MARKING TIME
Next day was nearly normal. Normal that is, if you ignored those sudden bouts of despondency that gripped me whenever I had a moment to myself and Lizzie came to my mind. In the morning, I made my rounds and then in the office was busy checking a backlog of problems that had accumulated. I left at two and went to the club for a short ride on Bedouin. Amigo was there in his box taking it easy. As I was taking off my riding gear, Pavlos arrived and I gave him back the keys to his flat and thanked him for its use. 'Why did the girl leave,' he asked me. 'She had to go back home,' I answered vaguely. I did not feel like entering into lengthy explanations just then. I told him I would call him for a spin of the roulette and I left for home. I decided I should start playing squash and jogging again to ease my tensions and relieve my constant daydreaming of Lizzie through exercise. I ate the meal, which lay covered on the dining room table and then stretched on my bed to read a little until I dropped off to sleep. Woke up at eight, felt very lonely and waited for Mohammed to come for his evening call of duty. When he came, I fixed myself a drink and we talked inconsequentially on a hundred topics.
Friday and Saturday went by and on Sunday, I wrote my first letter to Lizzie. Nothing much. Some of my usual moaning and groaning and mostly my meeting with Abdullah. I wrote to her that I should be going to Greece in a few days to see my mother and would write to her from there. That I was hoping on my return to find her letters piled up. I finished saying that my life had no meaning without her. Which was true and was my fate.
I arrived in Greece on a Sunday and left on a Sunday so that the next day I would go to work directly and not hang around the house and brood. From Greece, I sent Lizzie a postcard every day and on Friday sent her a letter. Well, there was little to write about other than my announcement to the family of our impending marriage and that I hoped it was still on. Forever a doubting Thomas. The first thing I asked Mohammed when I saw him at the entrance of our building as I stepped out of the taxi was if I had any letters. He smiled and nodded his head. My heart started pounding and I could not get to it fast enough. I tore it open and sat on the couch oblivious to the world.
My darling Michael,
I let a few days pass before I wrote to you so as to have something else to say besides how terribly much I miss you. How heartbroken I am. How much in love. Isn't it strange, I did not realize the enormity of my love and need for you in Cairo? Is it always when we lose something that we start to appreciate its true value? My darling, I did love you before. It is just that our separation magnified or, perhaps I should say, clarified your goodness, selflessness, good looks and passion. It is as if I have fallen in love one more time. The emotions added up. I smile when I think of your anxieties and uncertainties about the reliability of my feelings. I now pray that you will always be the same and that your love for me will never change.
But let me start at the beginning. The sad beginning when we kissed and cried and said good-bye. The beginning, which will end when we meet again, perhaps with tears again, but with a happy smile and an elated heart. Passing through customs was a cinch. The passport was perfect but I got the shock of my life when I saw Abdullah in his limousine pass me by. I stared and stared and a thousand thoughts crossed my mind. They say seconds before a person dies he sees his life pass by his eyes like an instantaneous film. I too, saw at that instant, our life, the wreck of our marriage and a sad and unaware Abdullah, a victim of his wealth. He did love me but this love tortured him all the time. He did not have the generosity of spirit to sustain it. He loved me, and hated me for what I was. For what he imagined I was, and wished he could just hate me. He shall probably contact you. Be on your guard. I am not even sure I know the man any more. Is he is as good as he was with me at the start or as hard as he was later on?
The journey was endless. I was crying when we took off and that was a reason for me to become the pet of the cabin crew. Oh, they really spoiled me, with small talk and jokes, with drinks and juices and extra pillows and blankets when I wanted to sleep. Unfortunately, we had a change of crew in London, before crossing the Atlantic. I was thrilled with our one-hour stop at Fumicino in Rome. It was a delight to have a whole country speaking Italian. I flirted with bald shopkeepers and portly porters and basked in their lavish compliments of my American-accented Italian. I remembered how you liked it too. Orly was very French and in London, when the accent was not la-di-dah you could not make out what the Limeys were saying. Greece, my sweet Michael, was sad. A ramshackle airport and noisy, rude people. Gander was snow-bound and freezing. I asked to stay in the plane, as I did not have the clothing for the open air.
