The Saffron Gate (65 page)

^{'So was I,' I said, my mouth trembling. 'I can't tell you how frightened I was.'}

^{'This country can be a fearsome place,' he said. 'I know all of its tricks, because it's my home. I don't expect those not born here to know it in the same way.'}

^{He was telling me he understood, and I was grateful. I took a breath, and then reached my hand to him. 'Thank you,' I said.}

^{He looked down at my hennaed hand, then took it and looked back at me. I thought of the look we had shared the night before, and had to lower my head, staring at our joined hands, unable to look into his face. His thumb traced my palm, gently touching the healed sore.}

^{Finally I raised my head. He was still looking at me. In the flickering candlelight the curve of his high cheekbone was moulded. I wanted to touch it. He leaned closer to me, then looked down at Badou.}

^{'He's asleep,' I whispered, not wanting him to stop because of the child.}

^{But Aszulay sat back, and I felt a deep stab of disappointment. 'Maybe you will tell me a story to pass the time,' he said, softly. His hand closed more tightly around mine. 'A story about America. About an American woman.'}

^{It was difficult to breathe. I shook my head. 'You,' I said. 'First you tell me about yourself.'}

^{'There's little to tell, he said.}

^{'Just to pass the time, Aszulay,' I said. 'As you said. Your story, and then mine.'}

^{He stroked Badou's hair with his other hand. 'When I was thirteen years old, Monsieur Duverger bought me, to work for Manon's mother,' he said.}

^{I drew in my breath. 'You were a slave?'}

^{'No. I'm not a slave. I'm a Tuareg. You know this.'}

^{'But . . . bought you?'}

^{He shrugged. 'Children often go from the country to work in the city. Children of the
bled
are hard workers. They don't complain, and don't speak much.'}

^{'I don't see the difference.'}

^{'There have long been slaves brought in from other parts of Africa. With my father, on our caravans, we sometimes transported salt, sometimes gold, sometimes amber and ostrich feathers. Sometimes black slaves, from Mali and Mauritania. But it's not the same with young Moroccans from the country. The family is given a certain agreed-upon amount, and the children act as servants. They're paid a small sum, and a few times a year, if they know where their family is, they can visit them. Or if a member of the family comes into the city, they're allowed to see each other. When the child servant reaches a certain age, he can leave if he wishes. Some do, returning to the
bled,
or taking on other jobs in the city, but some stay on and work for the family for many years. For some, the family they live with and work for become more their own than the one in the
bled
or the village.'}

^{The truck still rocked slightly, back and forth. Back and forth. But now, sitting in the candlelight with Aszulay, my hand in his, Badou asleep between us, it was comforting.}

^{'I told you my father died when we lived as nomads,' he said. 'At twelve I was too young to go on the caravans through the desert by myself, and I didn't wish to join another nomad group. I knew I would find no respect from the other men, as a boy. So it was my choice to sell our camels and tell my mother I would work in Marrakesh. She didn't want me to. But I knew that in this way she would get a price for me, and after that I could help provide for her and my sisters. And they would be safe, in the village.'}

^{'But are children sold to the French, or to Moroccans?'}

^{'Both, although not so often do the French want the nomad children, because of the language and cultural differences. But it wasn't a bad life, Sidonie. We work hard in the desert and in the
bled,
we work hard in the city. Work is work. But in the city we always had food. In my other life it wasn't always so. When the camels died, or the goats didn't give milk, we sometimes didn't have enough to eat.'}

^{I thought of the young boy at Hôtel de la Palmeraie who had brought the orange juice to my room when Aszulay and Badou were there, and how he had looked with familiarity at Aszulay. I thought of so many of the older boys and young men I had seen working in the souks or pulling carts or carrying heavy loads through the crowded streets of the medina or driving taxis and
calèches
about the French Quarter. I had assumed they were sons of the Moroccan men who owned these businesses. Now I knew that perhaps they weren't; perhaps they were young men like Aszulay, sold into the work.}

^{'So, as I said, Monsieur Duverger bought me for Manon's mother, to be the man of the house. He wanted Rachida's life to be better, and so he gave me to her, and I did the heavy work. Manon was a year younger than I, and she became my friend. She was kind to me.'}

^{'Manon? Manon was kind to you?'}

^{The wind was lessening.}

^{The light from the candle wavered across Aszulay's face. 'She taught me to speak French properly. She showed me how to read and write. I don't know how she learned. She was the
daughter of an Arab woman; there was no school for her. But you know how clever she is,' he said, and stopped.}

^{My face must have involuntarily shown my distaste for her. 'Go on,' I said.}

^{'We became friends immediately,' he said. 'And then grew to be more than friends.'}

^{So it had gone on all this time; since they were little more than children. They had been lovers for how many years . . .}

^{'We became like brother and sister,' Aszulay continued, and I made a sound. He looked at me.}

^{'Brother and sister?'}

^{He nodded. 'We looked out for each other. We were both lonely. I missed my family. She . . . I don't know what she missed. But there was a loneliness about her, always.'}

^{'But. . . you mean . . .' I stopped.}

^'What?'

