Christos Tsiolkas - Merciless Gods

‘I think they’re from home.’ Daniela was looking over her shoulder to the young couple in the corner. Amanda strained to hear them, but couldn’t catch any of their conversation. Hassan also looked over at the same time as the young man happened to glance their way. He turned so he was looking straight at them, and gave them a wide smile. He said something to the woman, who also turned to look at them.

‘May we join you?’ It wasn’t really a question, as they were on their feet already. He was most certainly Australian. They had been in shade at their table and Amanda had not been able to discern much about their appearance. But now, as they approached, she found herself a little taken aback. They were both in their twenties and she thought them outlandishly dressed for the Middle East. The youth’s scarlet shorts were almost skin tight; his legs were hairless, shaven. The woman was wearing a man’s tuxedo jacket and underneath that a tight Bonds singlet that fully displayed her prominent breasts. Her nipples were clearly visible beneath the fabric. But what disturbed Amanda more than anything was the young man’s T-shirt. It would have once been black but had faded to a wintry grey. On the front was a crude outline in red of a fist atop a circle with a cross beneath it, the symbol for women’s liberation. Amanda herself had worn such a T-shirt in her twenties, when she was first discovering feminism at university, and first fell in love with a woman.

As the boy sat down across from her and they made their introductions, Amanda found she could hardly speak. Noting the direction of her gaze, he laughed loudly and slapped his chest. What a horsey sound, she thought spitefully, what a silly show pony.

‘This was my mother’s,’ he explained, laughing, ‘when she was slumming it at uni.’ He then turned around and motioned ostentatiously to the waiter for another round of drinks.

Amanda looked over at Hassan but his eyes were firmly fixed on the girl’s bosom. He might as well have his tongue hanging out, she thought. It is a wonder he’s not salivating all over the table.

The boy’s name was Frankie and his friend was Keira. They were friends from university where they had studied law, and were travelling together for six months before going back to Melbourne to begin their Articles. On a whim they had caught a plane from Nicosia to Amman, and had come to Petra because Frankie had always wanted to see the ancient city.

‘From when I first saw Raiders of the Lost Ark ,’ he explained. ‘I’ve wanted to see it since I was a little boy.’ He sighed contentedly. ‘And it was worth it,’ he continued, then giggled. ‘But alas, I didn’t meet my Harrison Ford.’

There was an uneasy silence, as both Amanda and Daniela quickly glanced across to Hassan. But he gave no indication that he had heard or understood anything of what Frankie had said. Too busy staring at the girl’s tits, fumed Amanda.

‘We’re going to Petra tomorrow,’ Daniela said. ‘I’ve always wanted to see it too.’

‘Another Harrison Ford fan?’

‘Oh, shut up, Frankie.’ Keira tapped Hassan’s packet of Marlboros. ‘May I?’ He nodded. She lit up.

Daniela was explaining how she had become fascinated with Petra when she studied archaeology in first year. ‘That was a long time ago,’ she added.

Keira smiled. ‘How long have you two been together?’

Amanda was mortified. She didn’t know why she felt the flush of humiliation. She was proud of her love for Daniela; her whole life had been lived in the amity of lesbians. She felt wretched for asking the driver to join them. If he hadn’t been there, she and Daniela would have enjoyed the company of the two young people, been grateful for the opportunity to chat and gossip, to talk about home, to openly be a couple after weeks of walking around the Middle East as though they were Victorian spinsters. She envied Frankie his unashamed campness, Keira her fearless sensuality. Nevertheless, nevertheless, could they not shut up?

‘Twenty-two years,’ answered Daniela, winking at her lover.

‘Wow!’ Frankie clapped his hands. ‘Lesbians are so committed. We fags are hopeless at it.’

Keira snorted. ‘Speak for yourself. Dad’s been with Michael for fifteen years. Maybe you’re the one hopeless at commitment.’

‘It’s been twenty-two terrific years,’ said Daniela. ‘But we’ve never had the opportunity to come to this part of the world before and I’m so glad we did.’ She smiled at Hassan. ‘Jordanians are very generous.’

Thank you, sweetheart, thank you, thought Amanda. For changing the conversation, for saying exactly the right thing.

‘We should get another drink?’

Amanda shook her head. ‘We’re off to the dining room for dinner.’

‘Oh, but why?’ said Frankie. ‘We’ve just met — how about one champagne to celebrate twenty-two years?’

She didn’t want anything more to drink, she didn’t want to have to look at his stupid T-shirt that he had no right to wear, she didn’t want to spend another moment in their idiotic company. ‘No, we really must be off.’

‘How about you, Hassan? You’ll stay for a drink, won’t you?’

Hassan nodded, not at Frankie but at Keira.

Amanda was suddenly furious, the force of it hitting her like a wave. She turned to Hassan and said sharply, ‘I hope you understand that any further drinks you have you must pay for yourself.’

The silence was dreadful. Frankie and Keira were looking down at their drinks; Daniela, who had been getting up to follow Amanda, froze in mid-motion. And Hassan. Hassan looked as if he had been struck. As he probably had, thought Amanda, the red flame rising from her chest, burning her throat, her neck, her cheeks. There was such dismay in the man’s deep-set eyes, but it only lasted an instant. He composed himself, a genial smile returned to his lips and he lifted his head, tapping the roof of his mouth with his tongue.

‘Of course, I would not have done otherwise.’

Daniela took the man’s hand. Surprised, he looked down at where she was touching him, as if he could not quite believe it was true.

The burden of Amanda’s mortification was unbearable, as if she could not breathe from the immensity of it. Insensibly, almost tripping over herself, she fled the verandah. She could hear Daniela’s heels hurriedly clicking along the tiles, following her; she heard the scrape of Hassan’s chair as he must have sat back down. The last thing she heard was Frankie saying, ‘It’s alright, Hassan, don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of money.’

It wasn’t until she had crossed the lobby, past the long front desk, and was about to enter the dining room that Daniela finally caught up with her.

‘How dare you?’ she exploded.

Amanda couldn’t answer. Daniela was waiting impatiently for some kind of response and she did not have one to give her. She didn’t know where she could begin, how to explain the shame she had experienced at the table, the jealousy she felt towards Keira. But worst of all was her shaming of that wonderful, gentle man who had won her heart that day; by his gravity and subsequent equilibrium, by his unforced instinctual civility. These were the traits she so wished she could find in Eric; it was that kind of man she wanted her son to be.

That wasn’t all, though. How could she explain that Hassan’s gentleness had exhausted her? As had Daniela’s constant anxiety to respect cultural niceties, to not offend anyone, to always do the right thing. She did not only envy Keira her youth, but also her and Frankie’s exuberant arrogance, their bolshiness, the fuck-you audacity she herself had once had as a militant student feminist. Amanda couldn’t bear her lover’s stony opprobrium a minute longer. She tried to find the words.