The Labyrinth of Passion (romantic experiences)

by Charles Westmont

  He had labored patiently for weeks on this mountain plot. He believed that he was very close to the time when he would harvest grapes. By next fall, he would enjoy his very own wine. He already anticipated the taste of the nectar. “What a welcome change it will be from walnut liquor!” He froze in his movement, haunted by a loud eerie scream, more frightening than anything he had ever heard. He stood immobile for a long moment, as the ugly scream began fading. “The old witch is getting crazier by the days, he comforted himself.”

  Just last week, the children had seen her entering one of the mazes of caves that surround the hills in the dark forest, behind the family home. “I thought she had finally croaked and remained buried in one of her caves,” he thought to himself, with a breath of relief as the old tree root finally surrendered to his efforts.

  The old grandmother was lying on the path, facing the statue, surrounded by her co-conspirators of doom. They were on their daily stroll in the forest, carefully avoiding encounters. The statue, at the crossroad to Bourdeille, was the chosen site for their illicit gathering. This morning the statue was brightened by a rare ray of the sun filtering through the thick leafy forest. She heard an eerie giggle that sounded quite different than the whistling of the wind passing through the leaves. The giggle, like a cold breeze, began chilling the back of the old grandmother’s neck. She moved closer, staring at the face of stone. For a moment she thought her imagination was playing tricks on her. The face was frowning and the lips moved. She was feeling the chill of her breath. The lone inheritor of Dordogne ancestral witches, she was standing within inches of the statue. Her hand was touching the stone mantle. The mantle began glowing, brushing her crooked fingers. She felt a sharp pain, as if she was hit by lightning and she was lifted in the air. She was held helpless; her face was nose to nose with the living statue. The eyes of stone were aflame and the lips were moving rapidly. She could not hear, but she felt the words being fused in her heart. “You are the Vestal of Horus, you will be driven to stop and separate Justine and Etienne with the power of the Ring. The imminent return of Isis and Osiris in human togetherness is an insult to Horus. Already, the seed planted in the heart of your grandson Maurice is germinating. For your part, you will remain alive, to witness his conquest of the goddess. He will take her away from the god. For your reward, he will capture her heart for himself for a time.” She felt herself propelled in a spin and could not stop screaming, until she collapsed on the path unconscious. When she came to her senses, her hands were pressing a gold ring set with lapis lazuli and a black and white falcon amulet.

  Chapter 7 - The gods reunited

  Mooring at the harbor of the Gods

  Etienne was sitting on the terrace lounge of the Cairo Hilton. The hotel had retained an ageless oriental atmosphere, often depicted in late night movies. On this warm June afternoon, the temperature had climbed far beyond the usual forty degrees and the large fans, emerging from the high ceiling, could not generate the slightest breeze. He had had a disappointing lunch at the Seahorse with his friend Ahmed, the Egyptian foreign minister.

  Only recently had Etienne understood why his Egyptian hosts always ordered enough food for ten guests, when they entertained him at restaurants. At one such luncheon, Etienne and his host stood for a moment, after the meal, on the bank of the Nile, pursuing their conversation. When they were returning to the limousine, Etienne observed the chauffeur backing toward the kitchen door. The kitchen personnel filled the trunk with boxes of the leftovers. After enquiring from a friend, he learned that it was a common practice for government officials and wealthy businessmen to retain large numbers of servants. These employees lived with their families in small compounds behind their estate. On lucky days, they were treated to the leftover delicacies, when the chauffeur returned at the official residences after a meal.

  The minister appeared especially uneasy today. “Would you prefer a meat or a fish restaurant?” he enquired, while Etienne climbed into the limousine. Etienne suggested fish for a change and the chauffeur took the road along the Nile. As is the custom in Egypt, the minister had lowered his window. The chauffeur would slow down along the sidewalk and the minister would hand out a few worthless Egyptian piastres to the passers-by from a large pile on his seat. On the way, they drove past the building site of the future military hospital. Only the outpatients’ clinic was completed before Etienne had to withdraw his construction crews. The Egyptian government had defaulted on payments for more than six months.

  They arrived at the Seahorse, Cairo’s famous seafood Mecca. They walked on the sandy terrace shifting between dozens of abandoned cats. “Let us go inside, said the minister, it will be more peaceful.” Etienne settled at a table and the minister walked to the kitchen, to place the order. The first serving brought a tray of giant shrimps. Each shrimp was the size of a one-pound Australian brook trout. Etienne was exchanging glances with four of the wide-eyed monsters on his plate. “They are our favorite Red Sea variety,” said the minister. After a first bite, Etienne could not believe the tenderness and the delicious taste of the shrimp and proceeded to engulf all four. There followed a seafood mezze, a large variety of shellfishes, oysters, lobsters and crabs. Each plate was accompanied by a different sauce, spices and condiments. The main dish was a large swordfish fully equipped with eyes, sword and fins. The dessert presented an assortment of fruits, Mediterranean pastries, cakes and custards.

  The minister sipping at his Turkish coffee began his explanation. The Ministry of Defense changed the plans for the hospital and will reopen the bidding for the next phase.” Etienne translated that apology to spell the end of his involvement. He decided to leave to his assistants the task of collecting his dues. The limousine dropped Etienne at the hotel. They exchanged few words and with a handshake, he left his host.

