Naja Aidt - Baboon

I sat down on a low wall and looked out over the valley. I thought things over. And decided to make a compromise: I would stay, but only one more day, and I would avoid contact with the Englishwoman.

In the afternoon I returned to the hotel. I asked the young man at the front desk to reserve a plane ticket for me, and went upstairs to my room. The window was half open, the maid had made my bed and brought fresh flowers. As I was changing my clothes, I noticed a white envelope on the dark green carpet. Someone must've pushed it under the door. The letter was from Ellen Parker, of course it was. Her handwriting was large and looping. It was a polite invitation to dinner at an "exclusive restaurant" not far from the mosque. I sighed and crumpled up the letter. I sat down on the bed, suddenly too tired to put on my clothes. I lay down and closed my eyes. I began running my hands over my body, a strong desire surged up in me. I lay on my side for a long time watching the thin curtain billowing a bit even though there wasn't any breeze to speak of. Ellen Parker had green eyes and attractive hands. Strange how this could move me so easily. Maybe it was simply because I hadn't talked to anyone for more than two minutes in such a long time. I dozed. And woke with a start. The telephone was ringing. My first reaction was to let it ring, but then I remembered the receptionist, maybe there was some information about my ticket, so I answered it. And it was Ellen Parker. "Oh," she said, "I hope I didn't wake you." She wanted to know if I would accept her invitation. I said I couldn't spare the time to have dinner unfortunately, the work was giving me problems and it was taking longer than expected, and she said that I would need to eat in any case, but we could meet at the hotel restaurant instead to save me the trouble of walking up to the mosque. How did that sound? Eight o'clock? I said that I was thinking about having some food sent up to my room, and she said that that sounded cozy, and would I like to have some company, she would leave as soon as we were finished eating because she understood quite well that I had work to do, of course she understood that I had important things to take care of, and she would in no way disturb me, but it is after all rather boring to eat alone. And that was that. Even worse than I imagined it would be. Ellen Parker, not just in a neutral place, but here — in my room, next to my bed. I immediately put away all my personal belongings. I looked at myself in the mirror. Turning my face so that I could almost see my profile. Then I filled the bathtub. And just as I got into the warm water, the phone rang again. It was the receptionist. The flights were all booked. I asked him to reserve a seat on the next available flight. In four days. Sitting on the edge of a chair, naked and dripping wet, I tried to accept the fact that I wouldn't be leaving for four days. It wasn't until I began shivering that I got up and went back to my bath.

* * *

I considered walking out. I considered moving to another hotel. But it was likely that I would run into Ellen Parker somewhere, sometime, and the prospect of facing an awkward, and no doubt dramatic situation like that seemed too great. And, in my confusion, I had already reserved the room for four more days when I talked to the receptionist on the phone. The room was expensive. I was depressed and angry. If I had previously found the situation comical, it now seemed grotesque, and I wasn't laughing.

Ellen Parker stood in my doorway in an olive-green dress, smiling. She'd brought a bottle of Chablis. She kissed both my cheeks lightly. Her gold bracelets jingled. I made a show of stashing a stack of papers in the drawer. They were all blank. Then I ordered lentil soup and warm sandwiches from room service. I tried to open the bottle of wine but the cork was too tight. Ellen Parker took the bottle from me, and without any trouble, screwed the bottle opener into the cork and pulled it out. I was stunned. Where did she get all her strength? She smiled and poured the wine into our glasses. We looked at each other and made a toast. "To your work. May it be a success!" she said. We sipped the wine. It was cold and refreshing, like filling the mouth with summer flowers, and suddenly I felt a longing for home. Then a boy came with our food. She sat in the armchair, I, at the desk. We struggled to eat neatly despite the fact that we were both in awkward positions. Finally, I gave up trying to eat my soup with a spoon and instead lifted the bowl up to my mouth to drink. She glanced at me with shining eyes, and then started to crack up. "Oh my god, oh my god!" she kept saying. I also started to laugh even though I really didn't feel like it. And a moment later, when she slurped her soup, I slapped my thigh and threw my head back in wild laughter, while a deep darkness spread through me. I had completely lost control. And I heard myself shriek with laughter when Ellen Parker spilled soup on her olive-green dress and then drooled from her open mouth when a new convulsion of laughter rolled through her. She put her hand on my knee and, gasping, tried to speak, but it wasn't possible. She tried to wipe the spot with her napkin, but that also got us going again like delirious children, and soon I was crawling around on the floor trying to keep from laughing, my stomach muscles cramped up and tears streamed down my face. Ellen Parker lay face down on the bed shrieking hysterically and kicking her legs up and down. One shoe was off. At least ten minutes passed before we got hold of ourselves enough to control this fit of laughter; with red cheeks and messy hair, we tried to straighten out our clothes. Ellen Parker picked her shoe up from the floor and turned her back to me and put it on. I got up and filled two glasses with water from the bathroom. We drank greedily and, almost at the same time, set the glasses down in front of us. I sat in the armchair, and she, on the bed. Ellen Parker lowered her eyes. "You'll have to excuse me," she said almost whispering. "I don't know what came over me."

I grabbed her arm. "There's absolutely no need to apologize," I said, leaning toward her with a spontaneous tenderness for her that almost made me cry. "I started it." Then she looked up at me and smiled. Now she looked almost transparent. "It's been a long time since I laughed like that. Thank you." In silence we ate our sandwiches, which had become cold. She poured more wine into our glasses. "You see, it hasn't been easy since my husband's death. But I'm beginning to understand that it also wasn't easy when he was alive. I feel ashamed to say it, but it's almost a relief to be alone." She lit one of her thin cigarettes and leaned an elbow on the bed. She was nearly lying down. "I know exactly what you mean," I said, "exactly. It's nothing to be ashamed of." Then she suddenly got up, stubbed out her cigarette, and said that she should go so that I could work and that she had already kept me from it for too long. I took her hand, it was warm and a little moist. I watched her walk down the hallway. Her bracelets jingled. She turned and waved. There was a strong scent of her cigarette and perfume in the room. I thought about opening the window but didn't. She had pulled the cork out of the bottle like a man and succumbed to laughter like a little girl. I paced back and forth, emptied her wine glass, and felt like an animal in a cage.

* * *

The following days flew by. I no longer remember the order in which things happened. But one night I forced my way into Ellen Parker's room. I took off all my clothes. She stood paralyzed in the middle of the room staring at me in the dim light. "I thought. . it can't be true," she stammered. "I was certain that you. . were a man." She gasped, holding her pearls. Then she put her hand on my chest. Gently, she caressed my wounds. "I almost believed it myself," I whispered. Then I pushed her down on the bed. She trembled. We lay there with each other a long time.