DINNER WITH THE ENEMY
Perhaps, was right. I could not get her off my mind. At work, everyone had a little problem to relate but I could not concentrate. I told them I was sick and left. I returned home by eleven and tried to read the periodicals that arrived by subscription and again I could not focus on what I read. I had an early lunch, unhooked the phone, took a Dormitol and went to sleep. In the evening, I woke up late and figured that Lizzie would now be with her mother. A mom glowing with happiness, listening to her lovely daughter's tales of adventure and love, escape and exotic places. Of the pyramids and the Sphinx, of the mosques and the souks, of the tombs and the Nile. Of a strange, flat, beautiful country, which was the gift of a river and its God-obsessed, poor, noisy, happy-go-lucky people with a recorded history of five thousand years. Perhaps of Michael her lover, her devoted guardian angel and her husband who missed her by a turn of the head at the airport.
I lay on my bed thinking of her eyes and her smile, of her beautiful body that obsessed my instincts and impulses. Of her voice and her laugh and her hands that aroused my sensuality. The motor of my brain was at full torque. I got up for a Dormitol and then felt like a drink. I fetched a glass, a bottle of soda water and the bottle of whisky and went to the sitting room. I thought of calling Pavlos to thank him. To perhaps join him tomorrow for a little distraction and a few laughs if I could manage them. I plugged in the phone, which was out of the socket and it rang directly. Who could that be?
'Allo?'
'Lahza wahda.' (Just a moment).
Another voice: 'Ah, Mr Makris. Finally, I manage to talk to you.'
'Who is this?'
'Abdullah El Majrabi.'
My heart missed a beat. God! 'Yes?'
'I tried calling you from Arabia these past few days but you seemed to have been out of the country.'
'Yes, I was.'
'And all day yesterday no one answered your phone.'
'I was out all day and my servant had the day off.'
'I see. Of course, you know who I am.'
I thought very fast that it would be pointless to pretend ignorance and a little demeaning with an obviously intelligent person. In any case, Lizzie was out of his reach.
'Yes, I do.'
'Good. Mr. Makris, I would like to meet you.'
'On account of what?'
'I have a very vital question to discuss with you and I believe you well know its nature.'
'Yes, but I don't see the point.'
'Please do me the favor,' he said in a pleasant, polite way. I cannot resist good manners. I could not refuse.
'Very well.'
'Thank you. I would be very happy if you would be my guest for dinner tomorrow at nine at the Hilton. I am leaving the day after and this is the only available time. I hope it is convenient for you.'
'Yes. Quite convenient. How do we meet?'
'Please come to my suite first for a drink.'
'Tomorrow at nine then.'
'Thank you.'
When I finished this short conversation, I found myself perspiring. It would not be an easy meeting. I wondered what traps he would set up. After all, I stole his wife from him. Whatever the reasons, I literally stole his wife. Had I been caught in his country I would have been decapitated. I drank a stiff dose of whisky and then another and was pleasantly tipsy and a little hungry. I put off the call to Pavlos and went to the kitchen for some food. I found some peanuts and bread and munched away thinking of tomorrow's appointment. Should I stall or just matter-of-factly admit everything? I could not decide. It would depend on the atmosphere. If he were decent and polite, he would easily break down my defenses. I am a sucker for good manners. If he tried to bully me, he would find himself conversing with a stubborn ass. Oh, we shall see.
He seemed decent and sure of himself. I was taken aback. I expected someone less suave. He made me feel vulnerable. He was a rival of sorts. Well, hardly. He was way above me in so many ways. However, for Lizzie's heart, he had lost the game. I hoped. Between us, that was the only issue. Better go back to sleep. I would need a lucid mind. I would need my wits. I swallowed a Dormitol with a gulp of whisky. I knew that was not safe but I was tempting fate. I was lonely and sad. Strangely, Abdullah's good manners shook me. They complicated the equation. They made my romance with Lizzie seem much less solid. Tomorrow things would clear up. I went to bed and slept. Undoubtedly the best medicine.
