The Saffron Gate (67 page)

^{He nodded, studying the boot. 'Brahim, the boy down the street, also has a short leg. But he can still run fast, and kick the ball.' He put his head to one side. 'You look like Maman,' he said.}

^{'Really,' I said, trying not to let him see that his statement unnerved me. Manon was earthy, and beautiful.}

^{'
Oui
,' he said, seriously. 'Yes. You look like Maman. Oncle Aszulay!' he called. 'Sidonie looks like Maman now.'}

^{Aszulay had been extinguishing the fire with earth. He glanced at me, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking. 'Come. We're ready to go,' he called back.}

^{As Badou clambered into the cab of the truck, and Aszulay slid in behind the wheel, I stopped, my hand on the passenger door. 'Aszulay,' I said. 'Could I drive the truck back to Marrakesh?'}

^{'But . . . you told me about the accident. With your father. You said . . .’}

^{'I know. But I feel differently today,' I said. 'Today I think it's time for me to drive again.'}

^{'You have forgiven yourself,' he said, and I blinked. Was he right? Did I want to drive — not just myself, like those few reckless moments on the
piste
when I roared off in Mustapha's car, but with Aszulay and Badou — because I no longer felt the unbearable weight of what had happened the last time I drove with someone I loved? I thought of my father, and for the first time there was no deep pain. Perhaps Aszulay was right. Perhaps I had found peace.}

^{'A truck is not like driving a car,' Aszulay said, when I didn't respond. 'And as I said last night, the
pistes
will be covered in places. It won't be easy.'}

^{'Probably not. But I can try. I'm sure you'll help me if I have trouble.' I lifted my chin and smiled at him.}

^{He left the driver's side and came to stand beside me. 'Well. It appears I am to be driven through the
bled
by an American woman. Well,' he repeated, as if a little unsure, or perhaps a little pleased. Then he grinned at me, and ducked his head and looked into the cab. 'I think this will be a good experience. What do you think, eh,
Badou? Will you like Sidonie driving us? We can sit back, and let her do the work.'}

^{'Oui,'
Badou said, seriously. 'Sidonie can do the work.'}

^{I got behind the wheel and placed my feet on the pedals and my hands on the steering wheel. I turned the key, and when the engine roared to life, I looked at Aszulay and smiled. He smiled back.}

^{We were back in Marrakesh just after noon, leaving the truck in the garage on the outskirts of the city. It had definitely been a difficult drive, but I had managed, only once slipping off the
piste,
but immediately redirecting the car and getting back on the narrow track. I let Badou honk the horn in the stillness of the empty
bled,
and he laughed over and over.}

^{We walked in to the medina, but instead of taking me directly back to Sharia Soura, Aszulay took us down another alley, and then another, and I realised, when we stopped and he took a large metal key from inside the folds of his blue robe, that we were at his home.}

^{As he unlocked the gate and pushed it open, the elderly woman who had served me tea the last time rose from the tiled courtyard, a rag in her hand. Her kaftan was looped up over her belt so she could work. Aszulay spoke to her in Arabic, and she nodded and went, into the house, pulling down her kaftan, and Aszulay followed her.}

^{Holding Badou's hand, I looked around, realising that when I had come here the first time, questioning Aszulay about Etienne, I hadn't had the presence of mind to clearly see Aszulay’s
dar.
But this time was different. I wanted to see everything. The courtyard was lovely, its floor a design of small diamond-shaped tiles in shades of blue and gold. The outside wall of the house was tiled too; here were different designs in gold and green and red. Small niches — also tiled — had candles set into them. The doorway into the house was arched, and a thin white curtain fluttered over it. Painted pots that reminded me of those in Monsieur Majorelle’s garden sat at various angles; some huge ones held small trees, and clusters of smaller ones were planted with flowers and vines.}

^{On one of the walls was a long mirror, and from another hung a rug with a distinct weave and abstract design. Its colours ranged from subtle earth tones to brilliant yellows and golds.}

^{Having just come from the village of earth, clinging to the side of a hill, I saw the difference between Aszulay's life here, in Marrakesh, and what his life would have been in the Ourika valley.}

^{Badou pulled his hand from mine and ran about the courtyard. I took off my
haik
and veil as Aszulay came out with a large tin tub, the kind the servant at Sharia Soura used to wash clothes in the courtyard. He filled the tub with water from a cistern in one corner as he spoke to Badou in Arabic. Suddenly he stopped. 'I'm sorry. Sometimes after I have been in the
bled
I forget to speak
en français.'}

^{'That's all right: I can understand more Arabic now anyway. I understood you, telling Badou he smelled like a little puppy and must have a bath. Mena is teaching me,' I said.}

^{Aszulay bent over the tub and washed his face and neck and hands with a hard bar of soap. He splashed water over his hair, running his fingers through it. He pushed up the sleeves of his robe and washed his arms to the elbow. Then he emptied the tub into a shallow depression near the cistern and filled the tub again.}

