The Saffron Gate (37 page)

^{'I'm sorry,' I said, 'but . . . perhaps I didn't hear you. You didn't say
you
are Manon Maliki?'}

^{She nodded, and at that I stood. 'No,' I said. 'Oh, no.' The back of my dress was wet with perspiration. 'I'm sorry, madame. I have made a mistake. I was looking for someone else.'}

^{I let out a long sigh of frustration, of more disappointment. After such hope, and such anxiety, my search through the medina had been for nothing. The
babouche
seller in the souk had given me the wrong information. He had told me with such surety that Manon Maliki was Marcel Duverger's daughter. But this was not Etienne's sister. This was a Moroccan servant. What now? What more could I do to find Etienne?}

^{'You're looking for someone else?' the woman asked. 'But you came looking for Manon Maliki. I am she.'}

^{'No. The woman I'm trying to find is . . .' I stopped, careful of my wording. 'I have been given the wrong information.' I looked at the saffron gate, and then took a step towards it. 'I'm sorry to have disturbed you.'}

^{'Why do you seek this woman?' The woman's hands, long and elegant, lay upturned on either side of the child, as if not wanting to touch the little body.}

^{'She's the sister of . . . of a friend.'}

^{'The sister of whom?'}

^{I was annoyed by her direct questions. I simply wanted to leave, and yet this woman had let me into the courtyard. I couldn't ignore her. 'The Manon I'm looking for is the daughter of Marcel Duverger,' I said. 'Someone in the souk told me that Manon Maliki was this woman.'}

^{She sat without moving. The child still played with the bit of string, its large dark eyes on me. The girl's mouth was open as she now crouched, motionless, in the doorway, watching. The cicada screamed again.}

^{'It is correct. I am the daughter of Marcel Duverger.'}

^{'But . . . if you are Manon . . . I'm sorry, madame,' I said. 'It's just that I . . . I . . .' Was this not a Moroccan woman sitting in front of me? 'The Manon I seek is Dr Duverger's sister,' I finally said.}

^{The woman didn't speak for a moment, then she said, 'How do you know Etienne?'}

^{The way she said
Etienne,
with such familiarity, made me catch my breath. I hadn't said his name. 'You are his sister?' I repeated, sitting heavily on the stool again.}

^{She nodded.}

^{The courtyard was far too hot, even though I was in the shade. The cicada's screams went on and on. Now I tried to open my mouth to speak further, but my lips stuck together. I tried to lick them, but had so little saliva. 'Is . . . is he here? With you?' I finally managed to say. 'Is Etienne here?' I stared at her, willing her to nod her head, to say
yes, yes, he's here.}

^{The woman lifted her hands and pulled the
haik
completely off her head, so that I saw her hair, long and heavy, falling about her face and to her shoulders. Dark and wavy, as was mine, but with a few threads of white. She wore a dark purple kaftan under the
haik.}

^{'You are from England? Or America? I cannot tell from your accent,' she said.}

^{I again struggled to lick my lips. 'America,' I said.}

^{'Bring our guest water,
mon cher garçon,’
Manon said to the child — so it was a boy — and he slid off her lap and ran lightly through the doorway of the house, putting his hand on the girl's shoulder as he passed her. 'Falida. Go and help him,' Manon said, and the girl leapt to her feet and disappeared.}

^{I studied my hands, clenched in my lap, hearing clinking and splashing. Within a moment the boy returned, crossing the courtyard slowly and very carefully, holding a tin cup in front of him with both hands. He didn't spill a drop, and proudly offered it to me. I drank; it was cool and refreshing, with a hint of lemon.}

^{Badou waited in front of me; I handed him the empty cup and he took it and went back into the house. As I watched him go, I thought to myself that Manon Maliki appeared old to have so young a child; surely he was no more than five years old. And then I thought of how old I would have looked when my child was . . . I stopped my thoughts.}

^{'You have searched for Etienne for some time?'}

^{I nodded, closing my eyes for a moment. 'I have looked for him in Marrakesh — in the French Quarter — for a number of days.'}

^{'And before that?'}

^{I frowned, glancing once more at the house: Why was she holding back? I stood again, unable to sit still. 'Madame. Is Etienne here, in Marrakesh? Please. I must know. I must, Madame Maliki,' I said, my voice louder, an edge of sharpness creeping into it. There was something about this woman that troubled me. I didn't like her, I realised, even though I'd known her only a few moments. 'I keep telling you, I have come from America to find him. I have been travelling and searching for over a month now.'}

^{Manon sat very still. Falida and Badou came back from the house, and again Badou climbed into his mother's lap. He leaned against her chest, and as before, his mother didn't touch him. His little face had a calm, accepting demeanour. I sensed he was unlike his mother; in spite of her stillness at this moment, I felt that beneath her calm exterior was a great deal of fire.}