Hanafi picked me up in the morning and at work I delved slightly more into the problems of the business and accustomed myself anew to its routine. I would not have imagined that these ten days would have derailed my life so much. It was a total disruption of my humdrum existence. Getting back into it, post Lizzie, was no easy task. I managed to last until lunchtime and on arriving home, I found Lizzie's cable. I opened it with a thumping heart. ARRIVED SAFE AND SOUND AND HEARTBROKEN. MISS AND LOVE YOU. LISA I whooped with joy and kissed it like a teenager. I was elated. Yes, I would have it in my pocket when I meet Abdullah this evening. For moral support.
After lunch, I went to my room for a siesta although I could rarely relax and sleep when I was working. I managed to read a little and I considered this a sign of recovery. A small beginning. I dropped off for a short nap and when I woke up, I thought of Lizzie. I would write to her after the meeting with Abdullah. I also had to write to Corina. Dear Corina. I loved her and respected her enormously. I would like to keep in touch with her. I would like to see her when I go to Boston. Though, would she? She had not answered my last letter. I understood. Sometimes, not answering is best.
I showered in good time and thought about my clothes. I did not want to dress formally but not too casually either. I wore a sports jacket with a white shirt and a tie and gray trousers. I was very apprehensive about this meeting. I had performed a very hostile act against this man. Now I was to meet him face to face. Perhaps he would have me killed. Probably strangled to avoid the noise, roll me up in a carpet and in the morning when the cleaning of the hotel would be in full swing his men would calmly carry the carpet out of the room and deposit it in some storeroom in the basement to be discovered days later when I would start to stink. I certainly would be capable of doing it to anyone who stole my Lizzie. All of a sudden, I realized the enormity of my offense, my injustice to this man. How would I face him? My excuse, of course, was his injustice to Lizzie. My inducement was my love, my loyalty and my hope.
I left the house at eight thirty and walked to the Hilton feeling extremely uneasy. The weather was cool and I walked fast. Quarter of an hour later I was inside the hotel and sat on an armchair in the lobby to let another quarter of an hour go by. I saw my friend Jack for a moment walk by at the other end of the hall but I did not call him. I was too tense for a friendly chat. I was too tense even to face-watch. At nine on the dot, I went to the desk and asked for the suite of Mr. Majrabi. The receptionist asked my name and told me I was expected. A bellhop took me up to his suite in one of the higher up floors. A man was sitting on a chair outside the lifts and another at the end of the corridor outside the suite. I knocked at the door and a burly man in a dark suit opened the door. I shook hands and introduced myself. I knew it was not Abdullah. He led me to the reception room, which had a bar and an impeccably attired barman. The burly man spoke to me in Arabian accented Arabic and told me, 'Etfadal ya Sheikh,' a very gracious and formal welcome. Hajj Abdullah would be with me directly. He was probably a bodyguard, the man who would strangle me.
The barman approached and asked me what I would drink. Again, his neatness impressed me. Black trousers, white sharkskin jacket and bow tie. He was Egyptian. That reassured me. Not that he could not be bought. 'Nothing just now,' I told him. 'I shall wait for Hag Abdullah.' He bowed and left to go and stand calmly behind the bar. I looked around. I was increasingly uneasy. I was looking at what Lizzie had given up in a moment of impatience and desperation. Would she never regret it? Did she not think of it when we were eating fish and shrimps in Ataba and drinking beer bought at the neighboring grocer? When she visited and peed all over herself in the hole-in-the- ground toilet? The ground I was standing on started to creak in my mind. I was no more on solid ground.
The door of what was an office opened and Hag Abdullah came into the room followed by another man. I got up and offered my hand. He smiled at me and said,
'Mr Makris, I am pleased to meet you. Thank you for coming.'
I muttered that I also was pleased and he introduced me to the other man in Arabic. He was obviously a compatriot. I remembered Abdullah well from that memorable encounter with Lizzie months ago in Cairo. Now I was seeing my rival at close quarters. He was taller than I was by perhaps five centimeters and thin of build. He wore a well-cut, dark suit with a waistcoat that had a gold chain across it. I noticed a diamond studded golden Rolex on his wrist. On one hand, he wore a wedding ring and on the other, a gold ring with what was probably a Koranic inscription. His fingers were thin and delicate. Fingers of a man who did not use his hands. His hair was black, just starting to thin out, neatly combed, and wore the close-cropped beard that covered his upper lip and chin. It was the style of the rich Arabs. The ordinary people I saw in his country rarely sported this type of beard. What was extraordinary in Abdullah was that although he was not an ugly man, he had nothing attractive in his features and this contrasted strangely with a pleasant voice and a likeable smile. Beauty is such an ethereal, intangible quality; one often wondered why such a face while not in the least repellent was not in the least congenial. What was it that was missing? He turned to the barman and asked him why he had not served me a drink.
