Let it come down Read online

  When she opened the door of her room the first thing she noticed was that the note she had left was gone and the bowl of chrysanthemums had been moved back to the center of the table. Then she heard splashing in the bathtub, and the familiar wabbling vocal line of the chant that habitually accompanied Hadija’s ablutions. «Thank God,» she breathed. That stage of the ordeal was over, at least. There remained the extraction of the admission of guilt, and the scene. Because there was going to be a scene, of course — Eunice would see to that. Only it was rather difficult to make a scene with Hadija; she was inclined to sit back like a spectator and watch it, rather than participate in it.

  Eunice sat down to wait, to calm herself, and to try to prepare a method of operations. But when Hadija emerged in a small cloud of steam, clad in the satin and mink neglige, it was she who led the attack. Shrilling in Spanish, she accused Eunice of thinking only of herself, of taking her to the Bei-daoui Palace and embarrassing her in front of a score of people by passing out, leaving her not only to extricate herself from the unbelievably humiliating situation, but to see to the removal of Eunice’s prostrate body as best she could. Eunice did not attempt to reply. It was all perfectly true, only she had not thought of it until now. However, to admit such a thing would be adding grist to Hadija’s mill. She was curious to know how Hadija had managed to get her out of the place and back to the hotel, but she did not ask her.

  «What a disgrace for us!» cried Hadija. «What shame you have brought on us! How can we face the Beidaoui señores after this?»

  In spite of the balm brought to her soul by this use of the plural pronoun, Eunice was suddenly visited by the terrible thought that perhaps the note she had just received had something to do with her behavior at the Beidaoui Palace; one of the brothers was coming to inform her discreetly that the hospitality of his home would henceforth not be extended to her and her friend Miss Kumari.

  In a very thin voice she finally said: «Where did you spend the night?»

  «I am lucky enough to have a few friends left,» said Hadija. «I went and slept with a friend. I would not have anything to do with that mess». She called it ese lio with supreme disgust. So it had not been she who had seen to getting her back to the hotel. But Eunice was too upset to go into that; she was having a vision of herself in the act of misbehaving in some spectacular manner — breaking the furniture, throwing up in the middle of the dance floor, insulting the guests with obscenities.

  «But what did I do?» she cried piteously.

  «Bastante!» said the other, glancing at her significantly.

  The conversation dragged on through the waning light, until Hadija, feeling that she now definitely had the upper hand, lit the candles on the mantel and went to stand in front of the mirror where she remained a while, admiring herself in the negligee.

  «I look beautiful in this?» she hazarded.

  «Yes, yes,» Eunice answered wearily, adding: «Hand me that bottle and the little glass beside it».

  But before Hadija complied she was determined to pursue further the subject which preoccupied her. «Then I keep it?»

  «Hadija! I couldn’t care less what you do with it. Why do you bother asking me? You know what I told you about my things».

  Hadija did, indeed, but she had wanted to hear it repeated with reference to this particular garment, just in case of a possible misunderstanding later.

  «Aha!» She pulled it tighter around her, and still watching her reflection over her shoulder, took Eunice the bottle of Gordon’s Dry and the tumbler.

  «I very happy,» Hadija confided, going into English because it was the language of their intimacy.

  «Yes, I daresay,» said Eunice drily. She decided to remain as she was, to receive M. Beidaoui. Seven o’clock was early; there was no need to dress more formally.

  In order to obviate any possibility of Hadija’s seeing him at the Metropole, Thami had made her promise to meet him at seven o’clock in the lobby of the Cine Mauretania, which was a good half-hour’s walk from the hotel. She had demurred at first, but he still held the whip hand.

  «She will want to come too,» she complained. «She won’t let me come alone».

  «It’s very important,» he warned her. «If you try hard you’ll find a way».

  Now she had to break the news to Eunice, and she dreaded it. But strangely enough, when she announced that she was going out for a walk before dinner and would return about eight, Eunice merely looked surprised for an instant and said: «I’ll expect you at eight, then. Don’t be late». Eunice’s acquiescence at this point had a twofold origin: she felt chastened by the idea of her behavior the preceding night, and she already had been vaguely wondering how she could keep Hadija away from the impending interview with M. Beidaoui. It seemed unwise to give him an opportunity to scrutinize her too closely.

