Let it come down Read online

  On the way down, there was an unexpected grotto to their right, partially covered by a small growth of cane. A boy crouched there, the dark skin of his body showing through his rags. Hadija pointed.

  «He got goats. The guarda».

  «He’s pretty young». The boy looked about six years old.

  Hadija did not think so. «All like that,» she said without interest.

  Here and there in the strait, at varying distances from the shore, a seemingly static ship pointed eastward or westward. Dyar stopped a moment to count them: he could discern seven.

  «All freighters,» he said, gesturing, but it was half to himself that he spoke.

  «What?» Hadija had stopped behind him; she was scanning the beach below, doubtless for natives who might recognize her. She did not want to be seen.

  «Boats!» he cried; it seemed hopeless to elaborate. He moved his hand back and forth.

  «America,» said Hadija.

  There were a few Moors fishing from the rocks. They paid no attention to the picnickers. It was high tide. Getting around certain of the points was not easy, since there was often very little space between cliffs and the waves. At one spot they both got wet. Dyar was a little annoyed, because there was no sun to dry them, but Hadija thought it an amusing diversion.

  Rounding a sharp corner of rock they came suddenly on a small stretch of sand where a dozen or more boys were running about stark naked. They were of an age when one would have expected them to want to cover their nudity at the arrival of a girl, but that seemed to be the last thing in their minds. As Dyar and Hadija approached, they set up a joyous cry, some assuming indecent postures as they called out, the others entering into group activities of an unmistakably erotic nature. Dyar was horrified and incensed. «Like monkeys,» he thought, and automatically looked down for a stone to fling into their midst. He felt his face growing hot. Hadija took no notice of the antics. He wondered just what indignities they were shouting at her, but he did not dare ask. It was possible that she considered this frantic exhibitionism typical of male behavior, but it hurt him to see a delicate creature like her being obliged to witness such things, and he would not believe that she could accept them with equanimity. For a second he wondered if by any chance she were so preoccupied with her thoughts that she had not noticed the boys. He stole a sidelong glance at her and was gratified at first to see that she was looking out across the strait, but then he caught the fixity of her stare.

  «Son bitch,» she muttered.

  «The hell with them,» he said, turning to smile at her. «Don’t look at them».

  They came to a long beach, completely deserted. Ahead of them rose a low mountain covered with cypress and eucalyptus; large villas sat comfortably among the trees toward the summit. The wind blew harder here. Dyar took her hand, from time to time lifted it to his lips and kissed the fingers lightly.

  They rounded another rocky point. The wet wind blew with added force. A shore of boulders stretched before them into the distance. Dyar turned to her.

  «Hey, where is this cave?»

  «You tired now?»

  «Do you know where it is or do you just think you know?»

  She laughed gaily and pointed ahead to the farthest cliff jutting into the sea.

  «Go past there». And she indicated a left turn with her hand.

  «Oh, for God’s sake! That’ll take us an hour. You realize that?»

  «One hour. Maybe. Too much?» She looked up at him mockingly.

  «I don’t care,» he said with bad grace. But he was annoyed.

  They walked for several minutes without speaking, devoting all their attention to choosing the easiest way of getting past each boulder. When they climbed down to a tiny cove where there was a spring among the rocks, he decided to kiss her. It took a long time; her response was warm but calm. Finally he drew away and looked at her. She was smiling. It was impossible to tell what she felt.

  «By God, I’ll get a rise out of you yet!» he said, and he pulled her to him violently. She tried to answer, but the sound of her voice came out into his mouth and died there. When he released her, the same smile was there. It was a bit disconcerting. He dug in his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes which she took from him, tapping the bottom so that one cigarette appeared. She held up the pack to his mouth and let him take the end of the cigarette between his lips.

  «Service,» he said. «But now I’ve got to light it myself. Let’s sit down a minute».

  «O.K». She chose the nearest rock and he sat beside her, his left arm around her waist. They looked out across the strait.