'He asked me, Hag Abdullah,' I interjected, 'but I preferred to wait for you.'
'That was very kind of you. But, you know, I do not drink because I pray. Still I shall join you with some soda water and Hajj Mahmoud will perhaps have his favorite orange juice. What will you drink Mr Makris?'
'A Scotch will be fine.'
'No, no. We have some excellent French champagne. I am sure you would prefer it.' He turned to the barman with a curt, 'Champagna.'
He sat in an armchair and looked at me with a smile. Not ironic, a friendly smile. Was he always as polite? As a diplomat, he would be a credit to his country with his perfect English and exquisite manners. Hajj Mahmoud was silent. He was obviously a subordinate. Perhaps a confidant or a secretary. He never uttered a word the whole time I was there.
'Mr Makris, once again, I want to thank you for coming.'
'Please call me Michael.'
'Then you can call me Abdullah.'
'Hag Abdullah is pretty close to Abdullah and for the moment I prefer it.'
'Please yourself. It's just that it implies respect and diminishes the intimacy.'
'Well we are hardly on the same plane.'
'We are all one in the eyes of God.'
'My eyes are my own and a little short sighted, at that.' He smiled.
'As I was saying, it was good of you to come when you could have refused.'
'You gave me no choice.'
'How so?'
'By being friendly and polite despite the very hard feelings you may harbor against me.'
'You know, Michael, I wanted to close a chapter in my life not to open a new one and I needed to talk about it with someone who was both involved and not. Who could point out mistakes and help me draw conclusions. I could not think of anyone better than you.'
'It is true you and your wife undertook a very difficult path. Sometimes the gulf of cultures is unbridgeable. I think it has proved so in your case.'
'Oh, absolutely. When we returned to Arabia, I immediately realized this marriage would not last and so I am here to bury Caesar not to praise him. I believe you would be glad to assist me.'
'Again, you give me no choice.'
'No, truthfully.'
'My main interest is that your wife should not be oppressed. All other considerations are secondary even if they may affect my own personal happiness.'
'Admirably altruistic sentiments. I would say, born of a very deep love.'
'That is correct.'
'How is the champagne?'
'Excellent, thank you.'
'Would you prefer we had dinner here or downstairs at the restaurant?'
'Oh, wherever you please. But perhaps the restaurant would be livelier?'
He turned to Hajj Mahmoud and asked him to call the Grill Restaurant and reserve a table. Hajj Mahmoud got up, entered the office and returned a few minutes later and sat down with us without uttering a word.
'How is your business getting on?'
'Quite well, thank you. There is plenty of activity in our line of work. The government encourages local industry. Our markets are protected, which means we are protected and so we have all the work we can manage.'
'This is good for you but it is not the most efficient route to development. At least, it is not what the Western colleges and economic theories teach us. Nevertheless, it is the socialist way and socialism tries to be human rather than efficient. Not that it always succeeds. Often it fails in both domains.'
'I would say without exception.'
'I agree. I did not want to be harsh.'
'It also perpetuates a paternalistic, dominating government.' He smiled again.
'I think you took a turn at not being harsh as well. It perpetuates the so-called dictatorship of the people, which, in reality is the dictatorship of a clique, of a strongman.'
'But then, democracy was never an ideal in the Arab nations and was rarely practiced.'
'That also is true. It is a foreign concept to us. Ever since our Prophet, we have been ruled by rulers with absolute powers. Most claimed to be descendants of the Prophet and so had some measure of Divine Right. Mostly they were autocrats who demanded absolute and unquestioning loyalty from their subordinates. And the practice was so ingrained and so intertwined with religion, it was rarely questioned.'
'Do you think democracy is liable eventually to be adopted in the Arab countries?'