Well I stayed inside with some other passengers and we had a few laughs together. Then, dear Boston. It may not be the greatest city on earth but it is my hometown. I cried when I walked inside the airport. I remembered the young despairing nineteen- year-old Michael but I think I would have cried anyway. I was so high-strung and emotional. No one was waiting for me, of course. They had no details of my arrival. The weather was nearly as bad as Gander and I just managed to make it to a taxi with the clothes I was wearing without freezing to death. I always seem to arrive at my destinations underdressed. Remember our arrival in Cairo?
No need to tell you, my meeting with mom was orgasmic. We cried and cried and could not stop caressing each other. My God, is there a purer love? She sends you a thousand blessings. I arrived at two in the afternoon and we did not stop talking, on and off, until the next day. We hardly slept. Next day, I did not delay, I went and saw a lawyer, a good one, and in two days I was Lisa Baccini again. Please thank your mom for the loan of her identity. Of course, the lawyer took a packet but it was worth every penny. I did not even think we would finish so fast. The divorce is another story. I entrusted him with the case, he promised to study it and I will be going to his office tomorrow to hear his suggestions. One option is flying to Reno for a quickie but I think the husband must be present. Can you imagine me, flying to Reno for a divorce just like a celebrity? By the way, I made a packet in interest and yields on my money. In just a few months! I am starting to understand the saying money makes money. I am shopping around for a sporty car.
And back to you, my love. I love you.
I miss you so terribly. How are you? Keep well. Shall write soon.
Your Lizzie.
I kissed the letter many times. I read it many times. I got up and walked back and forth in the corridor. If it were not eleven in the evening, I would have gone to the club for some jogging. I needed to work out my excitement and tension. My happiness overwhelmed me, choking me up. I drank some whisky, straight, and started getting dizzy and heavy. The stresses and vibrations of my body diminishing. I started cooling off. I called Pavlos and asked him if he would like to join me at the roulette at the Hilton tomorrow.
'Why not?' he answered. 'And dinner after that. I want to hear about the American girl.' He was about to go out and asked me to join him. I told him I was just back from Greece and felt very tired.
Next day we met at ten to eleven. Our appointment was at ten. I was not annoyed. I was happy. Happily sitting at the Hilton lobby looking all around at the movement and activity, at the faces of the guests and was absorbed and entertained. I also kept up a mental conversation with Lizzie. Perhaps a measure of dementia was part of the nature of the head-over-heels stage of love. I just hoped my lips were not working at it silently as well.
He came in through the door and I got up. He saw me, smiled and said, 'For once I'm on time.'
I said, 'Yes Pavlos, you're unusually punctual today. The thing I don't understand is why I am so stupid to be promptly on time at our appointments.'
We went to the lifts, Pavlos smiling and greeting acquaintances on the way. The range of his cronies was vast. A large number of them in his mold. Womanizers, spendthrifts, rich and untrustworthy, though not deliberately dishonest, and generally fun to be with. A happy-go-lucky lot. Perhaps very lucky indeed. At the casino, I blew my hundred pounds on the double and hanged around watching Pavlos playing his routines and systems, his permutations and combinations. He lost and won large sums or to be more precise, won and lost large sum repeatedly. It was getting late and I told him I would be leaving if he felt like continuing. He cashed in his chips and was ahead a small amount.
'The casino is paying for our dinner tonight,' he said smiling unconcerned that at certain moments earlier he had quite considerable sums in his hands.
At the Grill, the Maitre remembered me and fussed around me with smiles and extra courtesies. Some of Abdullah's celebrity had rubbed off on me. I felt like telling him, Hey, I'm the pauper. You would be doing a better job if you fussed over my friend, here. He knew Pavlos, of course, but what was Pavlos compared to Abdullah? When he brought the menu, he came right close to me and whispered in my ear, 'Hag Abdullah is next door, in the private dining room with the Minister.'
'I know,' I answered off-handedly and he nodded with conspiratorial understanding. Pavlos expressed interest in meeting Abdullah after I told him that he was a rich Arab. He wanted to sell him some horses. I said I would probably meet him tomorrow and I would ask him if he would be interested. For the rest, it was a time of confidences. To start with, I thanked Pavlos again for the use of his flat and his thoughtfulness in providing it spotlessly clean and equipped with Karima.
'A la fin, tu es un chic type,' I told him in my meager French. It was the language of his education.
