AN ABBREVIATED DINNER
At nine, I was at Jack's shop at the Hilton. Jack was Armenian. His parents were born in Turkey and were survivors of the Armenian genocide by the Turks. After living through many horrors, they managed to escape to Greece where they remained a few years and eventually settled in Egypt. Here, through hard work managed to make a good life for themselves. Egypt had a sizeable Armenian community and, like the Greeks, they had their churches and schools, clubs and newspapers. They were a hard- working and enterprising lot and when foreigners started to leave Egypt, they were the last to depart not having an easily accessible country to go to. Armenia at the time was a communist republic of the Soviet Union. Mainly, they immigrated to Canada. Jack was about my age, cultured, intelligent and well read. He was a fashion designer at the early stages of his career.
We took my car and drove across the Kasr El Nil Bridge, across the tip of Gezira and over the bridge known as the Pont des Anglais to Giza. The Swiss Restaurant, where we decided to go, was new and occupied the ground floor of a super- luxurious building on the banks of the Nile. It had an excellent cuisine, which was quite but not excessively expensive; it was nicely decorated and was always packed. Due to the air-conditioning, the pervasive smell of sand was hardly noticeable inside. We ordered a whisky and soda to wash down the sand in our throats.
At a corner table sat a couple that must have been of some importance because a waiter was in constant attendance and the maitre d'hôtel made many smiling approaches, inclined-head inquiries and reverent little bows. It seemed imperative that these clients should be fully satisfied. Jack told me about the latest book he read and I listened with interest. We ordered another round of drinks and I looked at the couple again. I could not see the woman's face. I could only see her back. She had long black hair collected in a large bun at the back of her head with long earrings hanging from her dainty ears. The man was tall, in his thirties, impeccably dressed in a sporty suit and wore a mustache and a small beard, which joined the mustache and just covered his chin. He was swarthy and one could call him neither good looking nor unattractive.
Could be an Arab. The woman was obviously European. Even from behind, I could tell. Arab women usually seem cowed. This one was very much at ease. I assumed they were married for they did not talk much and their manner was subdued.
Dinner came and as we were eating, a small commotion took place at the corner table. The couple was leaving. The important man must have left a considerable tip because the waiters lined up like a guard of honor bowing and thanking him. The party started moving to the door and the maitre d'hôtel disregarding elementary good manners, preceded them shooing people out of the way. There was a sudden silence as the other customers also turned to stare at the procession. They looked intently, mainly at the woman for she was exceedingly lovely. I was glad that they would pass close to us on their way out. I am short sighted and I wanted to get a good look at her.
Jack said in a funny voice, 'What the hell is this?' I lifted my glass slowly and took a dawdling sip of my whisky, feigning indifference, to give them a few seconds to approach. Then, when I looked up at her, she was so close I could stretch my hand and touch her. She was exquisite. Wonderfully made up and stunningly beautiful. My heart started pounding like a machine-gun. I could hardly take my breath. The whisky glass slipped from my hand and broke the edge of my plate. Some of the whisky splashed on me and the sauce from my plate started leaking on the tablecloth and onto the floor. I just managed to move back my chair in time to avoid soiling my trousers. No one noticed except Jack. All eyes were on the procession, which was nearing the exit. The waiters rushed to open it. A double row formed. The couple passed in the middle and out of the door.
'What's wrong, Michael? You're pale.'
'Jack, please forgive me. I have to go.'
'What? Hey, what's the matter?'
'I'll call you up. I'll explain.'
I rushed to the door and out of the restaurant. A limousine was at the foot of the steps that led to the street. A liveried chauffeur, cap in hand, was holding open the door of the car as Lizzie and the man entered. The driver closed the door, went round to his driver's seat and they drove off. I went down the stairs two at a time, totally undignified, and started jogging to my car. I got in and off to a tire-screeching start. I was terrified of losing the limousine. I could not see it but luckily, we were on a one-way street and all cars moved in the same direction. I caught up with it after a few minutes of paranoid driving. After that, tailing it was a leisurely affair and did not last very long. We ended up at the Nile Hilton. The limousine unloaded them at the main entrance and went off. I drove to the rear of the hotel to park my car. I returned running and searched for them like a lunatic in the lobby, my heart pounding so hard I could hear the blood in my ears. Suddenly I saw them getting in an elevator. There they go; I said to myself, I lost them. Then the floor indicator on top of the elevator door stopped on the first floor, which had the expensive Grill Restaurant and the casino. I pressed the button and the cabin returned empty. Since they had just had their dinner, I surmised that they had gone to the casino.