  Hidden among the kif-smokers, tea-drinkers and card-players in a small Arab café opposite the Metropole’s entrance, Thami watched Hadija step out the door and pass along the street in the direction of the Zoco Chico. A quarter of an hour later Eunice’s telephone rang. A M. Beidaoui wished to see Mile. Goode; he would wait in the reading room.

  «Je déscends tout de suite,» said Eunice nervously. She gulped one more small glass of gin and with misgiving went down to meet M. Beidaoui.

  When she went into the dim room with its bastard Moorish decorations she saw no one but a young Spaniard sitting in a far corner smoking a cigarette. She was about to turn and go out to the desk, when he rose and came toward her, saying in English: «Good evening».

  Before anything else crossed her mind she had a fleeting but unsavory intuition that she knew the young man and that she did not want to speak with him. However, here he was, taking her hand, saying: «How are you?» And because she was looking increasingly confused, he said: «I am Thami Beidaoui. You know» —

  Without actually remembering him, she knew in a flash, not only that this was the ne’er-do-well brother of the Bei-daouis, but that she had had an unpleasant scene with him at the cocktail party. There were certain details in the face that seemed familiar: the strange eyebrows that slanted wildly upward, and the amused, mocking expression of the eyes beneath. Obviously, now that she saw him closely, she realized that no Spaniard could have a face like that. But it was not the grave figure clothed in white robes that she had expected to find. She was relieved, perplexed and apprehensive. «How do you do?» she said coldly. «Sit down».

  Thami was not one to beat about the bush; besides, he took it for granted that it was only the dim light which had prevented her from recognizing him at once, that by now she remembered all the details of their exchange of insults, and had even more or less guessed the reason for his visit.

  «You had a good time at my brothers’ house yesterday?»

  «Yes. It was very pleasant,» she said haughtily, wondering what horrors of misbehavior he was remembering at the moment.

  «My brothers like Miss Kumari, your friend. They think she’s a very nice girl».

  She looked at him. «Yes, she is».

  «Yes. They think so». She heard the slight emphasis on the word think, but did not realize it was purposeful. He continued. «At the party Madame Vanderdonk ask me: Who is that girl?» (Mme. Vanderdonk was the wife of the Dutch Minister.) «She says she looks like a Moorish girl». (Eunice’s heart turned over.) «I told her that’s because she’s Greek».

  «Cypriot,» corrected Eunice tonelessly. He stared an instant, not understanding. Then he lit a cigarette and went on. «I know who this girl is, and you know, too. But my brothers don’t know. They think she’s a nice girl. They want to invite both of you to dinner next week, an Arab style dinner with the British Minister, and Dr. Waterman and Madame de Saint Sauveur and a lot of many people, but I think that’s a bad idea».

  «Did you tell them so?» asked Eunice, holding her breath.

  «Of course not!» he said indignantly. (Still safe! She thought; she was ready to go anywhere from here, at whatever cost, whate
ver hazard.) «That would be not nice to you. I wouldn’t do that». Now his voice was full of soft reproof.

  «I’m sure you wouldn’t,» she said. She felt so much better that she gave him a wry smile.

  He had gone down to the port that afternoon and had managed to get the price of the boat down to five thousand seven hundred pesetas. When it came time to pay, he still hoped to be able to knock off the extra seven hundred, simply by refusing to give them.

  There were roars of laughter from the next room, which was the bar.

  «Will you be at the dinner party?» said Eunice, not because she was particularly interested to know.

  «I’m going away, I think,» he said. «I want to go to Ceuta in my boat, do a little business».

  «Business? You have a boat?»

  «No. I want to buy one. Tomorrow. It costs too much money. I want to get out». He made the hideous grimace of disgust typical of the low-class Arab; he certainly had not learned that at the Beidaoui Palace. «Tangier’s no good. But the boat costs a lot of money».