'I think it is the only viable form of government, which can adapt with the least strain to the rapidly changing conditions of our times. The advances in the education of our people, enhancement of global communications and scientific progress.'
'So you think its adoption is inevitable?'
'Oh, assuredly but perhaps not in our generation.'
'And you Hag Abdullah, are you quite content with your life in Arabia?' He smiled.
'Undoubtedly a question that interests you. Well, Arabia is my country. I was born and raised there. Of course, the many years I spent abroad educating myself inevitably changed me. I am tempted even to say they corrupted me in the sense that I lost the purity and hardness and even, I might add, fanaticism of my ancestors. Whether this is good or bad I am at a loss to say. One is always so much more comfortable when one has a set of values he is absolutely certain of their validity. Narrow mindedness is to be untroubled. When one starts questioning values, especially the ones one grew up with, one feels a little lost. I am very lucky to have found a stabilizing force in my religion. And I say force, not influence, because Islam is a strong and domineering religion. Shall I tell you a paradox, a prediction, of something I believe will take place?'
'Please do.'
'As the world advances and science develops and solves the mysteries of our world, Christianity will wane and atrophy whereas Islam will bloom.'
'Why would that be?'
'I am not absolutely sure. It is a feeling. The love Christianity teaches would in a sense have been achieved. Well, as much as that is possible given our human nature. But the savagery of old, the wars, the conquests, the domination of one nation by another through brute force will have ended. Nations shall solve their differences peacefully through international institutions. Turning the other cheek too will have been solved by the civilized use of the rule of law and the courts of justice. God will become increasingly elusive owing to the stupendous scientific discoveries and all that is left will be the legend of the Christ, admirable in itself, and a bureaucracy of clerics with ancient, worn out, empty, not to say ridiculous rituals and none of their ancient usefulness in holding society and the country together through religion.'
'So in what way shall Islam be different?'
'I'll tell you. To start with, you are dealing with less developed societies.
Societies still steeped in illiteracy, ignorance and fanaticism. This tremendous and rapid advance in knowledge will cause them a much greater emotional shock and a compensatory need for comfort and what more natural for them than to turn to their religion that is strong, demands a long prayer five times a day, a month of exhausting fasting and regulates minutely nearly all aspects of one's daily life. Islam has grasped the fact that to breed loyalty and religious fervor it has not only to comfort but also to demand continuous attention and even a measure of discomfort and suffering. In addition, it demands Friday prayer at the mosque where the sheikh will indoctrinate the layman thoroughly. Islam stresses equality before God thus providing succor to the increasing impersonality of modern society. By the promise of a happier afterlife, it has become an antidote to poverty, to the increasing inequalities of income within the societies themselves and between East and West and the fear and uncertainties of the future. A fanatical adherence to Islam has become a way to challenge the West for the humiliations real and imagined and our diminished status.'
'Hag Abdullah, you talk more like a critic of Islam than an apologist.'
'And yet, I am a practicing Moslem. Nevertheless, a thinking Moslem. I do not swallow the delirious ravings and ranting of the sheikhs. I find exquisite beauty and wisdom in the writings of the Koran and soothing harmony in its teachings. I tell you, it constitutes the stability of my life. Ah, I think you have finished your drink, Michael.
Do you think we can proceed to the restaurant?'
'Of course.'
He got up and I followed him to the door. I saw that Hajj Mahmoud was not coming with us and I returned and said good-bye. We left the suite and the burly man who opened the door followed us closely behind. We entered the elevator and were silent for a while. I was wondering where this story would end. Was he finished with Lizzie? Was I forgiven? I was certainly treading on shifting sands. We got off at the first floor. At the restaurant the bodyguard stayed at the door and when we entered, there was a momentary panic with the Maitre d' Hôtel rushing to receive us and the waiters hastening to smile and bow with low voiced greetings. No doubt, the result of extravagant tips. We were led to our table and sat down. The Maitre himself was in constant attendance. Abdullah smiled at me. He was amused at the commotion he had created.