I needed a tie. A tie was obligatory. I took the elevator to the bar at the roof where ties were also obligatory and the barman kept a selection for guests who were unaware of the rules. I went inside and sat at the bar. A waiter immediately approached with a tie and politely asked me to put it on. I put it on and ordered a whisky and soda. The barman placed it in front of me and after a few sips I told him I would be back in a moment and left. Straight down to the first floor and to a casual, heart-thumping entrance to the casino.
The important man was sitting on a stool at a roulette table with a stack of chips in front of him. He seemed mesmerized by the little jumping ball. Lizzie was behind him, a little to the side, just watching the game. She was combed, made up and dressed to perfection. In the air-conditioned world she was in, khamsins were of little import. A Lizzie as beautiful but twice as glamorous as the Boston Lizzie I knew. I am out of her league, I thought. Better to leave her and go home. Forget I ever saw her.
I went next to her. Even had I wanted to talk to her, I would not have been able to. I was one step away from a stroke. I had lost my voice and my heart was throbbing. I stood for a while next to her, breathing heavily, pretending to watch the game. She was oblivious of my presence. I pretended I stumbled and bumped into her. 'Sorry,' I said, not looking, my eyes on the roulette table. She moved a stride to the side and in that movement I sensed her annoyance. She turned and looked at me and her gaze stuck on my face. For an eternity, she stood looking at me. Her gaze scorching the side of my face as I stared sightlessly in front of me. I was blushing furiously. I was giving her an opportunity to deny me, to pretend not to know me. Perhaps in the world of limousines she would rather forget past trivialities.
'Michael?' She inquired softly. 'Is it really you?'
Still, I did not look at her. Please Lisa, pretend you do not know me. It would be easier to bear than the pain of learning what I suspect.
'Michael?'
She took my hand. I turned, looked at her and got lost in her green, vulnerable, just barely perceptible cross-eyed look. In her beauty. In her bewitching smile.
'What a surprise,' she said. The lump in my throat denied me my voice. I just looked and looked. 'Come,' she said. She let go of my hand and walked off towards the entrance of the casino. I followed her trying to pull myself together. We went down the staircase to the lobby. She took my arm and guided me to a corner. We kissed but the kiss was on the cheeks and the bodies apart. My hands and hers limp and inactive.
'My God, what a surprise! I am so happy to see you,' she said. 'So am I, Lizzie. Forgive me if I act funny. I am under shock.'
We found an empty lounge and sat on a sofa, turning to face each other, our knees touching, both of us searching for three-year changes.
'You've grown Michael. You're not any more the boy I met in Boston. You're a good-looking young man.'
'And you're more beautiful than ever. You are stunning.' She smiled.
'It's the money, Michael. I have been lucky. I am very rich. I have seen ugly ducklings become swans because of money. Beautifying a person is a whole new science.'
'Oh hardly. You were always a Goddess.'
'Well, I did smooth out some rough edges.'
'So you finally came to Cairo. Even if for other reasons.'
'Yes. I am on my way to Arabia with my husband.'
'When did you get married?'
'Less than a year ago.'
'Congratulations,' I barely managed to utter. She looked at me and smiled.
'Is this conventional phrase a measure of our friendship?'
'Yes, I suppose it is. Of a friendship that could not sustain a once-a-month letter correspondence.'
'You're right to be angry. There is an explanation.'
'I'm not angry.'
'Disappointed, sad, whatever. I once told you I would always be your friend.'
