The Fragrance of Egypt Through Five Stories by George Loukas - HTML preview

“No, no, I hope not. He is way too old for me. I am in love with someone else. I hope that will keep me out of his clutches.”

“Oh boy,” I said, “that‟s very intriguing but I shall not be indiscreet and ask any questions.”

She smiled.

“I would not have been able to answer them, in any case.”

“Good. You have set my mind at rest. It would have unsettled me to think that had I asked, you would have answered.”

She laughed and we sipped our drinks. I was beginning to get over my distaste for her. She was fussy and difficult but in a more restrained way so was I.

“Do you see Dr Fatthi?” she asked me.

“Once or twice a month I go to Helwan for a chat. Sometimes he changes my happy pills and sometimes not. We have a friendly-antagonistic relationship and I enjoy the talks. He keeps on telling me to stop trying to be a psychiatrist. And you?”

“Much the same.”

“I thought your case was not as serious.”

“It is more recent but it can get very bad.”

We talked for a while and then she left.

Throughout the next week the children kept asking to see her. I called her up and told her so.

“I am sorry to pester you,” I apologized.

She said she was so happy they liked her and would pass by tomorrow. She came quite early, created the same festive atmosphere, the same ruckus, the same glee and 189

laughter and an hour later got up to leave much to the children‟s distress. She asked me to go down with her to help her find a taxi as she had bumped her car and it was being fixed. I told her I would drive her to Heliopolis and after some half-hearted refusals we were on our way. Beneath her house she asked me up for a drink and after some halfhearted demurrals, this time from me, I went up to her flat. This is good, I thought to myself, I am feeling sociable. I wanted to talk with Marian. The last time was so pleasant.

In the lift we smiled and she caressed my cheek, my ear and the hair at the back of my head in one rapid movement and then rested her hand on my shoulder like one does to a child when it is well-behaved. She was as tall as me with the high heels she was wearing.

She was always well dressed and I think it was a development of those London shopping escapades with Angela who was undoubtedly, to use a modern terminology, a fashion victim. A dark-blue skirt with pleats, matching blazer, a light-blue shirt and a red, silk scarf, also a trademark of Angela‟s. I smiled at the motherly caress.

“I‟m a good boy, it seems?”

“The best,” she answered.

We entered her flat. Nothing had changed since I had been there last when her mother was alive. Just a huge new television set and an elaborate record player and recorder with two large speakers. She seemed happy and excited.

“Make yourself at home, Paul,” she said airily. “I‟ll get us a drink. What will it be? Whisky, gin, vodka?”

“Whisky is fine.”

She went in the kitchen for ice and from a Chinese bar she brought a bottle of whisky and two glasses. She poured a huge portion each and sat down next to me on a comfortable couch.

“Are you out to get me drunk?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said with a smile.

We sipped a few mouthfuls and then another few. We nearly finished the first shot with inconsequential chit-chat. Again, the self-consciousness of starting a real conversation. I was already slightly dizzy. I was thinking, what shall I say, what shall I say, and because I was curious and the whisky had gone to my head, I asked a most indiscreet question.

“How‟s your love life? Apart from Helmi, that is.”

We were both smiling because she figured I was needling her.

“Oh, fuck Helmi.”

“Okay, fuck Helmi. He fucked Angela so let‟s leave him alone with his memories.”

“Don‟t be so crude and cynical, Paul, it doesn‟t suit you.”

“Oh yes, I forgot. I‟m the good boy.”

“The best,” she said and picked my hand and kissed it.

“Are you getting drunk?” I asked.

“A little. Here let me refresh our drinks.”

“I‟ll not be able to drive back home.”

“Not to worry, plenty of beds in this house. Mine‟s a double. Do you doubt my hospitality?”

“Cut the double entendres. Let‟s get serious. Answer my question.” 190

“Well, you know how things are in Cairo. Very provincial and all. Not a very wide choice of beaux, either. A few flirts, a few flings, always keeping in mind one‟s reputation. I don‟t want to be branded a slut in our narrow-minded Greek community.

That‟s why I loved London. I had the freedom to do whatever I wanted and no one the wiser.”

“I suppose Angela enjoyed the same freedom as well.”

“You must not blame Angela. You were not really a couple when we started going to London.”

“It still annoyed me terribly. And anyway, she was being unfaithful to Helmi.”

“Oh Paul, neither you nor I can know what their relationship was or what she really felt for him.”

“In any case it does not do her credit.”

“Oh please be fair. I expected you to be more broad minded and generous.”

“Complacent, you mean? Like cornuto-contento?”

“No, Paul. No. A better judge of human behavior.”

“So now I‟m a bad boy.”

She took my hand, kissed it and held it in her hands.

“You are the best, Paul. You have been through a lot. One day you‟ll understand.” We were sipping the whisky steadily and Marion kept refilling the glasses.

“I‟m really feeling stifled,” she said lifting her skirt over her knees drawing my gaze to them again and again.

“You have not answered my question.”