  Back at the Hilton, with the determination of drowning his gloom, he was pouring the last drops from a large bottle of Stella. “I wonder what drove me to accept this invitation. Ahmed has done what he could and if the Minister of External Affairs cannot resolve this bureaucratic deadlock, I should consider my investment a total loss. I guess that I would be well-advised to leave Egypt tomorrow and pursue more rewarding ventures elsewhere,” he pondered.

  On a normal day, he would always take pleasure in admiring the unique atmosphere of the large outdoor bar of the Hilton, opening onto Tahrir Square. Today the place had lost its attraction. A cloud of thick smoke floated down fogging his face and most everything around him. Etienne could not repress a short coughing spell. He lifted his watery eyes to find the source of his malaise. A dark bearded man was stroking a water pipe at the next table. The flames and smoke were jetting out of the pipe. The smoker finally stopped the eruption by pouring his glass over the burning pipe. Then the man pulled out another block of tobacco and resumed his smoking. The tanned face was emerging from the black djabella with golden trimming enhancing a pair of intense beady eyes and a long fine nose, dropping to reach the mouthpiece of the water pipe. Looking beyond, Etienne could see that he was surrounded by the usual horde of water pipe smokers competing in colorful djabellas. The smoke was filling the bar with fruit aromas.

  He noticed that all these men eyes were focusing to his left. Etienne turned in the direction of their observation. A few table away, he saw a long blonde mane shining in the late afternoon sun. The generous golden treads covering the back of a chair were inching towards the floor. Stretching to look beyond, all he could detect were beige pants stretching to a pair of canvas shoes, lazily parked on the chair ahead. Etienne wondered what else came with the package to draw so much attention. Inconspicuously, he slipped around the table to another chair to improve his point of observation.

  Justine was enjoying the moment. The last few days had been hell. Darius had been growing more and more jealous. He went as far as forbidding her from leaving the apartment by herself and confiscated the keys. She had finally resolved to tell him that she was breaking their engagement and leaving for France. Sh
e expected him to return anytime full of apologies and promises, but inside her heart, she knew that she had already turned the page and that there would be no return. She had picked up her rucksack, locked the door and left. “Darius took my keys, she remembered, well, tonight is another night, let us see what happens?”

  She had been sitting at the bar of the Hilton, on the previous evening, sipping lemonade, when an attendant had asked for her room key. She had noticed that the concierge had frowned at her when she walked through the lobby. He knew that she was not a guest. The hotel was very strict about ladies entering the premises unaccompanied.

  “I cannot forget this pretty foreigner. I saw her in the company of one of a regular Lebanese patron, only a few days ago,” reflected the concierge. He approached Justine from behind and before he could utter a single word, she turned to face him and with the most enticing of smiles, she said a few words in classical Egyptian. The concierge was completely taken by her charm and elegance. He mumbled something about Justine enjoying her stay at the hotel and returned to his desk.

  Justine was in a daze, locked within herself, struggling with the spectrum of life after Darius, but mostly about finding a reasonable exit from the relationship. Returning to her senses, she began noticing one, two, three… many of the afternoon clients of the bar, sitting at tables around her and quietly sipping their water pipes. All the men were looking at her directly, with strange intensity. She could not avoid the glare of desire that all these eyes were exuding. Her first reaction was to leave, yet, a tingling of excitement for so much attention, was defeating her momentary embarrassment. She pulled a letter from her bag and stretching her feet on the chair in front of her, she began reading. Justine was not reading, she was pretending. She could feel these eyes stretching to her like hands, brushing her body, touching her. She was breathing faster, at the rhythm of her heart acceleration, and she was feeling a tidal wave of exotic ripples forming over her body and calling for her to surrender to an invasion.

  She felt a presence and she saw him at her side. He stood like a gift carried by the wave of her growing excitement. He stood tall, in a business suit and tie, his deportment boasting elegance and class. He exuded force and assurance. He was impressive. His voice was soft, slightly hesitant, yet somewhat firm and his words resounded all the way to her soul.

  Just past his forty-fifth birthday, Etienne had lived through enough experiences to understand that a woman of such beauty and charm, sitting at the bar of the Cairo Hilton, could not be oblivious to attracting so much attention. He was taken by the beautiful golden complexion of a perfect face, slightly freckled under her blue eyes glowing like ocean breakers. Etienne felt good, he felt elated, as he emerged from his moods. “Just the cure I was in need of,” he was thinking. At that moment, he was the knight in shining armour, who would rescue the beautiful princess from these barbarians.

  He had moved toward the lounging beauty staying out of her sight. He approached from behind and stopped. “The little pest is holding her letter upside-down,” he noticed. Yet, he felt that he was immediately overtaken by the vision of beauty that she was exuding. She turned to look at him. For a moment most of Etienne’s self-assurance melted and he saw himself mumbling meekly an offer to share a drink. The smile kept flowing at him, bringing comfort and the needed reassurance.

  “Vous parlez français? Je prendrais bien un verre d’eau.” Etienne did not remember what language he had used for his approach. He quickly recovered his senses and sat next to her.