  He was glad she had chosen the shore of the strait here for their picnic, rather than the beach along the bay, although actually there would have been more assurance of privacy on the beach than here, where one never knew what would appear around the next point or who might be hiding among the rocks. But he liked the idea of being able to see Europe across the way while knowing he was in Africa.

  He pointed to the big sand-colored crest directly opposite. «Spain».

  She nodded, drew her finger across her throat significantly. «Bad. They kill you».

  «What do you know about it?» he said banteringly.

  «I know». She shook her head up and down several times. «I got friends come here never go back. No fackin good place».

  «Hadija! I don’t like to hear that kind of talk from girls».

  «Huh?»

  «Don’t say that again when I’m around, you hear?»

  She looked innocent and crestfallen. «What’s the matter you?»

  He tossed his cigarette away and got up. «Skip it. Come on, or we’ll never get there». He picked up the basket. Conversation was by no means easy with Hadija. There were many things he would have liked to tell her: that a group of American boys would never have behaved like the young Arabs they had passed a while ago. (But would she have believed him, her experience with Americans having been limited to the sailors who occasionally staggered into the Bar Lucifer, their faces smeared with lipstick and their hastily donned trousers held up by one button? He wondered.) He would have liked to tell her in his own way how lovely he thought she was, and why he thought so, and to make her understand how much more he wanted from her than she was used to having men want.

  They came out onto a broad, flat shelf of land where on the side toward the cliffs there had at one time been a quarry. The surface was covered with dried thistle plants and a narrow path led straight across it. He still walked ahead of her, into the wind, feeling it push against him all the way from his face to his feet, like a great invisible, amorous body. The path, after it had traversed the field of thistles, rose and wound among the rocks. Suddenly they rounded a corner and looked out on the mountainous coastline to the west. Below them great blocks of stone rose sheer from the water.

  «Be careful,» said Dyar. «You go ahead here so I can keep an eye on you».

  Ahead to the left he could see the cave, high in the vertical wall of rock. Birds flew in and out of smaller crevices above it; the roar of the waves covered all sound.

  He was surprised to see that the cave was not dirty. Someone had made a fire in the center, and an empty tin can lay nearby. Toward the back of the cave in a corner there was a pallet of eucalyptus branches, probably arranged by some Berber fisherman months ago. Near the entrance there was one crumpled sheet of an old French newspaper. That was all. He set the basket down. Now, after all this, he felt shy.

  «Well, here we are,» he said with false heartiness, turning to Hadija.

  She smiled as usual and carefully walked to the corner where the leaves covered the stone floor.

  «Good here,» she said, motioning to Dyar. She sat down, her legs akimbo, leaning against the wall of the cave. He had been about to light a cigarette to hide his confusion. Instead, he reached her in three strides, threw himself full length on the crackling leaves and twigs, and reached up to pull her face down to his. She cried out in surprise, lost her balance. Shrieking
with laughter, she fell across him heavily. Even as she was still laughing she was deftly unbuttoning his shirt, unfastening the buckle of his belt. He rolled over and held her in a long embrace, expecting to feel her body hold itself rigid for a moment, and then slowly soften in the pleasure of surrender. But things did not happen like that. There was no surrender because there was no resistance. She accepted his embrace, returning his pressure with one arm while the other went on loosening his garments, attempting to slip them off. He pulled away, sat up.

  «I’ll fix that,» he said, a little grimly, and straightway pulled off the remainder of his clothing.

  «There. How’s that?» His voice sounded unnatural; he was thinking: if she’s going to act like a whore I’ll damned well treat her like one.

  «Now, you too,» he said. And using both hands he began to pull her dress off over her head. She uttered a cry and struggled to a sitting position.

  «No! No!»

  He looked at her. It was disconcerting to be sitting there naked in front of this wild-eyed Arab girl pretending to defend her honor.

