City of the Sun (17 page)

He turned, and knowing what was coming, he waved her off as he limped inside and turned on the radio.

Maya placed a hand on her hip. What a stubborn fool. If he wanted a paralyzed leg, that would not just be his problem, it would be hers, too. His stupid pride was actually pure selfishness. She felt a wave of anger starting to swell, but quickly shut it off, deciding she was not going to let this ruin her day. She needed to bring some lightness into her life. Since that drink with the American journalist, she’d realized how much she’d been denying herself even the simplest of pleasures, like flirting, or smoking a cigarette, or having a conversation about life or politics with a stranger.

“I’m going up to the roof for a smoke,” she proclaimed.

“Keep it at one,” Erik admonished her.

“You’re not my father,” she snapped, surprised at how readily she stood up to him. She bit her lower lip and headed to the stairway.

After an instant he shouted after her, “Just make sure no one sees you in those curlers. They’ll get scared and call the police.”

She ascended the stairs and settled into one of the rooftop chairs with the Cairo guidebook. She felt restless. They’d first expected their papers within two weeks, but now three weeks had passed, and they were told it would be a minimum of two weeks more. She’d gone off for walks around the neighborhood, but maybe she should visit Cairo after all. Her brother and father seemed to be doing fine at the Levis’ and there would be no harm in going off for a few hours.

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the delicate fragrance of jasmine. Why was it that everything in Egypt smelled
better than anywhere else? Somehow the fragrance of fruits, vegetables, flowers, coffee, and spices were magnified a thousand fold. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath, and then one more. When she exhaled, she found a sense of lightness inside her. She needed to let God into her heart again. She’d become so tight inside that no light could enter.

Mutter used to say that God revealed himself as light, and that one could see that light at the moment a person expired. In her final days, she’d asked Maya to look for this light when she died, but Maya never saw it. They learned about Mutter’s passing through a call from the hospital, and circumstances dictated that they leave Paris at once. Erik arranged for her burial, but there was no time to plan a funeral. For many days and nights afterward Maya looked for some reassuring sign that Mutter had successfully made the journey to God’s light, but she never found one. Nor did she see her mother in her dreams. She was just gone, leaving behind only memories. Is that what one is reduced to after death? A memory? A picture on a piano? And on whose piano would Maya’s picture rest when she was gone?

I cannot let the past hold me, she told herself as a familiar, dull, aching feeling started to spread through her stomach. No! She must go forward and be grateful that she and her family were safe; grateful that they had not been one of those Jewish families that were arrested and herded into the Velodrome d’Hiver stadium to be shipped, she later learned, to internment camps all over France, in cattle cars built by the Vichy government.

Now she must focus on the good things and fill her mind with sweet thoughts. She brought back the memories of the goodnight kisses her mother would carefully place in the middle of her forehead when she returned late after a performance. They were the best of kisses—light, and tender, and perfect, and even though Maya was usually asleep, part of her was awake enough to capture them.
So with the help of God’s light and the memory of her mother’s kisses, Maya hoped that here in the City of the Sun, she would find the strength to no longer cry over what she had lost and even to allow herself to dream about the future.

She lit up a cigarette and wiggled her toes, happy with the fuchsia color she’d chosen for them. She spread her fingers and admired them as well. Her fingernails matched nicely with her skin color. She knew she was being shamefully shallow but couldn’t deny the tickling pleasure spreading inside her, warming her like a log burning in a fireplace. Here she was, just being a normal girl.

She started flipping through the pages of the guidebook and stopped to study a picture of royal palm trees and lotus pillars sunk into tall grass. Ezbekieh Gardens, read the caption. Located in the heart of Cairo, the garden, one of many that punctuated the city, was created by the former chief gardener to the city of Paris.

Ah, Paris! She sighed, putting the book down. As much as she hated to admit it, she was still in love with the city. Despite her humdrum job as a typist at an insurance company, the three years she’d spent there were the most exciting of her life. The City of Light had awakened her senses and intellect. But now it had broken her heart. Why had so many Frenchmen turned their backs on the Jews?

Her thoughts drifted to Jean-Jacques, her ex-boyfriend, who was always clad in black, giving impassioned speeches, presenting himself as the champion of the underdogs, but who actually never did anything about the very things he talked about. The American was right—he was a poseur. She smiled and pulled Mickey’s letter from her pocket to read it again.

Dear Maya,

I must have made quite an impression the other day. What kind of journalist displays that kind of ignorance about the very subject he’s supposed to be writing about? The fact that I may have been distracted by the cleft in your chin is no excuse. Forgive me. I was just trying to look smart. Actually, I’ve just gotten started on my research, and I have lots to learn. Thank you for opening my eyes to the situation facing the Jews in the other North African countries.

I took the liberty of reading your book. Maybe it’s my unflagging American optimism, but when faced with my own imminent death, I hope I won’t feel as detached as Pablo does, especially from the woman I love. If your friend Jean-Jacques sees Pablo as a hero, I’d think twice about a guy like that!

Now, since you’re a curious girl, and I’m the kind of guy who’s always looking for answers, why don’t we get together and solve some of the problems of the world over dinner? I promise I won’t try to impress you. How about it? I would love to see you again.

Your uncle will not tell me how I can reach you, so please call me. Telephone: 40434

Mickey Connolly

(Ace reporter)

I shouldn’t have been so tough on him, she thought, acknowledging how judgmental she could sometimes be. In fact she should have praised him for being open enough to write about the Jews in the first place. She wondered what made him choose the subject and wished she had asked him that.