'Words are just words, Lizzie. Easy to voice, easy to forget. Proving them takes a little effort. Just a little, and if that's lacking, you draw the obvious conclusions.'
'Yes, my dear, you're right. Nevertheless, I am so, so happy to see you Michael.
It is such an unbelievable, such a wonderful surprise.'
'Why didn't you contact me?'
'Because I didn't know what your reaction would be to my marriage. Even up to just a moment ago, I still had not made up my mind whether to call you or not. I did not want to revive an aching love. A love wound that had probably healed. But the world is so small. You literally bumped into me.'
'I saw you at the Swiss restaurant as you were leaving. I followed you and was standing next to you for at least ten minutes, watching your husband play the roulette, inhaling your perfume. I pushed you because I could not speak. I lost my voice. Oh Lizzie, you are so lovely. You are like an object of art beyond my means and even my dreams. Remember once, outside a hotel in Boston, I told you that this was your natural setting? Well you have found it. Like water, that finds its own level. It would have been unnatural if you did not find yours. I am happy for you because things are as they should be. It's just that it hurts so much.'
'I am sorry, my dear. The way things turned. But do tell me about yourself.'
'There is so little to tell. You surely have some idea of my life through my letters. My father died recently. My mother moved to Greece and I am thinking of selling our business to go and live with her. She is very lonely and needs me. That's all. Very ordinary and dull. It is your story that must be a fairytale. Tell me about it.'
She looked at me and smiled. A little frown and then, again, a smile. I held her hand. Slowly, she pulled it away. For a moment, I forgot she was married.
'Yes,' she said, 'a fairytale when you come to think of it. One tends to forget, takes things for granted. About a year after you left, I was still working at the coffee bar. I was getting tired of my job but could not find anything else that was much of an improvement. I was seriously thinking of moving with one of the other girls to California to try my luck there. The American Dream state. My personal life was also quite barren. A few affairs of no consequence. And then Abdou entered my life and in his quiet way swept me off my feet.'
'Abdou, your husband?'
'Yes. His name is Abdullah El Majrabi. He was studying for a PhD in International Relations at Harvard. He happened to drop in one day, by chance, at the coffee bar and he tells me that he fell in love with me instantly. He asked me out for a date that first time and although he was polite and well dressed and had an expensive European sports car, I was reluctant to go out with him. He started coming to the coffee bar every day and eventually I accepted a dinner invitation. Of course, he took me to an exclusive restaurant in Boston and soon after, we started going out regularly together. He was always polite and intelligent and was pleasant to be with. He was in love with me and showered me with gifts. I was always a little reluctant to accept them especially when they were expensive but he always managed to persuade me. His pleasure when I did so was great and showed his generosity. I was surprised that he did not attempt to make love to me. And to tell you the truth a little disappointed. When we talked about it, he said that in his religion sex outside marriage was a sin. He is a practicing Moslem. I told him I had known other men in my life and he was terribly upset.'
'You didn't have to tell him that. It wasn't very wise.'
'By that time we were going steady and he started hinting about marriage. I just didn't want him to be under false impressions. I didn't want his compatriots whispering to him that I was a slut. Quite a few of them used to congregate regularly at our coffee bar. I wanted him to know from my own mouth that I had been acquainted and had relationships with other men. That in the US this is quite normal. He told me something terrible just then. He said, 'In my country, a woman who has sex before marriage is killed by her family. If she has an adulterous affair, the Koran prescribes death by stoning. In fact, she is beheaded publicly with her lover by the state.' I told him that such savage practices were unworthy of a country that wants to be called civilized. We nearly broke up because of that.'
'And then?'
'A few days later, he came with a red, brand new Thunderbird and took me out to dinner and after dinner gave me the keys and told me it was a present for me. I said I could not accept such a present. He begged me not to deny him the pleasure of offering me a small gift. A small gift, imagine, to thank me for being so pleasant to him and such a good companion. And for being so straightforward and honest. In the end, he persuaded me to accept the car. It was just a trifle, he said. It was then that I started having an inkling of his great wealth. He was always modest and never boasted about it and it was only little by little that I found out the full extent of it. That summer he left for Arabia and in the fall, when he returned for his final PhD year he proposed to me.