  «What’s the matter?» he demanded.

  Her face softened; she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.

  «You lie down,» she said smiling. «Leave dress alone».

  As he obeyed, perplexed, she added: «You one bad boy, but I fix you up good». And indeed, in another minute she made it clear that she was by no means attempting to protect her virtue; she merely had no intention of removing her dress. At the same time she appeared to find it perfectly natural that Dyar should be unclothed; furthermore she took obvious pleasure in running her hands over his body, patting and pinching his flesh. Yet he had the conviction that notwithstanding her occasional murmurs of endearment, for her it was all a game. She was unattainable even in the profoundest intimacy. «Still, here it is. I’ve got her,» he thought. «What more did I expect?» Outside the cave beneath the cliffs, the sea pounded against the rocks; the air, even up here, was full of fine salt mist.

  «The Garden of Hesperides. The golden apple,» he thought, running his tongue over her smooth, fine teeth. Soon it was as if he were floating slightly above the water, out there in the strait, the wind caressing his face. The sound of the waves receded further and further. They slept.

  Dyar’s first thought on waking was that twilight had come. He raised himself a bit and surveyed Hadija: she was sleeping quietly, one hand under her cheek and the other resting on his arm. Like this she looked incredibly young — not more than twelve. Overcome with a great tenderness, he reached out, smoothed her forehead, and let his hand run softly over her hair. She opened her eyes. The bland, sweet smile appeared; was it an expression of friendship or a meaningless grimace? Reaching around among the branches and leaves, he assembled his clothing, leapt up and went outside the cave to dress. The sky was more heavily covered, the sun had completely disappeared, the light was muffled. A gull balanced itself in the wind before him, turning its head from time to time to look at the rocks below. Hadija called to him. When he went in she had moved to the center of the cave where she sat taking the parcels of food out of the basket.

  «No radio?» she said. «Little radio?»

  «No».

  «One American lady I know she got one little radio. Little. Take it in beach. Take it in room. Take it on café in Zoco Chico. You hear music every time».

  «I hate ’em. I wouldn’t like it here. I like the waves better. Hear ’em?» He pointed outside and listened a moment. She listened, too, and appeared to be considering the sound she heard. Presently she nodded her head and said: «Good music».

  «Couldn’t be better,» he answered, pleased that she understood so well.

  «That’s the beautiful. Come from God». She pointed casually upward. He was a little embarrassed, as he always was when a serious reference to God was made. Now he was not sure whether she had really understood him or not.

  «Well, let’s eat». He bit into a sandwich.

  «Bismil ’lah,» said Hadija, doing likewise.

  «What’s that mean? Good appetite?»

  «It mean we eat for God».

  «Oh».

  «You say».

  She repeated it several times and made him say it until he had pronounced it to her satisfaction. Then they ate.

  After lunch he went out and climbed among the rocks for a few minutes. It pleased him to see that there was not a soul in sight in either direction along the shore; he had half expected the gang of youths to follow them and perhaps continue their antics below on the rocks. But there was no one. When he returned to the cave he sat down outside it and called to Hadija.

  «Come on out and sit here. It’s too dark inside».

  She obeyed. In a moment they were lying locked in each other’s arms. When she complained of the cold rock beneath her, he got his jacket from inside the cave, put it under her, and lay down again.

  «D’you know what I want?» he said, looking at the tiny black knob his head made against the sky in her eyes.

  «You want?»

  «Yes. D’you know what I want? I want to live with you. All the time. So we can be like this every night, every morning. You know? You understand?»

  «Oh, yes».

  «I’ll get you a little room, a good room. You live in it and I’ll come and see you every day. Would you like that?»

  «I come every day?»

  «No!» He moved one arm out from under her and gestured, pointing. «I pay for the room. You live in it. I come and see you every night. Yes?»

  She smiled. «All right». It was as if he had said: «What do you say to starting back in about an hour?» As this occurred to him, he did say: «Want to start back pretty soon?»

