The Saffron Gate (60 page)

^{Badou lay down and put his head in my lap; I saw the shadow of his long eyelashes on his cheeks as his eyes closed.}

^{We were sitting like this when Aszulay returned. 'He's sleeping,' I said, quietly, my hand on Badou's head. 'Would you like some food?'}

^{He shook his head. 'Soon we must go, so we won't arrive too late,' he said, looking up at the sky. He appeared distracted, perhaps a little distant. He splashed water on his face and neck, and then took more handfuls and wet his hair. It shone blue-black in the sun, tiny droplets trembling on the thickness of it. He sat beside us then.}

^{'You asked about Badou going to school,' he said, looking down at the boy. 'But it's not a possibility.'}

^{'Why not?'}

^{'His mother hasn't made him a Muslim. He's a nonbeliever, so he can't enter a mosque, or a madrasa — the school — to learn the Koran,' he said. 'And he isn't allowed into the private French schools in La Ville Nouvelle, because Manon can't claim full French ancestry. There is nowhere Badou will be welcomed to learn.'}

^{'But . . . surely Manon wants him to be educated,' I said. 'Why doesn't she at least teach him herself? She's an intelligent woman, if nothing else.' I didn't mean for the sarcasm to be so apparent, but there it was. I was always, always aware that Aszulay must be in love with her, in spite of her cruelty and devious nature.}

^{Aszulay simply looked at me, then put his hand on Badou's shoulder, shaking him gently.}

^{'Now we'll go on,' he said, and, sleepily, Badou got to his feet and we all went back into the truck.}

^{As we drove away, following the same rise Aszulay had taken, we passed a cemetery. What was it doing here, in the solitude of the
bled
? The small pointed stones that rose on the gently elevated slope reminded me of uneven rows of jagged teeth. I wanted to ask Aszulay about his wife; I realised I grew more and more anxious the further we drove. What would she think of me, arriving with her husband, and another woman's child?}

^{Suddenly I wished I hadn't come. I should have listened to that small instinct, at Manon's, when she announced that he had a wife.}

^{'Less than one hour, and we will arrive,' Aszulay said.}

^{I nodded, looking out the side window.}

^{THIRTY THREE}

^{O
urika valley,' Aszulay said, a short time later, as we drove through gardens and plots of cultivated land. There were date groves, and intoxicating scents of mint and oleander. I recognised apricot and pomegranate and fig; it was a verdant valley. The sides towered above the masses of fields on the valley floor, and green crops undulated in the gentle breeze. Also on the sides of the hills running down from the High Atlas were hamlets made of the pounded red clay of the earth, mixed with straw:
pise,
Aszulay called them. Everywhere on the meandering
piste
near these small villages were women, trudging with sacks or bundles of sticks on their backs, often balancing babies in slings on one hip or on their chests. I kept swallowing, and my head ached slightly. I put my hand to my forehead, and Aszulay glanced at me.}

^{'It's the height,' he said. 'Drink water.' I took the goatskin of water from behind the seat and drank, giving some to Badou and offering it to Aszulay, but he shook his head.}

^{The valley grew narrower but kept rising gently. And then the
piste
came to an end. As we stepped out of the truck, I heard violently rushing water. Aszulay took the sacks from the back of the truck and slung them over one shoulder, balancing the crate of scolding chickens on the other. He motioned for me to bring my bag. 'You don't need your
haik
or veil here,' he said, and so I again left them in the truck, wearing only my kaftan, and followed him, holding Badou's hand, towards the sound of the water. It was a convergence of seven narrow waterfalls flowing down a rocky scree to a village below. We started our way carefully down the path, worn by hoofs and feet.}

^{Within a moment I knew I wouldn't be able to keep my balance, and picked up a long, firm stick from beside the path. Badou's smooth-soled little red
babouches
were slipping on the pebbly slope, and he stopped, clutching my kaftan for support. Aszulay looked back at us; he'd taken off his own
babouches
and thrown them down ahead of him, and was making the descent in bare feet.}

^{'Wait,' he said, and, at a half-run reached the bottom of the slope. He set the sacks and crate on the ground. Then he stooped, taking a small pinch of the earth, and put it on his tongue. I watched, curious. I didn't know why he tasted the dirt, and yet something moved in me; it signified his connection to this red earth. He came back for us, scooping Badou into the crook of one arm. Badou put his arm around Aszulay's neck. Aszulay held out his hand to me, and I put mine into his, although I still used the stick with my other hand. We went slowly down the rough path. Aszulay's hand was able to completely close around mine; it was warm and dry. I knew mine was damp with nervousness, not only about keeping my balance, but about what was to come when we entered the village.}

^{At the bottom of the slope he dropped my hand and set Badou down and again picked up the sacks and crate.}

^{The village, climbing haphazardly up the side of a sloping hill, was one of the terraced settlements of
pise
houses with flat roofs. Because the hill and the houses were the same reddish-brown earth, and the houses clung to it as if dug out of the very hill itself, there was a chameleon sense about it.}

