is a tall, incredibly handsome man. He’s the enemy, Yvonne. Remember he’s the enemy. Then she asks him out loud: ‘Where’s Huda? Please tell me.’
‘I’ve come to ask about her. She’s supposed to be staying with you, isn’t she?’
‘The last time I heard from her was yesterday when she called me while she was with you. We were supposed to meet in my flat but she didn’t turn up. I couldn’t sleep the whole night. I kept calling her but never got a reply. In the end I convinced myself that she’d forgotten all about me because she was so happy with you and that she—’
He interrupts irritably: ‘But I took her to your flat myself yesterday evening.’
‘That’s odd. I was back home by around nine. God, what’s happened to her? We must inform the police.’
‘But I saw her with my own eyes tapping in the code and going through this door. She even waved goodbye to me when she was inside. I don’t understand.’
‘But this is my office, not my flat. It’s strange.’
‘I understand everything now. She’s run away from me.’
‘Run away? Why would she run away? What happened? Come on, tell me. But anyway, where would she go? She’d just come home to my flat. I think it’s best if we go to a café and talk about things calmly.’
She closes the main door of the building behind her.
‘Please tell me what happened,’ she says as they walk along together, her face clouded with anxiety.
‘I know she called you when she was with me. Did she tell you anything about what was going on between us?’
‘She said she’d be late, and that she was having a lovely time with you.’
Yvonne goes into the café close to her office and collapses on to a chair at the first vacant table she comes to. He sits down facing her.
‘Tell me please, does she know anyone apart from you in London?’
‘No, I don’t think so. She arrived in London on Thursday and hasn’t contacted anyone as far as I know. Now can you please tell me why you think she’s run away from you? I’m really worried.’
‘Because I asked her to marry me, and it looks as if she doesn’t want to marry me, so she’s run away.’
‘Naturally. Huda would have thought you were insane, if you don’t mind me saying so, proposing to her when you’d known her for a few hours. Anyway, she and I decided that we would never get married even if Leonardo DiCaprio proposed to us!’
‘Insane! Thanks a lot. Let me explain it to you: the marriage I suggested is a civil marriage, like a common law marriage here, no mosque or state authorities involved, just me and her in front of two witnesses, that’s all there is to it.’
‘Sorry, but I don’t understand why you would want to do that.’
Hisham tells her about the temporary, secret marriage that took place between him and Huda. ‘We were married alone, just her and me before God and His Prophet, and we should have registered the marriage in front of two witnesses afterwards. That’s all there is to it, but now she’s escaped.’
‘I don’t really understand, or care,’ says Yvonne quickly. ‘What bothers me now is where Huda is, why she didn’t come back to my flat. Let’s just suppose that she wanted to get away from you. Would she disappear without contacting me and telling me all about it? Huda knows me well, and she knows that I’d be concerned about her and tell the police.’
She gets to her feet just as the waiter brings two cups of coffee.
‘Drink your coffee and I’ll go up to my office and let the police know.’
‘Please wait for me. Listen, it’s clear as day. She was sure you’d think she’d spent the night with me and you wouldn’t be anxious before midday today.’
‘But how do you explain the fact that she hasn’t contacted me? That’s what terrifies me.’
‘Because she’s clever and she knows that I’d turn to you to help me find her.’
‘You talk as if she’s committed a crime! It seems like you’re trying to find her out of your own self-interest rather than because you think she might be in danger.’
‘I don’t believe she’s in any danger! She’s a clever girl, very cunning and sly. I’ve only just discovered that she didn’t give me her permanent telephone number, but a temporary UK one that isn’t in service, and she didn’t even tell me w
hich Canadian state she lived in. Can you tell me which state she’s from, please?’
‘Canada? I don’t believe it! Huda lives in Iceland, in the capital Reykjavik.’
‘Iceland? Is her name really Huda? Huda what?’
‘Huda Sukkar.’
‘Sukkar? Sugar, like the sugar we eat? You mean her name isn’t Huda Kamal?’
‘No, Huda Sukkar.’
‘And of course she’s not a schoolteacher either?’
‘She runs a women’s refuge in Reykjavik.’
Yvonne buries her head in her hands, rocking to and fro, then gesturing as if she’s threatening someone, as if she’s talking to someone and unable to believe what she’s hearing, then pulling herself together and calming herself down.
‘I thought I knew her well. It seems I was wrong. Apparently we don’t even know ourselves very well!’
‘I want her number in Iceland now, right now.’ He takes out his phone. Yvonne searches through her coat pockets: ‘Sorry, I’ve left my phone in the office.’
His face, so full of venom at Speakers’ Corner, is bewildered, anxious, and a vein throbs constantly in his temple. His confusion now, perhaps it’s even sadness, spreads to his eyes, and they appear tender, wide, honest and his lips resigned, submissive, waiting for someone to rescue them.
‘I should go back to the flat,’ continues Yvonne, ‘before I call the police, just in case she’s come to take her things and return the key. Anyway, here’s my number. Call me within the next hour, or I’ll call you when I’m back at the flat, and if I don’t find her or her clothes, I’ll tell the police.’
She turns to talk to the café owner who appears to know her well: ‘I’ll send someone to pay.’
The Occasional Virgin Page 18
