Пол Боулз - Let it come down

«I’ll fix that,» he said, a little grimly, and straightway pulled off the remainder of his clothing.

«There. How’s that?» His voice sounded unnatural; he was thinking: if she’s going to act like a whore I’ll damned well treat her like one.

«Now, you too,» he said. And using both hands he began to pull her dress off over her head. She uttered a cry and struggled to a sitting position.

«No! No!»

He looked at her. It was disconcerting to be sitting there naked in front of this wild-eyed Arab girl pretending to defend her honor.

«What’s the matter?» he demanded.

Her face softened; she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.

«You lie down,» she said smiling. «Leave dress alone».

As he obeyed, perplexed, she added: «You one bad boy, but I fix you up good». And indeed, in another minute she made it clear that she was by no means attempting to protect her virtue; she merely had no intention of removing her dress. At the same time she appeared to find it perfectly natural that Dyar should be unclothed; furthermore she took obvious pleasure in running her hands over his body, patting and pinching his flesh. Yet he had the conviction that notwithstanding her occasional murmurs of endearment, for her it was all a game. She was unattainable even in the profoundest intimacy. «Still, here it is. I’ve got her,» he thought. «What more did I expect?» Outside the cave beneath the cliffs, the sea pounded against the rocks; the air, even up here, was full of fine salt mist.

«The Garden of Hesperides. The golden apple,» he thought, running his tongue over her smooth, fine teeth. Soon it was as if he were floating slightly above the water, out there in the strait, the wind caressing his face. The sound of the waves receded further and further. They slept.

Dyar’s first thought on waking was that twilight had come. He raised himself a bit and surveyed Hadija: she was sleeping quietly, one hand under her cheek and the other resting on his arm. Like this she looked incredibly young — not more than twelve. Overcome with a great tenderness, he reached out, smoothed her forehead, and let his hand run softly over her hair. She opened her eyes. The bland, sweet smile appeared; was it an expression of friendship or a meaningless grimace? Reaching around among the branches and leaves, he assembled his clothing, leapt up and went outside the cave to dress. The sky was more heavily covered, the sun had completely disappeared, the light was muffled. A gull balanced itself in the wind before him, turning its head from time to time to look at the rocks below. Hadija called to him. When he went in she had moved to the center of the cave where she sat taking the parcels of food out of the basket.

«No radio?» she said. «Little radio?»

«No».

«One American lady I know she got one little radio. Little. Take it in beach. Take it in room. Take it on café in Zoco Chico. You hear music every time».

«I hate ’em. I wouldn’t like it here. I like the waves better. Hear ’em?» He pointed outside and listened a moment. She listened, too, and appeared to be considering the sound she heard. Presently she nodded her head and said: «Good music».

«Couldn’t be better,» he answered, pleased that she understood so well.

«That’s the beautiful. Come from God». She pointed casually upward. He was a little embarrassed, as he always was when a serious reference to God was made. Now he was not sure whether she had really understood him or not.

«Well, let’s eat». He bit into a sandwich.

« Bismil ’lah ,» said Hadija, doing likewise.

«What’s that mean? Good appetite?»

«It mean we eat for God».

«Oh».

« You say».

She repeated it several times and made him say it until he had pronounced it to her satisfaction. Then they ate.

After lunch he went out and climbed among the rocks for a few minutes. It pleased him to see that there was not a soul in sight in either direction along the shore; he had half expected the gang of youths to follow them and perhaps continue their antics below on the rocks. But there was no one. When he returned to the cave he sat down outside it and called to Hadija.

«Come on out and sit here. It’s too dark inside».

She obeyed. In a moment they were lying locked in each other’s arms. When she complained of the cold rock beneath her, he got his jacket from inside the cave, put it under her, and lay down again.

«D’you know what I want?» he said, looking at the tiny black knob his head made against the sky in her eyes.

«You want?»

«Yes. D’you know what I want? I want to live with you. All the time. So we can be like this every night, every morning. You know? You understand?»

«Oh, yes».

«I’ll get you a little room, a good room. You live in it and I’ll come and see you every day. Would you like that?»

«I come every day?»

«No!» He moved one arm out from under her and gestured, pointing. « I pay for the room. You live in it. I come and see you every night. Yes?»

She smiled. «All right». It was as if he had said: «What do you say to starting back in about an hour?» As this occurred to him, he did say: «Want to start back pretty soon?»

«O.K».

His heart sank a little. He was right: it was the same voice, the same smile. He sighed. Still, she had agreed.

«But you promise?»

«What?»

«You’ll live in the room?»

«Oh, yes». She took his head between her hands and kissed him on each cheek. «You come today?»

«Come where? The room?» He was about to begin again, to explain that he had not yet rented the room for her.

«No. No my room. Miss Goode. You come I take you. She very good friend. She got room Hotel Metropole».

«No. I don’t want to go there. What would I want to do that for? You go if you want».

«She tell me you bring you drink whiskey».

Dyar laughed. «I don’t think she said that, Hadija».

«Sure she say that».

«She’s never heard of me and I’ve never heard of her. Who is she, anyway?»

«She got one little radio. I said you before. You know. Miss Goode. She got room Hotel Metropole. You come. I take you».

«You’re crazy!»

Hadija tried to sit up. She looked very much upset. «I crazy? You crazy! You think I’m lie?» She pushed him in the chest with all her might, struggling to rise.

He was a little alarmed. To placate her he said: «I’ll come! I’ll come! Don’t get so excited, for God’s sake! What’s the matter with you? If you want me to stop by and see her, I’M stop by and see her, I don’t care».

«I no care. She tell me you bring you drink whiskey. You like whiskey?»

«Yes, yes. Sure. Now you lie back down there. I’ve got something to tell you».

«What?» she asked ingenuously, settling back, her great eyes wide.

«This». He kissed her. «I love you». His open lips touched hers all the way around as he said the words.

Hadija did not seem surprised to hear it. «Again?» she said, smiling.

«Huh?»

«You love me again now? This time quick one, yes? This time take few minutes. No take pants off. Then we go Hotel Metropole».

On Saturday Hadija had told Eunice Goode that she would be out all the next day with a friend. After a certain amount of questioning Eunice had got an admission from her that it was the American gentleman and that they were going on a picnic. She did not think it wise to express any objections. For one thing Hadija had already made it clear that she did not by any means consider this sojourn at the Hotel Metropole a permanent arrangement, and that she would leave any time she felt like it. (What she hoped to be given eventually was an apartment of her own on the Boulevard.) And then, Eunice realized that in such a situation she was incapable herself of offering a quiet argument; she would straightway be precipitated into a violent scene. With her sometimes painfully acute objective sense she knew she would be the loser in any such quarrel: she was supremely conscious of being a comic figure. She knew which of her attributes operated against her, and they were several. Her voice, while pleasant and easily modulated when used with low dynamics, became a thin screech as soon as it was called upon to be more than mildly expressive. Her torso bulged in rather the same fashion as that of a portly old gentleman, her arms and legs were gigantic, and her hypersensitive skin was always irritated and purplish, so that her face often looked as though she had just finished climbing to the summit of a mountain. She told herself she did not rnind being a comic character; she accepted the fact and used it to insulate herself from the too-near, ever-threatening world. Dressed in a manner which accentuated the deficiencies of her body, wherever she went she was a thing rather than a person; she was determined to enjoy to the full the benefits of that exemption.