'If I didn't have at least some good points you would not be hanging around with me,' he said and smiled.
'Perhaps, I enjoy your roguishness,' I retorted, 'and your perverted sense of humor. Not to mention the endless, unbelievable, crazy stories, which are always at the tip of your tongue and never fail to make me laugh. In other words, for all the wrong reasons.'
He was amused and we laughed.
He ordered a sumptuous dinner with French wines, which cost many times the price of the food. Pavlos was no cheapskate. Especially when the casino was footing the bill. It was a wonder he still kept his shape. He asked me about the American girl and I decided to tell him the truth. He would be hurt if he realized later that I misled him. I told him I was planning to marry her. That I met her in Boston four years ago. That she married in the meantime and was now divorcing. I told him I would be staying in the States for long periods and would no longer be able to take care of the horses. As for Bedouin, I would be very happy if he would have him because I could not bear to sell him. We ate and chatted but did not linger overlong over coffee because it was a Monday and next day it was back to the grind.
'My great achievement in life,' said Pavlos, 'is that I managed to make all my days the same. No Mondays for me, no weekends, no feasts, no holidays. They are all the same. I have discovered the routine that gives me maximum pleasure and I adhere to it. Moreover, contrary to my dreadful reputation of a spendthrift, believe me I have not been doing too badly, financially speaking. I have not increased my fortune, as perhaps I should have, what with the head start I've had but I have not even remotely diminished it. So, Michael, it is a Monday night and you have to rush off to sleep and you have given me the headache of having to think up how to end my evening.'
I thanked Pavlos for his invitation and left him at the door of the casino. For lack of anything better he was to try his luck once more.
Early on Friday after breakfast, I sat at my desk to write a letter to Corina. I could not decently postpone it any longer.
My dear Corina,
The Egyptians will tell you that everything is written, meaning you cannot change your fate. But fate is what ultimately happens in the course of your life. It is simply your life where sometimes you are in command and sometimes its captive. The rest is useless philosophical musing. One starts talking of fate when one needs an excuse for an action one feels guilty of but cannot help. For an action one takes consciously but does not want to be blamed for it. For a deed that might cause pain to others.
I know, just these few words will guide you to the essence of my letter. I cannot fool you, my dear. But it is also a love letter I want to write. Not the easier to leave you, for this unfortunately is written. But to tell you, I do love you. I have never stopped.
Never for one moment did I doubt the fact that you were the most worthwhile person in my life. Never did I stop wondering at my good fortune to have met you and at the improbability of our love. Never have I been so proud of a woman I possessed. Nor so awed. I shall treasure the memories of the happy days we spent together. Because they were happy. Happy and passionate and enriching.
Lisa came back in my life with the suddenness and sense of fate that makes people think their life is preordained. It was with a cry of help, which is infinitely more difficult to ignore. And when you help and save someone, you fall in love with him. How much more so, if a passion as pent-up as mine was smoldering in layers of disappointment and heartbreak.
She could no longer bear her life in Arabia and her husband would not let her go. She was a virtual prisoner. She sent me word by a messenger and I forged a passport for her, went to Arabia and yanked her out. She spent a few days in Cairo and bewitched me anew. I think, finally, it must be written somewhere this fateful linkage of two persons. This helpless, drifting surrender to emotions. This inability to conceive of a life without her. It must be written in the stars. Or rather in the black holes which you cannot escape. You see, I am becoming superstitious and poetic and unreasonable and maybe, to a brain like yours, even unsavory and insipid. The fact is that Lisa was meant to be my pair. We are planning to get married. She is back in Boston, putting her affairs in order and filing for divorce. I do not suppose you would care to meet her. I enclose her address and phone number, just in case.
You did not answer my last letter. Perhaps, you shall not answer this one either. I want you to know I love you. Even if you hate me for leaving you and despise me for my weakness, I love you because I know your hate would be born of love.
Your friend, Michael.
A week later, I received Lizzie's second letter. It was voluminous and full of surprises.
My darling,
Once again, I thought it best to let some time pass before I wrote to you, so that I would be able to give you some solid news besides my love and my expressions of loss and longing for you. I hope you are well, my sweet. Keep yourself in good shape for me. I miss you.