The menu was placed before us and we made our choices. Abdullah was a gracious host and whereas he urged me to choose elaborate dishes, his order was frugal. A small slice of grilled meat and vegetables. He asked me if I would like to have some wine with the food. I answered, I would and he told the Maitre to bring the best French wine available. I was feeling very uncomfortable with the coddling I was receiving.
Were we ever going to get to the point?
'Are you a vindictive person, Michael?'
I was startled by the question. I did not even know the answer for sure.
'I do not think so. I tend to forgive and forget. But then I have never been injured by somebody to the point where I would need to seek revenge.'
'What point would that be, in your estimation?'
I thought; bring it now in the open. Let us get it over with. 'Well, like someone stealing my wife.'
He smiled.
'You must think I detest you. Things are never as simple as they seem. The considerations are always complicated and often contradictory. I tell you, ignorance is simpler. All this education has taught me to think and analyze and the more I think and analyze things, the less certain I am about them. I would have hated you really and truly had I thought you stole my wife deliberately to harm me. But you, my dear Michael, were just an instrument. You had no particular wish to injure me. Would you hate a dog whose master ordered it to bite you?'
I smiled to show him that if he were trying to insult me I had received the message. He looked at me as if he had suddenly realized his blunder.
'Forgive me,' he said, 'that was an unfortunate example. But you get the point.'
'I was never ordered.'
'No, of course not. And if there is something that moves me deeply, it is this love that has no bounds. It need not necessarily be between a man and a woman. It could be between brothers, friends, parents and children, whatever. It is the love where one is willing to lay down his life for another. It is rare and it touches me to the heart. So you see, to my mind, the blame for my wife's disappearance is her own not yours. She left home and husband. As far as I know, you did nothing to incite her. You were just there, available for the job. Not that you are blameless. Morally speaking, you should not have offered to undertake such an operation. She had entered into our marriage of her own free will. She was my wife in marriage, an institution, a covenant, which is universal, fundamental and blessed by God.'
'Morality, Hag Abdullah, is very personal and I think it would take a philosopher to examine the question of whether it can ever be absolute. I think people, while acknowledging certain obvious basic values are ingenious in bending them with valid arguments nonetheless to cover their needs.'
'Perhaps. So you do not accept the blame? Even the minor blame I ascribed to you?'
'Oh, I accept the blame of harming you. I do not accept that my action was immoral. Sometimes one has to make a choice between two evils. If the good that you do is greater than the harm that results from your action, then I believe your action can be morally justified. To be more specific, if you try to redress an injustice and in the process inevitably harm the perpetrator of that injustice you are not acting immorally. You are not finally to blame. Or perhaps, blame should ultimately be apportioned to everyone involved but the proportions are somewhat difficult to figure out. It is as relative as that.'
'Ah, I see you too are an analyzer. Your silent demeanor pointed to it. That is why I asked you if you are vindictive. We desert Arabs usually are. It is in our nature and our upbringing. It is perhaps the result of our hard life. Forget our newfound petrodollars. This is a recent event. Barely two decades old. I wanted to find out whether an analyzer can also be a vindictive person. I wanted to see how it squares with my experience. That of a pure Arab corrupted by western education.'
'Is that all your western education has done for you? It corrupted you?'
'No, no, indeed not. I am not expressing myself well and I sound biased and unjust. Certainly, I am an enriched man. You cannot go through Harvard and not be enriched. And the PhD is nothing. Mostly a lot of drudgery. It is the people you find there that enrich you. The truly extraordinary intellects of most of the professors as well as some of the students. Following their thought processes, learning not just to absorb information but also to think. To be delighted by brilliant talk and original ideas. By pure intelligence. Even if you are not up to their standard, you learn and cannot help being fascinated. The corruption I talked about unfortunately is a by-product and it was bad for me insofar as it unbalanced me. Made me question my most fundamental beliefs and made an analyzer of me. For a time I almost gave up Islam. I stopped praying and started drinking. Then in College, I met a Chinese-American boy of all people, a brilliant student, who was a born-again Christian. He was so brilliant, straight-A, and he talked to me about Christianity like a half-wit, a moron. Isn't the human mind an abyss? We talked a lot together about religion and he even tried to proselytize me but all he managed to achieve was to re-ignite my fervor for Islam. Ironically, it was at that point in my life that I met Lisa and the misgivings and tortures of this relationship never ceased until she left me a few days ago.'