  They began small talk, taking turns. Her body language was confirming progress toward the conquest of his prey. With the minutes and the hours slipping by, Etienne began to feel that the population of butterflies, invading his insides and swiftly reproducing, was indicative that he had largely misjudged who was to be the prey and who was truly the hunter. Her lips kept parting slightly in harmony with the smile of her eyes and their message was reaching and irremediably imprinting itself in the depths of his heart. He began to experience the strange feeling that he had always known her, that she had always been his and that he never wanted to leave her side. He knew that he was drowning slowly, but willingly. Her eyes were exerting an irresistible magnetism, pulling his soul inside of hers. It took all his mind power to resist.

  “She is just a nice piece of ass,” he forced himself to think, ego first. But even at this stage of their brief encounter, he knew that she was danger, a danger that was drawing him irreversibly in a whirlpool. He was engaging in a labyrinth of passion, leading to loosing himself within her.

  Their conversation was disrupted by loud music and cheers erupting from a nearby passageway leading to the hotel mall. He stood up and taking her hand, they ran towards the source of the commotion. They approached the exotic procession that was moving at the rhythm of the Thousand and One Nights music. In front of the cortege a white horse was pulling a carriage, where the bride to be was sitting wrapped in a gown of silver and damask. A small crowd of exotic dancers and musicians were moving joyfully along. A red bird was perched on the horse’s long white mane and standing on each side of the saddle were a black cat and a monkey. Etienne and Justine were approaching when the horse stopped his progress for a brief moment. In unison the horse, the bird, the cat and the monkey turned and bowed to acknowledge the intruders. The musicians and dancers also became silent and immobile. The monkey took a handful of golden tokens and threw them at Justine. The cortege resumed its progression, as if it had never halted. “They are good luck charms, a custom at Egyptian weddings,” said Justine laughing when Etienne bent to the ground to pick up a piece. Etienne seized Justine’s hand and placed the golden piece within it. He was captured by a strange feeling that he could not escape; from seeing in her eyes a glimpse of her soul. Justine was more and more impressed by the charm of her newfound suitor. She was overtaken by the excitement of her conquest. He was impressive and he made her laugh. She was maliciously planning to take better advantage of her position and to use him to escape from the boredom that had invaded her soul in the course of the last months.

  “I am hungry, let us go for dinner,” Etienne said in a casual but affirmative tone of voice, leaving little room for hesitation in her part. A quick smile was his confirmation.

  The large ball of fire was beginning to fade in the early evening Cairo sky over Mohandessin yet its incandescence was persisting to ignite the Nile waters spotted with a multitude of tiny white sails and floating grass islands. Justine, her hand hovering shyly over Etienne’s, could not stop talking; as if she feared that a sudden moment of silence would awaken her from a dream.

  “These little boats are permanent homes for many families in Egypt, others families, too poor to acquire a dwelling, are living in their cars. The boats and the cars are moving in nomadic permanence, invading the river and clogging the highways,” she mused.

  The Omen

  They were enjoying the comfort of the outdoor dining theatre of the Hilton, overlooking the Nile, when the Maître D. came to take their order. “I would like a Salade de la Rosée and a double ration of Chocolate Fondant,” Justine ordered and turning to Etienne said, “please have anything you like, for my part, I am a vegetarian.”

  Etienne was attempting to compute how such a gorgeous well-proportioned nymph could maintain her basic complexion, shape and adjoining generous options, on such meagre fare. Since childhood, Etienne had a special fondness for Kim Novak and Marilyn Monroe and Justine, for as much as he had observed, had little to envy about their forms and beauty. He was even more astounded, when she admitted not eating meat or fish, since the tender age of seven years old. He felt a slight embarrassment, when he ordered Red Sea shrimps.

  “I certainly eat meat and fish,” he admitted, “but I have to confess that since I was a little boy, I always had a strong preference for vegetables and fruits.”

  She was in the middle of an explanation of her strong belief that man should not slaughter animals, when the MC introduced the troupe. The spectacl
e was a combination of belly dancing, ballet and theatre on a theme depicting an evening in the court of Pharaoh, surrounded by courtesans for his entertainment. Etienne, keeping one eye on the spectacle, had the second focused on this newfound companion. He could feel her enjoyment from the changing expressions of her face and the movements of her body, emulating the languorous dances of the courtesans.

  The waiter came with the Turkish coffee when the troupe was applauded warmly and was retiring for an intermission. They were just resuming their conversation when they were surprised by an old gypsy sitting on a chair at their table. The old soul had appeared from nowhere, unannounced and was giving the couple a strange inquisitive look. Etienne was to ask her to leave but Justine interrupted and began a conversation in Egyptian. Turning to Etienne, Justine began to explain that the elderly woman was quite a famous fortune teller in these parts, when she herself was interrupted.

  “I am a fortune teller with unique qualities,” the witch began, speaking in flawless English, “I have, over the years, provided my services to many famous people, among which the President of the United States, Richard Nixon.”

  Etienne was amused by the turn of events and by the fact that Justine appeared to be so taken by the gypsy’s presence.