The Saffron Gate (42 page)

^{TWENTY THREE}

^{I
don't remember how
I found my way back to Hôtel de la Palmeraie. My senses weren't working properly, and the alleys and souks and square were seen and heard through an opaque haze of colour and sound. I held my handkerchief over my nose and mouth as I rushed through the confusing streets of the medina — how long did it take me? Did I get lost? I know there was a jolting ride in a taxi, and finally I was safely hidden in my room.}

^{I lay on my bed but continued to press the handkerchief against my face.
He's dead,
I thought, over and over.
Etienne is dead. He's dead.}

^{I remembered the exact scene after the miscarriage, the words echoing inside my head.}

^{My eyes and throat and head ached in an almost debilitating way as I thought of my lost baby, and of never, again seeing Etienne. A strong part of me believed that if I found Etienne, he would still want me. But even if he hadn't . . . I would have known he was in the world. And that in itself would have been a small, strange comfort. Maybe I had dared to think that even if he turned me away in Marrakesh, some day I might open the door of my home in Albany — as I had the first time he had come to Juniper Road — and he would be sitting outside in his car.}

^{I saw his smile, saw his fingers closing around mine. Never again. Never . . .}

^{Flat on my back, rocking with my arms around myself, a low keening came, unbidden, from my mouth. The room was dark, and so hot. I heard the distant roar of D'jemma el Fna.}

^{Now my chest hurt as well as my head, and I found it difficult to breathe. How had Etienne died? Had he called out for me as he lay dying, or had he died so quickly that there was no time for even a word to pass his lips?}

^{Now I would never know why he had left me. I relived the hours I had wrestled with my choices in Marseilles that day as I lay in bed after the doctor's visit: whether I would travel on to Marrakesh or return home. But I had made the decision to come, to try to find some answers.}

^{And now I had. I had an answer. It wasn't why he had left me. But it was an answer, a terrible, and totally unexpected answer.}

^{It wasn't right: first my baby, and now Etienne.}

^{I tried to slow my breathing, tried to will away the frightening sensation. But a huge and swooping panic filled me, and my heart beat so violently that I thought it would burst, frightening me further. I sat up in the heat, gasping. Was I having some sort of attack? Would I die here, like Etienne?}

^{You are not dying, Sidonie. You are not dying. Stop it.}

^{I wanted to go to the open window, to lean out and try to catch my breath; there was no air in here. But the very small task of walking across the room was too great. I lay down again, pressing my hands over the pain in my chest.}

^{I again thought of my unborn child, and what he or she would have looked like, would have felt like in my arms. Unexpectedly the image of Badou's face came to me. I saw it, so accepting of the cruel mother that fate had presented him with; felt the way his warm little hand took mine, so trustingly, I kept my eyes closed, drawing in short breaths until at long last I again sat up. I ripped open my dress, shrugging out of it and my slip and underpants. I undid my shoes, tossing them on to the floor with loud thuds, and then pulled off my stockings. I drew in my breath at a new pain, and saw that my knees were torn, the drying blood sticking to my ripped stockings. I had no idea what had happened to them.}

^{Naked, I fell back on to the soft bed, and again I wept, not caring if anyone passing in the wide, opulent hall heard me.}

^{I didn't think I would possibly sleep, but the morning sun on my face woke me. I lay still for mere seconds, blinking in the light, before the memory of what had happened the day before came back with a hard rush.}

^{'Etienne is dead,' I said, aloud. 'Etienne is dead.'
Dead.}

^{My head pounded. I pushed back the coverlet, and saw my body. I had never before slept without a nightdress, even with Etienne.}

^{I thought of my hysterical behaviour the evening before. Had I really had such pain in my chest that I thought my heart would burst open, the chambers and aorta spilling blood, killing me instantly? How foolish Etienne would have thought me.}

^{Etienne, always so calm and in control. I couldn't imagine him any other way. Even when we had that first conversation when I told him about the baby, and he had stumbled with his English, and seemed a stranger, he hadn't completely lost his focus. But then I remembered that one moment, the instant in the car when his face had betrayed him, where I had seen him uncertain, and fearful.}

^{Behind his almost infallible veneer, something fragile and secretive had lurked. What had he been hiding? What part of him was unprotected, and why had he worked at covering it with theory and distance?}

^{I lay on the bed all day, watching the sun move across the room. I stayed there, not bathing, not drinking or eating. Once someone tapped on my door and I called out for them to go away. I watched the shadows lengthen and turn to darkness.}

^{When the sun again shone through the windows, I was suddenly immensely thirsty. I wanted fresh orange juice. Taking my white slip from where it lay beside me on the bed, I pulled it over my head. As I rose, my knees shot through with pain; I looked at them, remembering, vaguely, that they had been bloody when I undressed. Now they were freshly scabbed, the bruises around the scabs dark and spreading. I tugged the bell cord to call one of the staff.}

^{Within a few moments there was a quiet knock on the door. Wrapping the bedcover around my shoulders, I opened the door to instruct the boy to bring me a pitcher of orange juice. But it wasn't one of the boys who worked in the hotel. It was Monsieur Henri.}