'Why didn't you give her up?'
'Why didn't you?'
'I was in love with her and I accepted her as she was. You did not.'
'I loved her too. I, a man from a country of harems, of arranged marriages where you see your bride for the first time only in the marriage ceremony, fell in love with a beautiful American girl who changed her lovers with the ease she changed her dresses.'
'Oh hardly.'
'Well, almost.'
'Even that, I don't accept.'
'Are you sure?'
'No. The truth is that I am not. Still, I cannot imagine it.'
'I was told by people who frequented the coffee bar she worked at. One or two of them boasted they had slept with her. They said she was a fantastic lay. Please forgive the expression. They showed me magazines in which she posed naked with her genitals showing. And still I could not give her up. I was sick with love. I thought I could change her.'
'Surely she was faithful once you were married.'
'I think so. Although the seeds of doubt and jealousy never stopped blossoming and torturing me.'
'I see, Hag Abdullah, not that I had any doubts, that we are both fellow sufferers, both sick in love with Lisa. What surprises me, are all those men who claimed to have slept with her but were immune to her beauty and never fell in love with this lovely woman. Doesn't this raise some doubts on their truthfulness?'
'They probably did sleep with her but she did not fancy them and dropped them pretty quickly. One of my Arab friends told me of rumors that she accepted gifts of money if offered.'
'There you have it; the ultimate calumny. That, Hag Abdullah, I refuse to believe.'
'As for me, it does not concern me any more.'
The Maitre followed the waiter who brought the wine, opened it himself and had me taste it.
'Wonderful,' I said and he smiled courteously. It was very good. Liable to loosen my tongue.
'And how is your soda water, Hag Abdullah?' I joked. 'Very playful. It is tickling my throat.'
The food followed closely on the wine's heels and I had a delicious dish of grilled shrimps placed in front of me with no Lizzie to share its effects. Just talk of her. Endless talk and speculation and the ruining anew of her reputation now that Lizzie was mine. Talk to undermine my love and confidence, talk that went through one ear and out the other. Hag Abdullah was nit picking at his plate. He called the Maitre once or twice to make comments and minor complaints but in the end refused to have his plate changed and ate in small delicate mouthfuls. Unlike Egyptians, desert Arabs were thin and were frugal eaters. In Egypt, a fat man is considered healthy. Before the influx of petrodollars, one rarely saw a fat desert Arab. Hag Abdullah's appetite for food was deficient; his appetite for talk was robust. He wanted a catharsis and I was the medium. He looked at me and smiled.
'Am I boring you? Am I a dreadful host?'
'Not at all, Hag Abdullah. I was never more interested in my life.'
'But I am spoiling the enjoyment of your food. That much I can see.'
'No, no. Please go on.'
'As I was telling you, Michael, education has made me lose my native passion and vindictiveness. One would have thought these were unchanging traits in one's character. Not so. Once one starts Socratic reasoning, why this and therefore that, passion flies. Was it not Aristotle who said, 'pan metron ariston,' meaning, everything in moderation is excellent? Passion and vindictiveness have no moderation. The night Lisa disappeared I was raging mad. We were no longer happy together. She was continually sulking, wanting to leave to see her mother. Unfortunately, I was tied down to my job. A job I do not need but something in which I could put into use my education. A game where I would show my worth and a game that interested me. I did not trust Lisa enough to let her go on her own. I was afraid she would not return to me. I was afraid that even if she did, she would not have missed an opportunity to go out with another man. Especially since we were in the last months almost continuously on bad terms and we rarely shared a bed. I kept refusing, telling her to be patient. That we would eventually get an ambassadorship in Europe and so live in a more congenial country. It seems she could not bear it any longer and took things into her own hands.
She did indeed take me by surprise. Caught me slumbering even though the night before she had given the slip to the bodyguard accompanying her. I never gave it a thought.
The night she fled, I refused to let her leave the house. However, she did and when she failed to turn up later in the evening I immediately understood. But why am I telling you all this? You already know it.'
He stopped and looked at me intently and I blushed. How strange I should blush.
I thought I had overcome this weakness.
'I was in a corner,' he continued