^{At the foot of the hill was a circle of tents of woven animal hair. I hadn't seen them as we approached; like the village, they were indistinguishable from the earth. Camels sat on their knees in the dust, gazing straight ahead with their usual aloofness. Donkeys brayed and roosters crowed.}

^{Footpaths wound up into the terraced village. A few children on their way down greeted Aszulay with shouts of recognition. I watched Badou as the children came towards us, and again, as at the stream, he held back, staying close at my side. We walked upwards, through the village, and people came from their doorways, calling to Aszulay. He continually set down his burdens, greeting the men by kissing three times on the cheeks as they hugged, chest to chest. They all stared at me, and I was uncomfortable. The women here wore long, modest dresses, but they resembled flocks of colourful birds; their dresses were embroidered around the hem and sleeves and neckline, sometimes flashing with small bits of silver jewellery. Some of the dresses were hooked on the shoulders with brass or silver clasps, which I knew, from discovering them in the souks, were called
fibulae.
The women, their faces uncovered, wore shawls draped over their heads, but these, while mostly black, were all embroidered with bright designs and flowers. Elaborate silver and amber jewellery was on their necks and wrists. They were all barefoot, and their feet and hands were decorated with henna.}

^{I tried not to stare at them, but they were wonderful to look at. Some had streaks of saffron painted on their faces, or blue patterns tattooed on their chins or in the middle of their foreheads. I thought of Mena's tattoos, and knew she was from the mountains. Many of the forehead tattoos were two diagonal lines crossing each other at the top. Others had a line running straight from their lower lip to the bottom of their chin, with tree-like branches radiating from it. Most of the tattoos had a geometric design. I could only assume that as well as being a thing of beauty, they designated a tribal identity.}

^{We continued our gentle upward climb along the winding paths. Aszulay finally stopped in front of a house, setting down the crate and sacks and calling out, and an older woman and two younger ones came from inside. While the two younger women wore the same decorated dresses and headscarves and jewellery as the other village women, their faces were not tattooed, and the older woman wore a simple dark blue robe and headscarf. Aszulay put down the sacks and crate and embraced the older one.}

^{He looked at me and said something to her, but he wasn't speaking Arabic; I recognised nothing he said. Then he looked at me and said,
'Ma maman.'}

^{I nodded, anxious, unsure of whether to smile. His mother looked at me curiously, speaking in a questioning tone to Aszulay.}

^{He answered, briefly, gesturing at Badou, and whatever he said satisfied his mother, for she just murmured something over and over, something I took to mean
yes, I see.}

^{I reached into my bag and pulled out a small bone teapot. I knew enough about Moroccan customs, by now, to bring a gift when visiting. I gave Aszulay's mother the teapot. She took it, turning it over in her hands and nodding seriously.}

^{'And my sisters,' he said, pointing to the two other women, who looked to be in their mid-to late twenties. 'Rabia, and Zohra.'}

^{I had expected one of them to be his wife.}

^{As his sisters looked at me, I said,
'Ismi
Sidonie,' telling them my name, and then added, respectfully,
'Assalaam alykum,
peace be upon you.' I didn't know whether they would understand the Arabic greeting, but they both replied, in hushed and rather shy tones,
wa alykum assalaam,
and peace be upon you.}

^{I gave each of them a small ceramic painted dish.}

^{Badou stood beside me; the women paid no attention to him.}

^{They all had a similar look: thin, sun-darkened faces with high cheekbones, dark flashing eyes touched with kohl, and strong white teeth. Zohra, the younger sister, had a dimple in her left cheek that gave a certain charm to her smile. In the folds of Rabia's dress a baby with kohl-lined eyes wiggled, peeking its head out. It stared at Badou; its eyes were blue, like Aszulay's.}

^{'A baby, Badou,' I said, as if he didn't recognise what it was. But I was tense, not sure how to behave, and this gave me something to focus on. 'Is it a boy or a girl, do you think?'}

^{He shrugged. I sensed he was experiencing a similar feeling to mine, even though he'd been here before. Aszulay's mother patted his shoulder, saying something to him, and he smiled, a small, tight smile.}

^{'My nephew is Izri,' Aszulay said, answering my question. 'Eight months. Rabia's fourth child. Zohra has two daughters.' He opened the neck of one sack and drew out lengths of cloth and two necklaces of silver and amber, which he handed to his sisters. From the other sack he pulled out a large brass cooking pot for his mother. They all nodded, murmuring and looking at each other's gifts, smiling their thanks at Aszulay.}

^{Then they looked back at me. Aszulay's mother spoke. 'My mother welcomes you,' Aszulay said. 'The village is preparing a special meal in honour of the other guests, those in the tents below. They're from a distant village, but have travelled to visit members of their families living here now. We came at a good time.'}

^{'Shukran,'
I said, looking at Aszulay's mother. 'Thank you.' Again, I didn't know if she could understand anything I said, but I couldn't remain mute. I also wondered when I would meet Aszulay's wife. These women — his mother and sisters — appeared curiously calm and accepting of my presence.}