  There was a silence.

  «How much?» said Eunice.

  He told her.

  A little over a hundred dollars, she calculated. It was surely worth it, even if he did not leave Tangier, the likelihood of which she strongly doubted. «I should like to help you,» she said.

  «That’s very kind. I didn’t mean that». He was grinning.

  «I know, but I’d like to help. I can give you a check». She wanted to finish the business and get rid of him.

  In the bar someone began to play popular tunes on the piano, execrably. Several British sailors drinking in there looked into the reading room with undisguised curiosity, one after the other, like children.

  «I’ll write you a check. Excuse me. I’ll be right back». She rose and went out the door into the foyer. With this native monster under control, and the American idiot out of the way, she told herself, life might begin to be bearable. She brought the checkbook downstairs with her, and made out the check in his presence, asking him how he spelled his name.

  «Suppose we make it out for six thousand,» she said. It was just as well to be generous.

  «That’s very kind. Thank you,» said Thami.

  «Not at all. I hope you have a good trip». She got up and walked toward the bar. Before she got to the door she paused and called to him: «Don’t get drowned».

  «Good night, Miss Goode,» he said respectfully, her very personal irony having gone wide of the mark.

  She went into the bar and ordered a gin fizz: the whole episode had been most distasteful. «What foul people they are!» she said to herself, finding it more satisfying to damn the tribe than the mere individual. The sailors moved a little away from her on each side when she ordered her drink.

  Across the street Thami was back in the café, where he intended to stay in hiding until he saw Hadija return from her fruitless mission to the Cine Mauretania; he wanted to be sure and not meet her by accident in the street. With the eagerness of a small boy he looked forward to morning, when he could go to the bank, get the money, and rush to the waterfront to begin haggling once more for the boat. Watching the Metro-pole’s entrance, he suddenly caught sight of the American, Dyar, about to go into the hotel. There was one Nesrani he liked. He had no reason for liking him, but he did. With a joviality born of the flush of victory, he rose and rushed out into the narrow street, calling: «Hey! Hey!»

  Dyar turned and saw him without enthusiasm. «Hi,» he said. They shook hands, but he did not let himself be enticed into the café by the other’s blandishments. «I have to go,» he explained.

  «You want to see Miss Goode?» Thami guessed. Dyar was annoyed. «Yes,» he said shortly. Thami was not the one to whom he would confide his business: the picture of him and Hadija talking so intensely and at such length at the party was too fresh in his memory. He had decided then that Thami was trying to make her.

  «You’ll be a long time in the hotel?»

  «No, just a few minutes».

  «I’ll wait for you. When you come out you come in that café. You’ll see me».

  «Okay,» said Dyar reluctantly. On the way he had bought a bracelet for Hadija; he swung the box on one finger by the little loop the saleswoman had tied in the string. «I’ll look for you».

  It was an absurd-looking old hotel, a gaudy vestige of the days when England had been the important power in Tangier. Still, he had to admit it was a lot more comfortable and pleasant than the new ones like his own Hotel de la Playa. At the desk they told him they thought he would find Miss Goode in the bar. That was good luck: he would not have to see her alone in her room. They could have one drink and he would be on his way. As he went into the crowded bar one of the sailors was pounding out «Oh Susannah». The room was full of sailors, but there was Eunice Goode in the midst of them, monumentally alone, sitting on a high stool staring straight in front of her.

  «Good evening,» he said.

  It was as though he had slapped her in the face. She drew her head back and stared at him. First the Moor and now this one. She was horrified; in her imagination he was already out of the way, gone. And here he was, back from the dead, not even aware that he was a ghost.

  «Oh,» she said finally. «Hello».

  «Drunk again,» he thought.

  «What are you doing here?» she asked him. She got down from the stool and stood leaning on the bar.

  «I just thought I’d drop in and say hello».

  «Oh?. Well, what are you drinking? Whiskey?»

  «What are you drinking? Have one with me, please».