His American accent had caught her by surprise when he ordered his beer. It reminded her of Sherri, her roommate from boarding school, who was from Chicago. But it was his eyes that had sucked her in. How embarrassing. She remembered them perfectly—framed with thick, dark lashes, they were vibrant green with sparkling flecks of yellow. They were the eyes of a lion, alert
and electric, but at the same time, they had a softness about them. She thought him handsome with his black mane of hair, though his nose was slightly too big for his face and his lower lip sometimes turned down in an arrogant curl. As a dresser, he was horrible! He’d not only been the most casually dressed man in the room but surely the worst dressed, with his yellow tie that clashed with his blue shirt, which did not go at all with his bottle green blazer, which he never should have chosen in the first place. Nonetheless, she had to admit that she did find him appealing. Beyond the accent and the eyes, it was the ease with which he spoke and his straightforwardness that attracted her. Above all, she liked the air of freedom he exuded.

She read his note one more time. He sounded like a passionate man, which pleased her. Though initially offended that he’d invaded her privacy by reading her book and making himself privy to her personal underlinings, she was also flattered that he’d invested the time to do so.

Perhaps she should allow him to take her out, she thought, not for dinner, but for drinks or possibly lunch. With the war, secretaries were a scarce commodity, and she could probably finagle another day working for Joe at the Shepheard’s. She could meet him that day. This would be her little secret, and a girl does need to have secrets, she told herself.

“My father just came home from work,” she heard Lili announce as she bounded up the stairway.

Maya quickly shoved the note into her pocket and extinguished her cigarette, waving the air around her to dissipate the smoke.

“You look happy,” she said to Lili, who emerged beaming, a mischievous smile on her face. It looked as if she, too, had a secret.

Lili didn’t reply and kept her silly grin as she removed a curler from the top of Maya’s head and ruled her hair “almost dry” before rolling it back and pulling up a chair next to her.

“So?” Maya asked.

“So … I met the man of my dreams,” Lili said.

“In the last five minutes?”

“No, yesterday at the tennis tournament,” Lili gushed breathlessly. “I didn’t want to tell anyone. I was afraid to jinx it, but he just called me.” She suddenly grabbed Maya’s hand, squeezing it tightly in excitement. “I knew it!” she cried out. “I knew he felt the same way I did from the moment he laid eyes on me. I swear it’s true!”

Maya took a deep breath. She found Lili annoyingly immature, living life’s everyday ups and downs far too intensely, but her enthusiasm was undeniably contagious, making the air around her lighter and happier. “Who is he?”

“I don’t know too much. His name is Fernando and he is very handsome. Dark and tall and maybe a little dangerous!” She laughed like a ten-year-old. “His family moved here last week from Zamalek. He’s just joined the sporting club in Heliopolis. I’m telling you, he’s the one!”

“What did he say to you?”

“He and his friends are having a mixed-doubles match tonight, and he just lost his partner. He asked if I was free. These were his exact words. I know, Maya, we barely talked,” Lili protested in expectation of her skepticism, “but it’s true. Love at first sight exists. We both felt it.”

“I’m not sure I believe that. It seems a bit fast to me.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“In love? That is a big word.” Maya shook her head, as she reflected on how to answer. “I’ve had a few boyfriends, but I never said ‘I love you.’ None of them was
the one
.” She insisted on making that clear.

“Why is it that if you can know right away if someone is not the one, you can’t know right away if someone is?”

“You can’t be sure at just a first impression. You have to get to know him.”

“I know how I felt, and that’s all I need to know,” Lili stated. “I think he is my destiny.”

Maya was about to respond, but what was the point?

“Come, maybe your mother will let me set the table,” she said as she stood up and started down the stairs. “Can you cook as well as she does?”

Lili laughed as she followed. “Not one dish. Why should I learn? My mother-in-law will teach me how to make my husband’s favorite dishes.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Maya heard Erik’s voice booming from the drawing room.

It was very unlike him to speak up this way, and she scurried in, finding him leaning against a chair, face-to-face with Joe.

“There isn’t much to tell,” Joe told him.

“There is
nothing
to tell,” Allegra shouted from the kitchen next door.

“About what?” Lili asked as she selected a grape from a silver bowl on the table.

“I heard on the radio that there has been a fire in a synagogue in Alexandria,” Erik explained. “They suspect it was an act of arson by the Muslim Brotherhood. Their leader just escaped from prison.”

“What’s the Muslim Brotherhood?” Maya asked.

“A small group of religious fanatics,” Joe tried to reassure them.

“The Nazis were once a small group of fanatics,” Erik shot back.

“There have been a few incidents here and there,” Joe admitted. “Some bombings of Jewish houses to show sympathy for the
Palestinian Arabs. They believe that the Jews here are working with Jews in Palestine, which is absurd.”

“I’ve seen them distributing pamphlets at the university, Papi,” Lili said. “They’re saying that all Muslims must come together under one Islamic state and throw out foreigners.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Joe said. “Imagine suggesting that all Europeans band together. Ha! Look at Germany attacking its neighbors. Let me tell you, the Egyptians look down on other Arabs, like the French on the English, the Spaniards on the Portuguese and so on. Uniting all Muslims is not possible. They are trying to make an issue out of Palestine because it’s much easier to manipulate people if you have an outsider to blame for your problems.”

“Is the movement big?” Maya inquired.

Allegra appeared at the doorway in her apron, holding a knife. “It’s a very small group of crazies. Can we please discuss this at another time, when the children are not in the house?” she demanded. “They are already very upset with the news from Europe. There is no reason to scare them about danger here. The Muslims in Egypt will never turn against us.” She moved back into the kitchen.