^{'Why do you appear so distressed?' she asked me, her head at a slight angle, giving her an inquisitive look. 'You look hot, and perhaps a bit ill. Are you not well, Mademoiselle . . . what did you say your name was?' Her eyes suddenly left my face, running down my body.}

^{I took a deep breath. 'O'Shea. Sidonie O'Shea,' I said, something painful in my chest, for at that moment I realised she didn't know who I was. That meant that either Etienne truly wasn't here, or, if he was, he hadn't mentioned me. 'I'm very anxious to find Etienne,' I said. 'That's what you see — my anxiety.' Had I assumed that Etienne had come to her, to his sister, and told her about the woman in America he . . . he what? Loved? Had created a child with? 'You don't know who I am,' I said, stating what was now obvious.}

^{'How could I? You are a stranger, from America, arriving at my door, unexpected and unannounced, speaking of my brother.'}

^{I swallowed. 'I am Etienne's . . .'What to call myself? 'I am his fiancée,' I said then. 'We were to be married,' I added, unnecessarily.}

^{At that, Manon's expression changed. She no longer looked curious. Something dark came over her face, and her hands clenched once, and then loosened. Now it was she who took a deep breath. When she exhaled, the child twisted his head to look up at her.}

^{She spoke to Falida in Arabic. Badou rose without question, and Falida took his hand. They went through the gate, shutting it behind them with a clang.}

^{'So you are Etienne's lover?' Manon asked, her voice toneless.}

^{'I . . . I said I was his fiancée.'}

^{Her lips tightened, and the same strange look as moments earlier passed over her face. Although I didn't know her, it looked like anger. I thought of her fists, clenching for that split second.}

^{'And why have you come to me, Sidonie O'Shea?'}

^{I pulled the single page, now tearing slightly along the delicate creases, from my handbag. 'Your letter to Etienne.'}

^{She glanced at the paper in my hands, then back to my face. 'Written when?'}

^{'Six months ago.'}

^{'A man leaves you, and you find an old letter, and you travel so far to find him?'}

^{I hadn't said, specifically, that he'd left me, although it was an evident observation. Suddenly I knew how ridiculous I must appear. I felt as though Manon must view me as had the others in the hotel in Tangier.
The tragic
heroine of her own story.
I was shamed, sitting in front of this rather imposing woman. I looked down at the thin sheet of paper. 'There is . . . there was more to it.'}

^{'Mademoiselle. There is always more to it for the woman.'}

^{We sat in silence. The heat was intense; it was almost as though I could hear it fluttering, like a flock of tiny birds, or perhaps butterflies, around my ears. Finally I looked back at Manon. 'He isn't here?'}

^{She shook her head.}

^{'Do you know where he is?'}

^{At that, she studied me for so long — the silence stretching, and stretching — that I felt one bead of sweat run down my temple and along my jaw. Finally she nodded.}

^{I took a deep, shaky breath. 'Is he here, in Marrakesh?'}

^{Again the wait, and then she shrugged. 'Perhaps.'}

^{What was wrong with her? Why was she playing this silly game with me? I stood and walked the few steps to where she sat. I looked down at her. 'Madame Maliki,' I said, my voice hard. 'Do you not understand how important it is that I find Etienne?'}

^{Now she rose as well. 'It's impossible for me to say, right now, where he is. Impossible,' she said.}

^{I shook my head. 'But . . . you just said you knew where he was.' My voice had grown louder. 'Why is it impossible?' Why can't you simply—'}

^{'I said perhaps. Perhaps I know. And it's not a good day for me,' she interrupted. 'The fates are not correct. I can't speak to you any further right now.'}

^{I stared at her.}

^{'You will have to leave,' she said.}

^{'But . . . no. I can't leave until you tell me about Etienne. I have come so far to . . .'}

^{At that she moved right in front of me. I stood with my lips parted, unable to finish the sentence. We were the same height. Her face was close enough for me to see her pupils, dilating and then drawing in until they were two hard, dark points. I smelled the slight scent of some spice, perhaps cumin, perhaps coriander, on her breath. 'You will leave. This is my home, and you will leave when I tell you to leave. You have no right to be here.'}

^{I felt her foot touch mine, and instinctively took a step back, but she put her hand on my arm. Immediately the skin under my sleeve burned.}

^{'Madame Maliki,' I said, quietly now, pulling back from her touch. It was clear she wished to antagonise me, to challenge or frighten me. It was also clear she would tell me nothing at this moment. 'Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day to speak of this. I'll come again tomorrow. Is the morning a good time for you? Tell me when you wish me to come.'}

^{I had been right. Her expression changed the slightest, and I knew it was because my tone was imploring. I had deliberately become submissive, acquiescing, and this pleased her.}

^{'Tomorrow may not be convenient,' she said. 'Let me think.'}