  «O.K».

  His heart sank a little. He was right: it was the same voice, the same smile. He sighed. Still, she had agreed.

  «But you promise?»

  «What?»

  «You’ll live in the room?»

  «Oh, yes». She took his head between her hands and kissed him on each cheek. «You come today?»

  «Come where? The room?» He was about to begin again, to explain that he had not yet rented the room for her.

  «No. No my room. Miss Goode. You come I take you. She very good friend. She got room Hotel Metropole».

  «No. I don’t want to go there. What would I want to do that for? You go if you want».

  «She tell me you bring you drink whiskey».

  Dyar laughed. «I don’t think she said that, Hadija».

  «Sure she say that».

  «She’s never heard of me and I’ve never heard of her. Who is she, anyway?»

  «She got one little radio. I said you before. You know. Miss Goode. She got room Hotel Metropole. You come. I take you».

  «You’re crazy!»

  Hadija tried to sit up. She looked very much upset. «I crazy? You crazy! You think I’m lie?» She pushed him in the chest with all her might, struggling to rise.

  He was a little alarmed. To placate her he said: «I’ll come! I’ll come! Don’t get so excited, for God’s sake! What’s the matter with you? If you want me to stop by and see her, I’M stop by and see her, I don’t care».

  «I no care. She tell me you bring you drink whiskey. You like whiskey?»

  «Yes, yes. Sure. Now you lie back down there. I’ve got something to tell you».

  «What?» she asked ingenuously, settling back, her great eyes wide.

  «This». He kissed her. «I love you». His open lips touched hers all the way around as he said the words.

  Hadija did not seem surprised to hear it. «Again?» she said, smiling.

  «Huh?»

  «You love me again now? This time quick one, yes? This time take few minutes. No take pants off. Then we go Hotel Metropole».

  IX

  On Saturday Hadija had told Eunice Goode that she would be out all the next day with a friend. After a certain amount of questioning Eunice had got an admission from her that it was the American gentleman and
that they were going on a picnic. She did not think it wise to express any objections. For one thing Hadija had already made it clear that she did not by any means consider this sojourn at the Hotel Metropole a permanent arrangement, and that she would leave any time she felt like it. (What she hoped to be given eventually was an apartment of her own on the Boulevard.) And then, Eunice realized that in such a situation she was incapable herself of offering a quiet argument; she would straightway be precipitated into a violent scene. With her sometimes painfully acute objective sense she knew she would be the loser in any such quarrel: she was supremely conscious of being a comic figure. She knew which of her attributes operated against her, and they were several. Her voice, while pleasant and easily modulated when used with low dynamics, became a thin screech as soon as it was called upon to be more than mildly expressive. Her torso bulged in rather the same fashion as that of a portly old gentleman, her arms and legs were gigantic, and her hypersensitive skin was always irritated and purplish, so that her face often looked as though she had just finished climbing to the summit of a mountain. She told herself she did not rnind being a comic character; she accepted the fact and used it to insulate herself from the too-near, ever-threatening world. Dressed in a manner which accentuated the deficiencies of her body, wherever she went she was a thing rather than a person; she was determined to enjoy to the full the benefits of that exemption.

  From the first she had been an object of interest in the streets of Tangier; now, appearing regularly in public with Hadija, whom a great number of the lower-class native inhabitants knew and the rest swiftly learned about, she became a full-fledged legendary figure in the Zoco Chico. The Arabs in the cafés there were delighted: it was a new variation on human behavior.

  In these four days Hadija had forced her to lead a much more active life than was her wont, dragging her to all the bars and night clubs the girl had always wanted to see. Eunice had met several people she knew at these places. To them she had presented Hadija as Miss Kumari from Nicosia. She thought it unlikely that they would come across anyone who spoke modern Greek, and even if they did, she planned to explain that the dialect of Cyprus was altogether a different language.