I received three cards from Greece. Best of all I liked Priapos with his huge erect penis. Charming fella with his beard and lascivious leer. You knew that would tickle me. Let me tell you, I am quite satisfied with our little hero. I hope you are not exercising him and are letting him recuperate just for me.
I have been very busy this last week. Lawyers and banks and negotiations and agreements. Quite a businesswoman I have become and I think I have solved my problems quite well enough. Enough for a clear conscience because there was agreement from all sides and finally, I think no one felt used. What am I talking about? Well, listen to this:
After staying at my mom's place for the first few days, I called a contractor and had my own house (where I lived with Abdullah) cleaned up from top to bottom. By the way, you can write to me there in the future, at the address on the envelope. I moved in about a week ago. Quite a princess, I am. Yes, I also bought a lovely car. But first things first, as you used to say. Four days ago, the security of our building calls and tells me, Madam, your husband is coming upstairs. I got the shock of my life. I nearly asked which husband? Anyway, the doorbell rings and Abdou is standing there, smiling. I said, come in, and he strides in and looks around. He did not even kiss me, but then, he was not given much to tenderness. He made things easy for me at the beginning, by being distant and ironic. 'Settled in quite nicely, I see,' he said. I asked him to sit down. For a moment, I felt frightened. Like the tiger of its tamer. I forgot I was the tiger. I forgot I was the stronger. Slowly I came to my senses. Get a hold of yourself Lisa. You are now calling the shots, my girl. Well, that was the beginning. I am not going to write a novel about it. I will just give you the facts.
He said he came here for business but I doubt it. I think he came solely to see me. I asked him if he wanted to stay here, at home. He said he had a suite at the Hyatt with his people. I don't know who else was with him. We talked for a while but did not get into any serious subjects. He told me he met you in Cairo for dinner a few days ago and that you were rather quiet and polite and defensive but became quite aggressive where I was concerned and asked me if I were thinking of marrying you. I told him, to marry I have first to divorce. He asked if I would not consider us getting together again on different terms and I cut him short on that. I said I could not make up again with a man who showed me his teeth and frightened me. He was liable to do it again. I never mentioned our love. I did not want him to get jealous and stubborn. 'So this is it?' he asked. 'Yes this is it.' His pride would not let him express his sorrow but it showed on his face and I felt sorry for him. 'Maybe it's best,' he said and was silent for a while. I think he expected that but still harbored a hope. Well, he finally broke the silence, 'You want a divorce, I want my money back. I don't need it but I don't want to feel like a sucker. Think it over. We'll have dinner tonight at the Hyatt and we'll talk it over. I'll expect you at nine.' He left and when the door shut, I suddenly realized how lucky I was. He had come to solve all my problems at once.
I was there at nine. I put on my shabbiest dress and wore no makeup. I hardly brushed my hair. I did not want him regretting it too much that he was losing me. I figured it would soften him as a negotiator if he finally decided he was not losing all that much. Perhaps it was stupid but that's what I did. To make a long story short, as soon as we started talking turkey, I launched my attack. 'Listen Abdou,' I said, 'the cards are stacked against you. All I own are in my name. You gave them to me fair and square and of your own free will. It was never my intention to fleece you. I never asked you for anything. Not the slightest thing. Now, all I want from you is a divorce and this I shall get if it takes fifty years with or without your consent. I shall also get substantial alimony. I am in no hurry to marry. I can very well live with whomever I want, unmarried, since I do not intend to have any children. What I am saying is that I am in a position of strength. However, I would never feel comfortable with myself doing this to you. I want to give you back the bulk of your money, let us say, on easy terms. I would never accept to have you think I made a sucker of you. But you must also realize that you have been unfair to me, mistreated me and made my life miserable and hopeless and I deserve some sort of compensation, freely and fairly and generously given by you.' At that, he smiled. 'You are twisting my arm to force me to be fair and generous? Well okay, let's see how fair and generous you expect me to be.'
Of course, I had thought things out beforehand and I tried to be fair with him and fair to myself. I tell you, it was a matter of a clear conscience. Of self-respect. So I told him, 'Tentatively, I want to keep the apartment. I came to love it and I did spend happy days here. All the money I have in the bank, which with all the interests accrued is something under two million, I shall turn it over to your name with the proviso that it shall be invested in safe US Treasury Bills and for two years, I shall have their yield.