  «Certainly not! Barman! One whiskey-soda!» She rapped imperiously on the top of the bar. «I’m just on my way upstairs,» she explained. «I’m just having this one drink». She felt that she would jump out of her skin if she had to stay and talk with him another minute.

  Dyar was a bit nettled. «Well, wait’ll I’ve had my drink, can’t you? I wanted to ask you something». The barman gave him his drink.

  «What was that?» she said levelly. She was positive it had something to do with Hadija, and she looked at him waiting, mentally daring him to let it be that.

  «Do you know where I can find Hadija, how I can get in touch with her? I know she comes by here every now and then to see you. Do you have her address, or anything?»

  It was too much. Her face became redder than usual, and she stood perfectly still, scarcely moving her lips as she spoke.

  «I do not! I don’t know where she lives and I care less! Why don’t you look for her in the whorehouse where you met her? Why do you come sneaking to me, trying to find her? Do you think I’m her madam? Well, I’m not! I’m not renting her out by the hour!»

  Dyar could not believe his ears. «Now, wait a minute,» he said, feeling himself growing hot all over. «You don’t have to talk that way about her. All you have to say is no, you don’t know her address. That’s all I asked you. I didn’t ask you anything else. I’m not interested in what you have to say about her. For my money she’s a damned nice girl».

  Eunice snorted. «For your money, indeed! Very apt! That little bitch would sleep with a stallion if you made it worth her while. And I daresay she has, for that matter. A special act for tourists. They love it». She was beginning to enjoy herself as she saw the fury spreading in his face. «I don’t mind naivete,» she went on, «but when it’s carried to the point — Aren’t you finishing your drink?» He had turned away.

  «Shove it up,» he said, and walked out.

  Considering the number of people in the street, he thought it might be possible for him to get by the café without being seen by Thami, but it was a vain hope. He heard him calling as he came opposite the entrance. Resignedly he stepped inside and sat down cross-legged on the mat beside Thami, who had had a few pipes of kif with friends, and felt very well. They talked a bit, Dyar refusing the pipe when it was passed him. Thami kept his eyes on the street, watching for Hadija. When presently he espied her walking quickly and angrily along i
n the drizzle, he called Dyar’s attention to a large chromolithograph on the wall beside them.

  «Do you know what that is?» he demanded. Dyar looked, saw a design representing a city of minarets, domes and balustrades. «No,» he said.

  «That’s Mecca».

  He saw the others watching him, awaiting his comment. «Very nice».

  From the corner of his eye Thami saw Hadija disappear into the Metropole. «Let’s go,» he said. «Fine,» agreed Dyar. They went out into the damp, and wandered up toward the Zoco Chico. In spite of the weather the streets were filled with Arabs, standing in groups talking, or strolling aimlessly up and down.

  «Do you want to go see some beautiful girls?» said Tharni suddenly.

  «Will you quit trying to sell this town to me?» demanded Dyar. «I don’t want to go and see anything. I’m all fixed up with one beautiful girl, and that’s enough». He did not add that he would give a good deal to be able to find her.

  «What’s in that?» Thami indicated the parcel containing the bracelet.

  «A new razor».

  «What kind?»

  «Hollywood,» said Dyar, improvising.

  Thami approved. «Very nice razor». But his mind was on other things.

  «You like that girl? Only that one? Hadija?»

  «That’s right».

  «You want only that one? I know another very nice one».

  «Well, you keep her, chum».

  «But what’s the difference, that one and another?»

  «All right,» said Dyar. «So you don’t see. But I do. I tell you I’m satisfied».

  The trouble was that Thami, still tingling with memories of the preceding night, did see. He became momentarily pensive. To him it made perfect sense that he, a Moslem, should want Hadija to himself. It was his right. He wanted every girl he could get, all to himself. But it made no sense that a Nes-rani, a Christian, should pick and choose. A Christian was satisfied with anything — a Christian saw no difference between one girl and another, as long as they were both attractive — he took what was left over by the Moslems, without knowing it, and without a thought for whether she was all his or not. That was the way Christians were. But not this one, who obviously not only wanted Hadija to himself, but was not even interested in finding anyone else.