^{'Mademoiselle,' he said, looking, for the first time since I'd seen him, flustered. 'There appears to be a very uncomfortable situation.'}

^{'What is it?' '}

^{'Downstairs. In the lobby,' he said, as if unsure of how to continue.}

^{'Yes, yes, Monsieur Henri. Please. I'm very tired, and wish to return to my bed.'}

^{'There is a man,' he said. 'A man who says he knows you.'}

^{My legs suddenly felt as though they might give way. It had all been a mistake, or a terrible, macabre prank. Etienne was not dead. He was alive, and waiting for me in the lobby.}

^{'Monsieur Duverger?' I cried out, putting one hand on Monsieur Henri's shoulder. He turned his cheek, the slightest, and I realised I had offended him by grabbing at him. I took my hand away. 'I'm sorry,' I said, 'but is it he? Is it Etienne Duverger?'}

^{Now Monsieur Henri raised his chin, just the slightest. It gave the impression that the end of his nose lifted as well. 'I assure you, Mademoiselle O'Shea, that it is not this Monsieur Duverger you speak of. It is a man . . . an Arab, mademoiselle. An Arab with his child.'}

^{I blinked. 'An Arab?'}

^{'Yes. With some name of the Sahara. I don't remember. And really, mademoiselle, I assured, him that we, at Hôtel de la Palmeraie, are not in the habit of allowing non-European men into the hotel, let alone upstairs to the rooms. He insisted I come to speak to you. He was . . .' He stopped. 'He was rather menacing in his insistence. It appears, mademoiselle,' he leaned closer, and I smelled a flowery scent, perhaps jasmine, 'that he has brought you something. Food.' He drew back. 'It's quite unacceptable. I told him that if you were hungry you would order from our extensive menu. But he stood there — and is standing there, I'm sure, as we speak — with a tagine and the child. The child is holding greasy fritters strung on a piece of grass. The food is, I'm afraid, creating a disagreeable oily smell in the lobby. And although fortunately, at this time of day, not many of our guests are about, I truly wish this man and child to be gone before—'}

^{'You may send them up, Monsieur Henri,' I said, and his eyes widened, then he took in my hair, and the coverlet draped around me. I knew one bare, scabbed knee was visible where the coverlet didn't meet, but I didn't care.}

^{'Are you certain, mademoiselle? The safety of our guests is of the highest—'}

^{Again I interrupted. 'Yes. I am a guest as well. And I can assure you that there is absolutely no reason for your concern. Please allow them up to my room. And also have a pitcher of orange juice sent up.' It wasn't my voice speaking. It was someone else's, someone who wouldn't be trifled with.}

^{Monsieur Henri's nostrils tightened. 'As you wish, mademoiselle,' he said, and then, without the courtesy of a goodbye, turned and walked down the hallway, his back as stiff as if he had a steel rod inserted into his spine.}

^{I picked up my dress from the floor, where it lay in a crumpled heap, and put it on. I jammed my bare feet into my shoes, leaving them undone, but had no energy to attempt to comb through my hair.}

^{Within moments there was another knock on the door.}

^{I opened it to Aszulay and Badou. As Monsieur Henri had told me, Aszulay carried a tagine, while Badou held a long and tough green twine, strung with a half-dozen fragrant, sugar-coated
beignets.}

^{'Aszulay. And Badou,' I said, as if they didn't know their own names. 'What . . . why have you come?'}

^{Aszulay studied me, balancing the tagine with one hand. I was aware of how I looked, my eyes red and swollen, my hair a disgusting tangle. I pulled a strand of hair away from my cheek, where it was stuck with perspiration.}

^{'We brought you some
beignets,
Sidonie,' Badou said. 'But what's wrong with your eyes? They—' Aszulay put his free hand on the boy's head, and the child was immediately quiet.}

^{'I thought perhaps . . .' Aszulay said, and then stopped, as if unsure how to continue. 'Yesterday Badou told me . . . he said that the day before you had cried out, and fallen to the ground. He came to you, but you only stared at him, without speaking. Then you got up and . . . he said you were unable to walk properly, and fell again, but left the courtyard. I knew then that Manon had deeply upset you. I'm sorry for what she had to tell you. About Etienne,' he added. 'As I have said, Manon does not always speak or act in the most suitable way.'}

^{There was silence. I had cried out, fallen? Now I knew what had happened to my knees. Finally I looked at the tagine and said, 'Thank you. But . . . I think it's better if I'm alone at this time. But thank you, Aszulay,' I repeated. 'And thank you, Badou.'}

^{Aszulay nodded. He still had his hand on Badou's head. He took it off and set the tagine on the floor just inside the door. A lovely smell rose from it — lamb and apricots. Rosemary 'Come, Badou, give Mademoiselle O'Shea the
beignets,
and we will leave her.'}

^{I took the ring of little doughnuts Badou silently handed me. By the lingering way his small hand remained on the length of grass, I knew he had expected to share the meal — and this treat — with me. Even in the short time I had been in Morocco, I understood its hospitality, and how utterly rude — no matter what my mood, and even to a small child — I appeared.}