^{'Come, Badou,' he said, pulling off Badou's djellaba and cotton pants and
babouches
and lifting him into the tub. He splashed water over the little boy, and Badou smiled.}

^{'The water is warm from the sun,' Aszulay said, using a cloth and the soap to wash away the grime. 'Close your eyes, Badou,' he said, and lathered and then rinsed Badou's hair.}

^{I looked around the sun-dappled courtyard, at the beautiful tiles, and suddenly I wanted to feel them. I undid the laces of my shoes and slipped them off. Then my stockings. The tiles were, as I had imagined, warm and smooth. They were spotless from the servant's recent cleaning. I walked slowly around the courtyard, knowing I was hobbling deeply without my boot, but not caring. I walked, revelling in the joy of my bare feet on the beautiful tiles. I hadn't walked outside without my shoes since before the polio, when I had often run about the yard barefoot in summer.}

^{Aszulay and Badou paid no attention, caught up in Badou's bath. And then I saw my reflection in the long mirror. I could see my whole body. The sun and wind, in the last three days, had darkened my skin further. My hair, neatly braided by Aszulay's sister before we'd left their camp, had, after the wind and our overnight stay in the truck, come undone and hung over my shoulders. My eyes, still ringed with the now smeared kohl, stood out, larger than I'd ever seen. The decorated shawl Aszulay's mother had given me was draped over my kaftan. I stared at myself, from my hair to my bare feet, understanding what Badou had said. I looked, from this distance, surprisingly like Manon. A similar oval face, the same wide dark eyes and curling hair. I had never seen it before.}

^{'The tiles and designs are glorious,' I said, looking from my reflection to Aszulay. The tiles in Manon's courtyard, and in Mena's, were much more pedestrian: pretty, but a limited design, and more subdued colours.}

^{'There are many traditional patterns of
zellij —
the tiles,' Aszulay said, looking from Badou to me. His eyes took in my feet, staring at them for just an instant, but in that brief second I felt as though I had exposed my naked breasts. My breath caught in my throat; there was a strange eroticism — for me — in Aszulay seeing my feet.}

^{I had never let Etienne see them. We had only been intimate from the fall into the winter, and I always wore stockings. When we were in bed, I kept my bare feet under the covers, making sure to put on my stockings before getting out of bed.}

^{I thought of the way Aszulay had held Badou's feet the night before.}

^{'What's this one?' I asked, quickly turning, pointing to one of the black and white designs.}

^{'Hen's teeth,' he said, and at that Badou laughed.}

^{'Hens don't have teeth, Oncle Aszulay.'}

^{'And this series of round ones?' I asked.}

^{He again looked away from Badou. 'That is little tambourine. The rows above are divided tears.'}

^{'What does divided mean?' Badou asked.}

^{Aszulay didn't answer:}

^{'When one thing is made into two,' I said. I thought about Aszulay, and how I had seen both sides of him: the desert man and the city man.}

^{Badou shivered, and Aszulay lifted him from the tub, wrapping him in a long piece of flannel, patting him to dry his skin and combing through his wet hair with his fingers. He slapped the dust from the little boy's djellaba and pants and wiped off his
babouches
with a damp edge of the flannel. As I watched him fit the shoes back on to Badou's feet, I envisioned him tending to his own children.}

^{'Now you look fine, and Maman will not be angry,' he said, and Badou nodded without smiling.}

^{'Can I stay here longer, at your house, Oncle Aszulay?' he asked. 'I don't want to go. Sidonie can stay too.'}

^{Aszulay shook his head. 'You must go to Maman, Badou. And we also must take Sidonie home,' he said.
Home.
I knew he only meant the word in the literal sense, and yet it made me think. Was my low room under the African stars now my home?}

^{He dumped out the water, but filled the tub for a third time. 'Come,' he said to me, and I stared at him. 'Your feet,' he said. 'The water will feel good on your feet.'}

^{I went to the tub. Bunching my kaftan at my knees with one hand, and putting the other on Aszulay's arm, I stepped over the rim of the tub. The water was warm, as he had said. I wiggled my toes, smiling at him. He pulled a low stool to the edge of the tub. Then he picked up the bar of soap. I knew what he was going to do.}

^{I put my hand on his shoulder, to steady myself, while he gently lifted my right foot and washed it, up to my ankle. Then he put it down, and as he began to lift my left foot, I had to hold tighter to his shoulder, to keep myself steady while balancing on the shortened right leg. His shoulder, under my hand, was strong and hard. I let my fingers hold on to him for the extra few seconds when he had finished washing my left foot and I stood with both feet on the bottom of the tub.}

^{Then he took my hand as I stepped out, and gestured for me to sit on the stool. He crouched in front of me and took my feet, one at a time, and dried them.}