Once again, I was reluctant to accept. He is a good man but a few of his ideas and some traits of his character worried me. But money is a great seductress.
'He bought, redecorated and furnished a penthouse in record time and, would you believe it, with all the titles in my name. I asked him what would happen if I did not accept his proposal. 'Nothing,' he answered coolly, 'I will stay in it till I finish my studies and when I leave you can have it.' He is, of course, a gambler. You will find him at the roulette table every evening he can spare. What I mean is, he pretty well figured the odds. I would not resist for long. And I didn't. We got married late October last year in a civil ceremony at the town hall. My brother was thrilled. He gets along well with Abdou who showers him with presents and bought him a new car. He also promised to finance his college education. My mom is much more reserved. To tell you the truth she is frightened. She goes to church often to pray for me. My dear mother.
She cried her heart out when I left.'
'That really is a fairytale, Lizzie.'
'Wait, there is more. What do you think my wedding present was?'
'An expensive diamond ring.'
'That too. But also a one million dollar cheque. Can you imagine Michael? A million dollars! For my bank account he said, so I would not have to ask him for money.'
'Truly unbelievable! I really am happy for you.'
'We lived well together these five months of married life. I quit my job, of course, and while Abdou was working hard to finish his thesis, I was spending time at the hairdressers and beauticians and health centers and swimming pools. All of a sudden, my main worry was how to amuse myself. But really Michael don't I look fit? Don't forget I'm nearing thirty.'
'You are and always were a Goddess.'
'Abdou was awarded his PhD two weeks ago and we are returning to Arabia where he will take up a post at the foreign ministry for a year or so until he is appointed ambassador to a first world country. With his PhD from Harvard, there will be no problem about that. Or else he can participate in his father's business ventures. His father is one of the country's leading businessmen. A multi-multi millionaire who has another six sons from other wives and Abdou does not want to get involved with them if he can help it. He wants to avoid the family intrigues usually sparked by the wives, his stepmothers.'
'So you're on your way to Arabia.'
'Yes, Michael. We're probably leaving tomorrow afternoon if the khamsin abates.'
'When did you come to Cairo?'
'We flew in last night in the family airplane. It is waiting for us at the airport. British pilots and all.'
'And you didn't call me Lizzie!'
She looked at me with the little frown again. With her hand, she caressed my cheek. A quick, furtive movement.
'I told you I did not want to upset you with the news of my marriage. But there is another reason. Abdou is extremely possessive and obsessively jealous. He cannot bear the thought that I had lovers and that, maybe, I have a male friend like you. A person I genuinely like and trust. In fact, he made me stop writing to you. He found some of your old letters in a drawer and after a quarrel made me promise not to correspond again with a man. Trying to meet you would have entailed a lot of demeaning secret phone calls and rendezvous. As it is, fate worked things out on her own.'
'So I shall not meet Abdullah?'
'No Michael. He would suspect we had planned this meeting all along. It would create problems for me.'
'Okay. I am not all that anxious to meet him, anyway. He would give me a complex. He's the man who has everything. Education, money and the most beautiful woman in the world. The woman I love.'
'You haven't changed Michael. You've grown and you're a man but you're as sweet and noble as always. Even though I'm another man's wife, I feel this has not diminished your love and generous feelings and loyalty for me. But I love you too. I want you to believe this. I love you more than my behavior discloses.'
We were silent for a while. I could not take my eyes off her. Is there anything in this world more fascinating, more thrilling than a beautiful human being? Those green eyes that hypnotized my soul. The lips that could form smiles of bewildering sweetness; that taught me how to kiss. The arms, breasts, hands and legs that enveloped my body and offered me a glimpse of paradise, that now belonged to another. I could not take my eyes off her. Making her uneasy. Glancing all around her and then at me with a smile. An invisible shadow between us. We slid into small talk. Afraid that the many serious things I wanted to tell her would be construed as sour grapes.
