Пол Боулз - Let it come down

«Look, I can’t stay. I didn’t realize — I’m sorry» —

«Can’t stay?» echoed Eunice, faintly dismayed.

«I have an appointment at my hotel. I’ve got to get back. Hadija told me you were sick so I just thought I’d stop by. She said you wanted me to come».

«So I did. But I don’t call this a visit».

The waiter had come in, set the tray on the table, and gone out.

«I know». He was not sure which would be less impolite, — to accept one drink and then go, or to leave without taking anything.

«One quick drink,» Eunice urged him. He accepted it.

Hadija had ordered a Coca-Cola. She was rather pleased to see her two protectors in the same room talking together. She wondered if it were dangerous. After all, Eunice knew about the man and did not seem to mind. It was possible that he would not care too much if he knew about Eunice. But she would certainly prefer him not to know. She became conscious of their words.

«Where you go?» she interrupted.

«Home,» he said, without looking at her.

«Where you live?»

Eunice smiled to herself: Hadija was doing her work for her. But then she clicked her tongue with annoyance. The girl had bungled it; he had been put off.

«Too far,» he had answered drily.

«Why you go there?» Hadija pursued.

Now he turned to face her. «Curiosity killed a cat,» he said with mock sternness. «I’m going to a party, Nosey». He laughed. To Eunice he said: «What a girl, what a girl! But she’s nice in spite of it».

«I don’t know about that,» Eunice replied, as if giving the matter thought. «I don’t think so, at all, as a matter of fact. I’ll talk to you about it some time. Did you say a party?» She remembered that the Beidaouis were at home on Sunday evenings. «Not at the Beidaoui Palace?» she hazarded.

He looked surprised. «That’s right!» he exclaimed. «Do you know them?»

She had never met any of the Beidaoui brothers; however, they had been pointed out to her on various occasions. «I know them very well,» she said. «They’re the people of Tangier». She had heard that their father had held a high official position of some sort. «The old Beidaoui who died a few years ago was the Grand Vizier to Sultan Moulay Hafid. It was he who entertained the Kaiser when he came here in 1906».

«Is that right?» said Dyar, making his voice polite.

Presendy he stood up and said good-bye. He hoped she would be better.

«Oh, it’s a chronic condition,» she said cheerfully. «It comes and goes. I never think about it. But as my grandmother in Pittsburgh used to say: ‘It’ll be a lot worse before it’s any better.’»

He was a little surprised to hear that she was American: he had not thought of her as having any nationality at all. And now he was worried about how to make another rendezvous with Hadija in the somewhat forbidding presence of Miss Goode. However, it had to be done if he was to see her again; he would never be able to get to the Bar Lucifer, where he supposed she was still to be found.

«How about another picnic next Sunday?» he said to her. He might be free all during the week, and then again Wilcox might telephone him tomorrow. Sunday was the only safe day.

«Sure,» said Hadija.

«Same place? Same time?»

«O.K».

As soon as he had gone, Eunice sat up straight in the bed. «Hand me the telephone book,» she said.

«What you sigh?»

«The telephone book!»

She skimmed through it, found the name. Jouvenon, Pierre, ing . Ingénieur, engineer. It sounded much more impressive in French, being connected with such words as genius, ingenuity. Engineer always made her think of a man in overalls standing in a locomotive. She gave the number and said peremptorily to Hadija: «Get dressed quickly. Put on the new black frock we bought yesterday. I’ll fix your hair when I’m dressed». She turned to the telephone. « Allô, allô? Qui est à l’appareil ?» It was a Spanish maid: Eunice shrugged with impatience. « Quisiera hablar con la Señora Jouvenon. Sí! La señora !» While she waited she put her hand over the mouth-piece and turned again to Hadija. «Remember. Not a word of anything but English». Hadija had gone into the bathroom and was splashing water in the basin.

«I know,» she called. «No spickin Arab. No spickin Espanish. I know». They both took it as a matter of course that if Eunice went out, she went with her. At the back of her mind Eunice vaguely imagined that she was training the girl for Paris, where eventually she would take her to live, so that their successful menage would excite the envy of all her friends.

