Пол Боулз - Let it come down

«How much?» said Eunice.

He told her.

A little over a hundred dollars, she calculated. It was surely worth it, even if he did not leave Tangier, the likelihood of which she strongly doubted. «I should like to help you,» she said.

«That’s very kind. I didn’t mean that». He was grinning.

«I know, but I’d like to help. I can give you a check». She wanted to finish the business and get rid of him.

In the bar someone began to play popular tunes on the piano, execrably. Several British sailors drinking in there looked into the reading room with undisguised curiosity, one after the other, like children.

«I’ll write you a check. Excuse me. I’ll be right back». She rose and went out the door into the foyer. With this native monster under control, and the American idiot out of the way, she told herself, life might begin to be bearable. She brought the checkbook downstairs with her, and made out the check in his presence, asking him how he spelled his name.

«Suppose we make it out for six thousand,» she said. It was just as well to be generous.

«That’s very kind. Thank you,» said Thami.

«Not at all. I hope you have a good trip». She got up and walked toward the bar. Before she got to the door she paused and called to him: «Don’t get drowned».

«Good night, Miss Goode,» he said respectfully, her very personal irony having gone wide of the mark.

She went into the bar and ordered a gin fizz: the whole episode had been most distasteful. «What foul people they are!» she said to herself, finding it more satisfying to damn the tribe than the mere individual. The sailors moved a little away from her on each side when she ordered her drink.

Across the street Thami was back in the café, where he intended to stay in hiding until he saw Hadija return from her fruitless mission to the Cine Mauretania; he wanted to be sure and not meet her by accident in the street. With the eagerness of a small boy he looked forward to morning, when he could go to the bank, get the money, and rush to the waterfront to begin haggling once more for the boat. Watching the Metro-pole’s entrance, he suddenly caught sight of the American, Dyar, about to go into the hotel. There was one Nesrani he liked. He had no reason for liking him, but he did. With a joviality born of the flush of victory, he rose and rushed out into the narrow street, calling: «Hey! Hey!»

Dyar turned and saw him without enthusiasm. «Hi,» he said. They shook hands, but he did not let himself be enticed into the café by the other’s blandishments. «I have to go,» he explained.

«You want to see Miss Goode?» Thami guessed. Dyar was annoyed. «Yes,» he said shortly. Thami was not the one to whom he would confide his business: the picture of him and Hadija talking so intensely and at such length at the party was too fresh in his memory. He had decided then that Thami was trying to make her.

«You’ll be a long time in the hotel?»

«No, just a few minutes».

«I’ll wait for you. When you come out you come in that café. You’ll see me».

«Okay,» said Dyar reluctantly. On the way he had bought a bracelet for Hadija; he swung the box on one finger by the little loop the saleswoman had tied in the string. «I’ll look for you».

It was an absurd-looking old hotel, a gaudy vestige of the days when England had been the important power in Tangier. Still, he had to admit it was a lot more comfortable and pleasant than the new ones like his own Hotel de la Playa. At the desk they told him they thought he would find Miss Goode in the bar. That was good luck: he would not have to see her alone in her room. They could have one drink and he would be on his way. As he went into the crowded bar one of the sailors was pounding out «Oh Susannah». The room was full of sailors, but there was Eunice Goode in the midst of them, monumentally alone, sitting on a high stool staring straight in front of her.

«Good evening,» he said.

It was as though he had slapped her in the face. She drew her head back and stared at him. First the Moor and now this one. She was horrified; in her imagination he was already out of the way, gone. And here he was, back from the dead, not even aware that he was a ghost.

«Oh,» she said finally. «Hello».

«Drunk again,» he thought.

«What are you doing here?» she asked him. She got down from the stool and stood leaning on the bar.

«I just thought I’d drop in and say hello».

«Oh?. Well, what are you drinking? Whiskey?»

«What are you drinking? Have one with me, please».

«Certainly not! Barman! One whiskey-soda!» She rapped imperiously on the top of the bar. «I’m just on my way upstairs,» she explained. «I’m just having this one drink». She felt that she would jump out of her skin if she had to stay and talk with him another minute.

Dyar was a bit nettled. «Well, wait’ll I’ve had my drink, can’t you? I wanted to ask you something». The barman gave him his drink.

«What was that?» she said levelly. She was positive it had something to do with Hadija, and she looked at him waiting, mentally daring him to let it be that.

«Do you know where I can find Hadija, how I can get in touch with her? I know she comes by here every now and then to see you. Do you have her address, or anything?»

It was too much. Her face became redder than usual, and she stood perfectly still, scarcely moving her lips as she spoke.

«I do not! I don’t know where she lives and I care less! Why don’t you look for her in the whorehouse where you met her? Why do you come sneaking to me, trying to find her? Do you think I’m her madam? Well, I’m not! I’m not renting her out by the hour!»

Dyar could not believe his ears. «Now, wait a minute,» he said, feeling himself growing hot all over. «You don’t have to talk that way about her. All you have to say is no, you don’t know her address. That’s all I asked you. I didn’t ask you anything else. I’m not interested in what you have to say about her. For my money she’s a damned nice girl».

Eunice snorted. «For your money, indeed! Very apt! That little bitch would sleep with a stallion if you made it worth her while. And I daresay she has, for that matter. A special act for tourists. They love it». She was beginning to enjoy herself as she saw the fury spreading in his face. «I don’t mind naivete,» she went on, «but when it’s carried to the point — Aren’t you finishing your drink?» He had turned away.

«Shove it up,» he said, and walked out.

Considering the number of people in the street, he thought it might be possible for him to get by the café without being seen by Thami, but it was a vain hope. He heard him calling as he came opposite the entrance. Resignedly he stepped inside and sat down cross-legged on the mat beside Thami, who had had a few pipes of kif with friends, and felt very well. They talked a bit, Dyar refusing the pipe when it was passed him. Thami kept his eyes on the street, watching for Hadija. When presently he espied her walking quickly and angrily along in the drizzle, he called Dyar’s attention to a large chromolithograph on the wall beside them.

«Do you know what that is?» he demanded. Dyar looked, saw a design representing a city of minarets, domes and balustrades. «No,» he said.

«That’s Mecca».

He saw the others watching him, awaiting his comment. «Very nice».

From the corner of his eye Thami saw Hadija disappear into the Metropole. «Let’s go,» he said. «Fine,» agreed Dyar. They went out into the damp, and wandered up toward the Zoco Chico. In spite of the weather the streets were filled with Arabs, standing in groups talking, or strolling aimlessly up and down.

«Do you want to go see some beautiful girls?» said Tharni suddenly.