Suddenly she jumped up, agitated, and told me, 'I have to go. I'll call you.' Before I could react, she went down the corridor towards the staircase. I got up as well and saw Abdullah descending and stepping into the lobby. Lizzie went towards him and when he saw her, they both smiled. He put his hand around her waist and they walked in this way, leisurely, to the elevators. I stood and watched and stood for some time even after they were gone. Of all the things Lizzie told me that evening none was truer than that money is the great seductress. I went upstairs to the rooftop bar, paid for my whisky and returned the tie. I left the hotel and drove home. It was past one and I was tired but tense. I searched around and found some sedatives. I took one and went to bed. I would have never slept otherwise.
I woke up six-thirty, on time for work. I opened the window. The day was perfect. The khamsin, a memory. Only its fingerprints, the dust inside the house and out, were apparent. Mohammed prepared breakfast and I sat at the table to have some but kept getting up and pacing about. I sent him down to tell my driver I would not be going to work. The only phone number Lizzie had was that of our flat. If she still had it. If it had escaped Abdullah's obsessive clutches. I finished breakfast, showered, dressed and continued pacing the house like a lion in his cage. Feeling more like a kitten. The phone rang.
'Michael?'
'Lizzie? Oh my God, so wonderful to hear your voice.'
'Abdou just left. He has to see a few people today. He will be back by lunchtime. Finally, we shall be leaving in the afternoon. It is a glorious day and I told Abdou I would be spending it at the pool. I hate petty lies but sometimes I have to resort to them. So can we meet?'
'Of course, my love.'
'Where? Somewhere close by. I want to be back by twelve to go to the swimming pool for a few laps. Abdou will meet me there.'
'Then let us go to the museum. There, we will be lost in the crowds. I'll meet you in half an hour. Turn left when you leave the hotel's rear entrance. It's less than a hundred meters away. I'll be outside, in the courtyard just inside the main street gate.'
In less than half an hour, I was standing at the gate of the archaeological museum. I wanted to be there to see her walk, approach from the distance, to sate my starving soul with her image. I saw her coming from the hotel. In the sunshine. With my shortsighted eyes, I first recognized her walk, her movements. A woman in a light pink windbreaker, white slacks and sneakers. On her head, a red cap and a pair of sunglasses. A millionairess dressed like a tourist. A tourist with the sprightly gait of a healthy body. The sunglasses hiding a pair of green eyes, unable to hide the beauty of the face with the expectant smile. As she came closer and saw me, the smile widened and a few steps later delivered a smiling kiss on my cheek. I kissed her back. Decorously. Even though the sunshine diluted the shadow between us. Last evening's reserve was replaced somewhat by the lighthearted intimacy of today's meeting and the memory of shared good moments. She held my arm as we entered the museum and I could have sworn the pharaohs were smiling. The Rameses and Akhenatons, the Thutmoses and solid gold Tutankhamons. Even the mummies were smiling, thin lipped, sunken cheeked, toothy smiles.
We drifted along with the crowd, from room to room and gallery to gallery. Arm in arm. Past statues and stelae, past cross-legged impassive scribes and sacred cats, past hieroglyphic inscriptions and papyri, past locked glass cases of jewelry and shelves of pottery, past sarcophagi and canopic jars. Glancing distractedly here and there, looking at each other more than the exhibits. Like typical tourists fulfilling a schedule, where the wealth of material bogged their minds and hurt their feet. We found a marble bench and I pulled Lizzie to it. We sat: an island in a swirling human sea.
'Did you tire, Michael?'
'Not really. I want to look at you and talk to you.'
'What about?'
'I want to look at you because I don't know when I'll see you next.'
'Oh, surely we will see each other often, now. Cairo is on the way to and from Arabia.'
'And I want to tell you a few things about your new home. Things Abdullah should have told you but I suspect he hasn't.'
'What things?'