That will help me get on with my life and try to make something out of it. After the two years are up the money is yours. It is yours in any case and I would never be able to touch it. As for the flat, if you think you cannot part with it, then again you could give me a two-year lease after which, I turn it over to you. All this will be in the form of a divorce settlement. You shall put no obstacles to it but, on the contrary, you must cooperate fully. I, in return, will have no more claims on you whatever, not even in the form of alimony.' He was silent for a few moments and then he smiled at me and said,
'I think I can accept to be as generous as that, of my own free will. You understand all this is symbolic. The fact that you gave up something you needn't have shows you are an honorable person.' I told him those were the first truly flattering words I ever heard from him. He usually acted as if I was a most dishonorable one. He looked at me and his eyes were glazed. He excused himself and went to the toilet. When he came back, he said, then it was all settled and if I wanted, I could keep the lot. I said, 'Of course not.'
'Then you can keep the flat.' I got up and kissed him and thanked him and told him that, finally, he was the same generous man I first met. Well, he was. I meant it.
Next day I went to my lawyer in the morning, we drew up the settlement and in the afternoon Abdullah came with his lawyer, and we signed the papers without a hitch. They also signed papers for the divorce and the two lawyers agreed on the procedure they would follow. In the evening, I had dinner with him again. I met him at a fancy restaurant and we had a pleasant evening together. He tried to glean some information of our escape but I diplomatically changed the subject every time. He told me of his projects and bureaucratic infighting at their ministry and how he is trying to be posted abroad and that if he cannot swing that, he will probably accept to serve in Cairo where he has already been offered the ambassadorship. At the end of the evening, as we were leaving, I gave him the bag I was holding all evening. 'What is it?' he asked. 'All the jewelry you ever gave me.' 'But it is yours,' he said. 'No, please,' I answered. 'Please give them to your wife. I must have caused her enough chagrin, even if in total ignorance.' Abdou turned pale. He did not utter a single word. He took the bag, accompanied me to my car, and left me without even saying good night. Next day we met at the bank. The lawyers were there and so not many words were exchanged between us. We finished all the transactions, which took nearly all morning but without any particular difficulty. When we finished there was the shaking of hands all round and I took Abdullah aside and told him that I hoped I would see him again under better circumstances. I said, 'I thank you Abdou for your generosity and forgive you for any pain you might have caused me. Do you forgive me?' 'Yes, my dear,' he said. 'You have much more to forgive.' We kissed and we both had tears in our eyes. He was after all part of my life. A part that turned sour but was not always bad.
I was so ashamed Michael that I never told you! You had sort of predicted it, but not quite. You told me it might happen whereas it had already happened. When I married Abdullah, he already had a wife and a child in Arabia. Things are so hush-hush there, where families and women and wives are concerned, that it is hardly ever apparent if a man is married or single or even has fifty concubines. How much more concealed for a foreigner like me who did not know the language and did not mingle with the family. It was only after my friendship and intimacy with Sarah developed that she told me of rumors that Abdullah was married and had a young son. I begged her to make sure and she confirmed that this was so. Then I started to notice things. Like the unexplained absences for hours and sometimes even days when Abdullah used to tell me he was visiting relatives in other towns and a host of other small details. Well, this fact, as you can well imagine depressed me so much on top of everything else that I had no more patience to wait for an opportunity to get out. I had to create it myself. Luckily, I had my Orpheus to get me out of Hades.
Abdullah left Boston yesterday. He called me on the phone to say goodbye. Today I called my lawyer just before I started the letter. He said he met Abdou's lawyer in court and they filed the papers for the divorce. It should be smooth sailing. Just a question of time. Three to six months.
So, my darling, isn't that wonderful news? Things are clearing up. The fog is lifting. The coast is clear. When are you coming? I cannot wait. I love you so much. You are my lucky star. My mother is fine and so is Gianni.
I bought a car last week. A beautiful job. A bright red Porsche. It is a German sports car of the highest caliber. It is small and powerful and can easily make two hundred miles an hour. I love it. And I do cut a figure in it. Oh dear, I am so happy. My luck has changed. I feel it. I tell you, you are my lucky star. When are you coming?
I love you. I love you. Hurry up and come to me. I cannot wait much longer!!
Your Lizzie,