Elias Khoury - The Journey of Little Gandhi

Even though this beginning sounded like the stories of other prostitutes, hers differed in that she never claimed she didn’t like the profession. One of those nights in the Salonica Hotel, she herself said, after telling me the story of Lieutenant Tannous and drinking half a bottle of arak, which made her hands stop shaking, that she couldn’t stand how some of her prostitute friends constantly came up with this nonsense about hating the profession. Alice said she enjoyed her life a lot, she loved and lived.

“If it hadn’t been for the impresario Abu Jamil, I’d still be with that old man, in that dark room. I’d be a maid, working for nothing. With Abu Jamil things were different. He took me and made a lady out of me, and the world opened up for me. With him I discovered real pleasure, the pleasure to dance and drink and live. With him I learned about love. But my true love was Tannous, God love him. I don’t know where he ended up, but I know one thing. He was a man, and it was I who told him to go.”

Alice worked at Shaheen’s nightclub, and it was there she met George, “king of the night.” Abu Jamil warned her about him, said he kills women. But he was extraordinarily handsome, indescribably beautiful; thick blond hair, tall, fair, and rich. He’d sit down at a table and everyone would rush to his service. He’d wave his hand and the champagne bottles would be popped open. Money just poured from his pockets, and it was nothing to him. He saw Alice after she finished her dance routine. Alice wasn’t a dancer, she was a cocktail waitress, but from time to time she’d dance when the owner Salim al-Hibri would ask her to do a short number. King of the night requested her, so she came. For the first time in her life, she was awestricken and got drunk. She sat and started drinking while he doled out his smiles and jokes to the crowd. Then he took her by the hand and went. She didn’t change out of her dance clothes; she went with him half-naked. He took her to his apartment and there they kept the night fires burning till dawn; he sang and she danced until she passed out. He left her there on the living room floor and went to sleep in his bedroom. But before he went to sleep, he leaned over and kissed her and said he wanted to see her the next week at the Epi Club. When Alice got up the next morning, there was no one but herself in the apartment. She called Abu Jamil, and he brought her clothes and took her to his house. Two days later the white king died; someone had put a booby trap under his bed. There were rumors he was an Israeli spy. But Alice didn’t believe the stories about the white king. Tannous told her night was starting to slip away, and when night slips away, day falls apart. Alice didn’t understand at all. She was annoyed with Tannous because every time he slept with her, he’d start talking politics. He’d sit on the edge of the bed, light up a filterless Lucky Strike, talk, and cough. She worried about his health because of those damned cigarettes while he went on about politics and told her the secrets of the night. He said the problem with the white king was that he was selling the white stuff and it’s hard to bust cocaine dealers because they operate in areas that are hard to control.

“We grow hashish; we know the story from A to Z. They smuggle it to Egypt and Israel. No problem, hashish is a national resource, and it’s not bad for you. But cocaine, where does it come from? We don’t know. This means it’s slipped out of our hands. Night is running away, Alice. God help us.”

Alice didn’t understand how night could slip away. And what did this officer have to do with smuggling hashish, and why did they kill the white king? She was convinced he’d been working for the Israelis, as Abu Jamil told her, and she loved Abu Jamil. With his white hair, small eyes, and deep olive complexion, and his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, Abu Jamil inspired her with a strange confidence. This eccentric man, a Beiruti down to his bones, who lived only at night, treated his hookers as his own daughters.

“I’m a religious man,” he’d say. “I don’t take what isn’t mine.”

When Alice found out he was married and lived a traditional life in the Ramal al-Zarif area, and his wife wore a veil, she wasn’t surprised. Alice saw Abu Jamil as the model of what a real man should be. He rarely drank. He’d put his drink down in front of him, and the glass would get more full as the ice melted, and he himself would constantly add more ice. Abu Jamil told her that the king of the night was a spy and that the Armenian Kasparian was the one who organized the network that was set up to catch Arab military attaches and question them for Israel, and he used to murder young women using a syringe he got from a Turkish doctor who belonged to the organization. When things were exposed, Kasparian got out of it, sold the Epi Club, and took off to Brazil. Lieutenant Tannous said nice guys always finish last; Kasparian got away and the white king died.

Tannous would tell how the white king’s story was extremely complicated. This young White Russian orphan, who was called George Ivanhoe, was picked up by Shahnaz the Turkish dancer, who turned him into her servant. And like magic he became one of the kings of Beirut’s nightlife. No one knew how it happened. He took over Kasparian’s business and things just took off for him. Then when the game was uncovered, he became the victim. Alice remembers her night with him; she remembers how handsome he was, how kind, how he reminded her of teardrops.

“He was something else, like teardrops in your eyes.”

Tannous was inflamed with jealousy.

“You love me only out of jealousy. You don’t really love me, you love being jealous. That’s how it is with all men.”

But Tannous was serious. He rented a house, furnished it, then took Alice to it and said to her, “This is your house.”

Alice refused to quit her job.

“Leave everything and I’m yours.”

She wouldn’t do it. “I wouldn’t,” she said, “because I knew he’d leave me. Men have always left me, and I’ve always been alone.” She looked around and laughed.

“See what I mean. Aren’t I alone now? I have no one except God.” She pointed up with her finger.

Tannous didn’t leave Alice so easily. He lived with her for three years. He used to wait for her everyday in front of the club and walk her home. He’d never stop smelling her all over. He’d tell her the smell of her body drove him wild, that he loved her body. She was very much in love. She understood that something that takes you nowhere and leaves you lost. Alice remained lost for three years. It’s true she never stopped working, but she could feel his eyes staring at her wherever she was. This young lieutenant’s eyes haunted her.

“I’ll give you the world.”

She loved him. She didn’t want the world; she wanted him. She loved him, and loved his children and his wife. He never talked to her about his wife. But she saw her once with him and his two children. They were at the amusement park. He’d mentioned to her they were going there that Sunday afternoon, and so she went. She didn’t put on any makeup, or high heels. She wore a simple dress and punt her hair in a ponytail and went. She sat alone on the bench waiting. Then she saw them. She wanted to hop off the bench and hug the children. But she didn’t move. He was playing and eating popcorn with the children, and every now and then he’d catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. Then she walked toward them. They were standing in front of the Pepsi vendor. As she got closer, she could see the fear in Tannous’s eyes, as though he’d seen the devil himself. She saw how his face twitched and the muscles contracted. She bought a Pepsi and left.

When he came to see her the next day, he was horrified. She said she loved the children and that his wife was beautiful, and that she cared for everything he cared for.