^{I licked my lips. 'All this time, I thought, well, I just assumed, that you and Manon were . . . you were lovers.'}

^{He stared at me. 'Manon? But why did you think this?'}

^{'What else was I to think?' I said. 'How else would I guess at your relationship? And Manon — I saw the way she behaved around you.'}

^{'Manon cannot help herself. If any man is present she acts the same way, out of pure habit. But . . . do you believe Manon is the sort of woman I could be with?' he said, quietly, his eyes still fixed on me, and I had to look down, at Badou.}

^{I didn't answer, although I wanted to say,
no, I didn't want to think you desired her, and needed her. I hated that I thought you took her as a lover, that you were enmeshed with such a calculating, evil woman. You are above her in every way.
But I just continued to look at Badou, trying to keep my breathing under control.}

^{'I helped her in the past because of our shared life, but now . . . it's because of this little one. I am attached to Manon only because of Badou.' Aszulay let go of my hand.}

^{He took off Badou's
babouches
and closed his hands around the small bare feet.}

^{'And this is how I knew Etienne and Guillaume,' he continued. 'Sometimes I accompanied Manon to the Duverger house. They didn't notice me, as I was of no importance, just a country boy who did the heavy work for Manon's mother. But I watched them, and knew them through what I observed.'}

^{I tried to imagine the young Aszulay as a servant, seeing how the wealthy French boys lived their indulgent lives. I pictured him like an older Badou, with watchful eyes and a serious expression.}

^{Suddenly I was embarrassed for Etienne, for how he must have treated — or simply ignored — Aszulay. Etienne with everything, and Aszulay with nothing. And yet now . . . who had more?}

^{'Later, when we all grew older,' Aszulay continued, 'Manon couldn't stop talking about Etienne and Guillaume. She was angry with them, no longer liking them, because they had what she didn't. She wanted their lives. When they went to Paris, she begged Monsieur Duverger to send her to a good school too, to study art. She begged, she told me, but he said no. He would give enough money to her mother to pay for a home, and for food, and for me to help with the work, but nothing extra for Manon. He told her her life was good enough, that she was already benefiting. He told her his sons had one place in his heart, and she another. That she must accept this. But Manon would never accept it. It's not Manon's nature to accept what she doesn't like.'}

^{Of course.}

^{'It grew even harder for Manon; her mother died and Monsieur Duverger was being consumed by his illness, growing more and more confused. He gave her no more money, and sold the house he had bought for Rachida. By this time Manon was a young woman; she had to find a job. So she worked as a servant in a French house, like her mother. She was always angry; she was . . . I can't remember the French word . . . she couldn't stop thinking about Etienne and Guillaume, talking about them and how unfair it was. It seemed to take over her mind.'}

^'Obsessed?'

^{'Yes. She was obsessed. She talked about wanting Monsieur Duverger's sons to suffer like she suffered. But what could she do? They now lived in Paris most of the time. Then one summer Guillaume came back, but that was when he drowned, in the sea at Essouria. Etienne came to Marrakesh for his brother's funeral, but stayed only few days. The next year he came home again for his mother's funeral; she died suddenly when her heart failed. And the following year Monsieur Duverger died, and that was the last time Etienne came home. Over seven years ago. Manon went to the funeral. She saw Etienne there.'}

^{'And then?'}

^{'The years have made Manon hard, and unkind. Yes, she always was a little unkind, and yes, like now, she always thought of herself first. And she was always beautiful, and she used this beauty with men.'}

^{I nodded, easily able to envision Manon, youthful and striking, knowing the power she wielded over men. But bitter. I knew that the bitterness she exhibited was deep within her.}

^{'She saw Etienne at his father's funeral. And then what?' I repeated.}

^{Aszulay didn't say anything for a few moments. 'Then Etienne went to America,' he said. There was silence but for Badou's soft breathing. '
C'est tout.
That's all,' he said.}

^{But I knew that wasn't all. There was something he wasn't telling me.}

^{'Is that when Manon told him that she was his half-sister? There was no reason not to; her mother was dead, and all of Etienne's family. Did she tell him to hurt him, to make him think less well of his father?' I could envision Manon whispering, angrily and yet triumphantly, to Etienne about their shared blood.}