« Ah, chère Madame Jouvenon !» she cried, and went on to tell the person at the other end of the wire that she hoped she was unoccupied for the next few hours, as she had something she wanted to discuss with her. Madame Jouvenon did not seem at all surprised by the announcement or by the fact that the proposed discussion would take several hours. « Vous êtes tr-rès aimable ,» she said, purring the «r» as no Frenchwoman would have done. It was agreed that they should meet in a half hour at La Sevillana, the small tearoom at the top of the Siaghines.

Eunice hung up, got out of bed, and hurriedly put on an old, loosely-draped tea-gown. Then she turned her attention to clothing Hadija, applying her make-up for her, and arranging her hair. She was like a mother preparing her only daughter for her first dance. And indeed, as they walked carefully side by side through the narrow alleys which were a short cut to La Sevillana, sometimes briefly holding hands when the way was wide enough, they looked very much like doting mother and fond daughter, and were taken for such by the Jewish women watching the close of day from their doorways and balconies.

Madame Jouvenon was already seated in La Sevillana eating a meringue. She was a bright-eyed little woman whose hair, having gone prematurely white, she had unwisely allowed to be dyed a bright silvery blue. To complete the monochromatic color scheme she had let Mlle. Sylvie dye her brows and lashes a much darker and more intense shade of blue. The final effect was not without impact.

Evidently Madame Jouvenon had only just arrived in the tearoom, as heads were still discreetly turning to get a better view of her. Characteristically, Hadija immediately decided that this lady was suffering from some strange disease, and she shook her hand with some squeamishness.

«We have very little time,» Eunice began in French, hoping that Madame Jouvenon would not order more pastry. «The little one here doesn’t speak French. Only Greek and some English. No pastry. Two coffees. Do you know the Beidaouis?»

Madame Jouvenon did not. Eunice was only momentarily chagrined.

«It doesn’t matter,» she continued. «I know them intimately, and you’re my guest. I want to take you there now because there’s someone I think you should meet. It’s possible that he could be very useful to you».

Madame Jouvenon put down her fork. As Eunice continued talking, now in lower tones, the little woman’s shining eyes became fixed and intense. Her entire expression altered; her face grew clever and alert. Presently, without finishing her meringue, she reached for her handbag in a businesslike manner and laid some coins on the table. « Tr-rès bien ,» she said tersely. « On va par-rtir ».

The Beidaouis’ Sunday evenings were unique in that any member of one of the various European colonies could attend without thereby losing face, probably because the fact that the hosts were Moslems automatically created among the guests a feeling of solidarity which they welcomed without being conscious of its origin. The wife of the French minister could chat with the lowest American lady tourist and no one would see anything extraordinary about it. This certainly did not mean that if the tourist caught sight of Mme. D’Arcourt the next day and had the effrontery to recognize her, she in turn would be recognized. Still, it was pleasant and democratic while it lasted, which was generally until about nine. Very few Moslems were invited, but there were always three or four men of importance in the Arab world: perhaps the leader of the Nationalist Party in the Spanish Zone, or the editor of the Arabic daily in Casablanca, or a wealthy manufacturer from Algier, or the advisor to the Jalifa of Tetuan. In reality the gatherings were held in order to entertain these few Moslem guests, to whom the unaccountable behavior of Europeans never ceased to be a fascinating spectacle. Most of the Europeans, of course, thought the Moslem gentlemen were invited to add local color, and praised the Beidaoui brothers for their cleverness in knowing so well just what sort of Arab could mix properly with foreigners. These same people, who prided themselves upon the degree of intimacy to which they had managed to attain in their relationships with the Beidaoui, were nevertheless quite unaware that the two brothers were married, and led intense family lives with their Women and children in a part of the house where no European had ever entered. The Beidaoui would certainly not have hidden the fact had they been asked, but no one had ever thought to question them about such things. It was taken for granted that they were two debonair bachelors who loved to surround themselves with Europeans.