'Things you ought to know. Arabia is a very different world from the one you know. A different culture. The woman in Arabia is a second-class being. The Koran says she is a field for the man to plough. A vessel for man's pleasure and the bearing of his children. Your life there will be severely restricted. You will not be allowed to drive a car or move around freely. There are no hairdressers, beauticians, gymnasiums or swimming pools where you can go to while your time away. You will be stuck at home and your only diversion will be the comings and goings of your God and master Abdullah. You will have a problem with the language and problems with his family, however much he tries to shield you from them. If you do not have a child immediately, there will be tremendous pressure on him to remarry. Which he can do another three times legally without divorcing. Assembling a cozy little harem. I may sound a terrible racist but I want to warn you of what you might have to face.'
She looked at me earnestly. With her small frown and her barely cross-eyed, beautiful green eyes. Trying to divine my intentions. Trying to think in the shuffle and buzz of the human ebb and flow. With the proof all around her that life is short and that we shall soon be mummies without the afterlife of the pharaohs on the sun boat of Ra. With the suspicion that the millions may not be worth all that much.
'Abdou told me we would be traveling a lot.'
'Well, that's something.'
'That he will build a house with huge gardens, a swimming pool, and stables.'
'That's good.'
'That we shall live alone, totally apart from the family.'
'Good.'
'That my life will be pleasant.'
'Perhaps.'
My monosyllabic answers must have been of doubtful conviction. She was getting annoyed.
'Listen Michael, I am married to a sweet, generous man who is very good to me. So what do you suggest?'
'Two things. Firstly, do not have a child. At least not straight away. Wait until you are sure of your life with Abdullah. Because once you have a child, you are hooked. He has a weapon in his hands that can make you dance to his tune.'
'I really find the way you are talking of Abdou quite offensive.'
'I'm sorry. That is not my intention. However much I want you, I know I am nothing compared to Abdullah and, in any case, I want you to be happy.'
'I did not intend to have a child, anyway.'
'As I told you before, you must be prepared for pressure from his family and from Abdullah himself. They will want a baby desperately. To them it is a show of manliness and virility. If that doesn't happen, they will pressure him to take a second wife. If he does marry again, and she has a child you shall almost certainly lose your primacy.'
'You really are weaving the most fantastic scenarios and annoying me considerably in the process. Let us go Michael. I want to go to the hotel.'
'Secondly, if you ever want to leave him you will find things neither easy nor simple if you are in Arabia. In fact, you will be his prisoner. The whole system will be against you. No one will be able to help the wife of an Arabian national. Not your consul, not your ambassador, not even the CIA.'
'Oh, how you exaggerate.'
'Try to keep your intentions well hidden and leave him when you are in Europe or the States. Surprise him. If the worst comes to the worst and you are stuck in Arabia and there is no way out, contact me.'
'Oh ho ho. And what will you do?'
'I don't know. Just contact me. In any way you can.'
She looked at me steadily in the eyes for some time. That vulnerable look. Weighing my words again. In the hubbub. My vulnerable millionairess. My lovely Lizzie I could no longer afford.
'Michael, you do really love me!'
'Not only that my love. I am your guardian angel. Never forget it.'
She moved closer and hugged me. We stood up and continued our stroll arm in arm amid the remnants of a civilization stretching fifty centuries in the past. Suddenly we found ourselves in the lobby of the main entrance and not breaking our pace moved outside in the sunshine. She put on her sunglasses again as we sat for a while on a bench in the garden of the museum. Spring was coming on strongly and the birds were chirping and jumping from branch to branch on the trees. Gay, thoughtless little things. Unlikely to be heartbroken, like I already was, even before saying goodbye. Sweet sorrow was coming on strongly, too.
She got up.
'I have to go, Michael. We shall meet again my friend. My guardian angel. Of that I am sure.'
'Good bye my love. I love you.'
A kiss on the cheek from a married woman and her quick retreat to luxury.
I returned home and sat at the table for lunch but kept forgetting to put food in my mouth. Mohamed asked me what the matter was. I told him, 'Hob.' (Love, in Arabic.)
He told me, 'Ya Messiou, there is no such thing. It is all in the mind.'
No doubt. Lizzie was in my mind and my heart and my soul. Three years now.
Was there for good.