Yitzhak Goren - Alexandrian Summer

Grandma could not ignore this generous, glowing beauty either, and could not hold back a mumble of excitement: “ Como un Americano .”

A smile of satisfaction spread over Emilie’s lips, sending waves of happiness through her body. With her natural sensuality, which had not faded with the years, this wave translated into passion for her husband, whose impressive masculine ugliness was so different than her son’s bright, somewhat feminine attractiveness.

Grandma felt certain that David’s ceremonial appearance would be accompanied by a formal announcement, “I’m glad to tell you, good women …”

Or: “I’ve been silent so far, because I wasn’t able to express my joy in words …”

Or: “Why should I keep you in suspense? Well …”

But not a word left his mouth. With measured steps he walked to the middle of the hall and began his workout ritual. That same introverted look. Only David Hamdi-Ali existed in the world in those moments. Only him— his body, his soul, his eyes, his ears, his nose, his chest, his arms, his legs and … oh, that too … that too … a dull ache sent waves down to his testicles. He bit his lips, pulled himself together and continued — one, two, three, right! One, two, three, left!

It was clear the sphinx wasn’t going to deliver.

Suddenly Salem appeared, sprouting all of a sudden from the shadows, as was his manner. David gave him an inquisitive look which Salem returned: mission accomplished, ya sidi ! A vague smile graced David’s face. A bit of vengeance, a bit of pride, a bit of depression. A sleepless night afforded his cheeks a sickly pallor that only added a soft transparency to his beauty. An ecstatic satisfaction reflected in his motions.

The letter was on its way. Now no one could stop it or call it back. Not even him. The matter had been settled. Finally.

Grandma cornered Salem in the kitchen and asked, “Where is the letter going?”

“The post office,” said Salem sneakily.

“Don’t be an ass. I know you took it to the post office, but to whom is it addressed?”

“Oh, to whom is it addressed, you should say that’s what you mean, Madame.”

“Fine, I said it. Well?”

“How should I know, Madame? Mister Hamdi-Ali didn’t tell me.”

“And you didn’t look at the envelope, huh? Don’t play games!”

“Since when can I read Françaoui ?” Salem said innocently, a sweet smile on his face.

Grandma realized that only bakshish would make him talk. She did what she had to do and the answer soon arrived.

“ Al-Cahira .”

“To whom exactly in Cairo?”

Another bit of bakshish and all the information was revealed, just like in those American machines all over town: you put in a piaster and it gives you your weight. They say there are even machines that tell you your future. Grandma shelled out some cash and the prophecy was sounded: “To a certain Lilly Elhadeff.”

It seemed that it was all over. All was lost. But Grandma’s mind never stopped working. New questions were posed with amazing speed, matching the changing circumstances:

Did he write to ask for her hand?

If so, will she say yes?

Or perhaps he wrote to break it off?

Everything was still open. Grandma was exhausted and enraged. The audacity of youth, never considering their benefactors’ right to know!

Robby’s mother claimed that had the news been good, David would have already shared it.

“Lilly Mon Amour,

You must be surprised to receive this letter after such a long silence. First I must apologize for not answering your four letters. The truth is, I wanted to write you, but I was very busy preparing for the race. Yesterday was the big day. You probably read in Le Progrès Egyptien that our wonderful Esperance did not let us down and brought me in at first place. My old man was pleased and proud, as was I. Only one thing clouded my joy — that you, ma chère Lilly, were not there. Oh, how complete my joy would have been if it were accompanied by a kiss from your lips, my dear. You’ll probably say: if you wanted me so badly, you would have bothered to write or call! To this (if you do say it) I have only one answer: the fear, ma chère Lilly, that I might lose the race and let you down, the shame that would have gnawed at me had that been the case, they made it comfortable for me not to have you there. Had I known for certain that I’d win, would I ever give up the company of my fiancée?

“No, chérie , that is no mistake. I’ve made up my mind: I am hereby asking for your hand in marriage. Try to imagine David Hamdi-Ali getting down on his knees and reciting a poem. If you say yes, we’ll get married in the fall, at the end of the season, immediately upon our return from Alexandria. You’ll probably ask what motivated me to decide and act all of a sudden. First, I would have to correct you: it isn’t all of a sudden. Not at all. I’ve always loved you. The decision to ask you to marry me became more firm in my heart during these days when I missed you so much. Maybe it’s the air here, the sea air, which makes me yearn. Alexandria is intoxicating, but I think it brings out the best in me, and the best in me is my love for you. I miss you, Lilly, my little Lilly, I miss your smile and your eyes, your hair and other parts that I don’t want to mention in writing, should your mother find this letter …

“Had I not been so busy all week long with preparations and training, and on weekends with the races themselves, I would fly straight to Cairo and take you in my arms. But there’s no chance I can leave in the next few weeks. Maybe you can come this weekend? There’s nothing in the world that would make me happier or prouder. You’d be my lucky charm for the next race. I’ll make you a queen …”

And so on and so forth, a long letter full of tired repetitions. David was proud of the web of small lies he’d patiently and carefully woven. He’d come up with a vicious idea and had executed it in a cold and calculated way. It was clear he had no intention of keeping his promise. He was merely getting back at Lilly for what Robby’s sister had done. And maybe he was getting back at Robby’s sister as well. Could he make her jealous? Would he be that successful?

David got carried away with these thoughts for a few moments longer, until suddenly, with a kind of determination, he shook both women off and sent them to hell. Women! We mustn’t let them drain us of our power and take over our thoughts. This is a man’s world. Men, two men, face-to-face on the track. While the horses gallop as fast as the wind and your head spins with effort, all the women in the world fade away. Only the two of them remain. Two men: he, David, the Jew, against the dark desert man. The other jockeys exist only on paper, but their presence is eliminated on the track, and only they remain — he and Al-Tal’ooni.

I can’t let him win even once, David thought. I can’t let that Arab beat me. Besides, I have to win so I can prove to everybody, and especially to her, that this has no effect on me whatsoever. He looked at her closed door with hatred. Sleeping soundly, as if nothing happened. I couldn’t sleep at all last night.

Suddenly he had a strong urge for a baba au rhum. That sweet, spongy cake, nauseatingly covered with thick whipped cream, and over that a glassy coat of caramel that shatters between your teeth.

She wolfed down two of those at the Nautical Club, with that charming nonchalance. He sat there, mad with envy, but he resisted. Yes, he resisted! But now the urge to gorge was desperately strong. Had someone served him that lethal pastry right this moment, he doubted he could hold back.