“Well, lately I have been going out with Spiro Athanasiades. The son of the rich Athanasiades. He seems to like me. I don‟t know if he‟s serious, though. People are warning me that he is no good. Just a rich, spoiled playboy like his father. Like father, like son, as the saying goes. He is good looking and I like good looking men. I‟m giving it a chance.”

“As long as you don‟t get hurt. But didn‟t you say you were in love with him?”

“Did I?”

“That he kept you out of Helmi‟s clutches?”

She laughed and kissed my hand again.

“That‟s why I love you,” she said. “You are naïve and sharp at the same time.”

“Will you stop kissing my hand,” I said. “I am not a father confessor I am just interested in your love affairs.”

She kissed my hand once more looking at me, smiling.

“No he‟s not the man I love.”

“Oh dear, and about the man you love your mouth is sealed?”

“Drink up, Paul. The whisky loosens tongues.”

She got up.

“I am getting very warm,” she said. “I‟ll just change into something comfortable.” She went to her bedroom and I stretched on the sofa. My head was spinning. The whole room seemed to be spinning when I closed my eyes. I ought to stop drinking, I thought, if I expected to get home safely. I got up unsteadily and opened the TV. A blare of noise came out and I shut it quickly. I took an ice cube and smeared it all over my face.

It cooled me down a little. I felt slightly better. She came in wearing a light gray, silk robe de chambre. She sat on the floor next to my legs. She picked my hand, kissed it and 191

laid her head on my knees. I caressed her hair slowly over and over again. I felt her breasts, her full luscious breasts pressed on my legs. She stretched her hand to the table, picked up my drink, gave it to me and brought hers to her mouth.

“Cheers Paul, here‟s to love.”

“Cheers Marian. Whose love to whom? Baby, we are getting really drunk.”

“That‟s what I want, Paul. It will loosen us up.”

It was my turn to kiss her hand. She smiled at me. A smile full of happiness. Was I such a fool I did not understand? So wrapped up in my woes, I did not even suspect?

“Remember Agami?” she said.

“Of course I do. Much water has passed under the bridge since then.”

“That wonderful evening I thought something new, something marvelous was happening to my life. Your kiss, your lovely kisses! You kiss so wonderfully, Paul.

Sweetly, gently and passionately at the same time. You kiss with feeling, you make one feel you care. It‟s not just sex. It is sex and sensuality with love. Then I had to leave because my mother was very ill. When she was better you were already with Angela.

Unfortunately a seed was planted that night and sometimes the seed of love blooms despite the aridity. Because of the aridity. Because it is not reciprocated. Because it is not consummated. For years and years it blossomed. It never faded.”

“You never gave a sign.”

“How could I? You were married to Angela. Even when you were not together sexually I could not show my feelings. I felt I would be betraying her.”

“And now?”

“Now she is away, we are full of whisky and the audacity it provides. Also a little dazed and devoid of inhibitions. Now, at last, I can tell you I love you. I love you Paul. I never stopped. Do you think you can love me a little?

She got up and sat on my knees.

“I held her head and kissed her.”

“I think I can,” I said.

We kissed tenderly, passionately for endless minutes and I was thoroughly aroused. My knees were numb from her weight and my arousal was squashed and hurting.

“My, you‟re heavy,” I said.

“It must be the weight of the robe de chambre,” she said smiling.

She got off my lap and took off her robe. She was naked underneath. She sat on me again and we kissed on and on breathlessly, passionately. I fondled and kissed her succulent breasts and caressed her belly, legs and back. She was fiery and tender. Tender and happy to have recovered her love that went astray, to have overcome loyalties and inhibitions, to be entering a new happiness that was hers to pluck.

“Am I still heavy?” she asked after a while.

“You are light as a feather,” I said laughing.

“Yes, but you are constricted. You need to expand.”

She got up again, pulled me by the hand and swaying a little from the dizziness of the alcohol and the drunkenness of love, she undressed me, held me, caressed me and pulled me to her bedroom, to her spacious, hospitable, double bed, to her warm, passionate, hospitable body and overwhelming love.

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Dear Dr Fatthi,

I was unaware when Angela‟s affair with Helmi started. It seems to be true that the deceived husband is the last to learn. I was also unaware when it ended. Because I know it did end. She started going on shopping sprees to London with Marian and I also know, though without precise details, that they painted the town red. I mean, they had sexual escapades. Possibly bestowing Helmi with the taint of a deceived lover, depending on whether their affair was over before or after those successive trips. It is interesting to reflect on which is worse, being a deceived husband or a deceived lover. You smile? I forgive your glacial neutrality. It is as it should be. You cannot suffer and grieve with every one of your patients. That is why I do not want to consider you a friend. I want simply to be your patient. I shall thus be set free to be honest. Something I could not be while I was your friend. It was a wise decision, those letters you asked of me. I salute your professionalism.

But I am digressing.

Back to Angela.

Her affair with Helmi ended but their business relationship held well. Money is more binding than love, or the lack of it, it seems. She is still his most valued collaborator. He swears by her name. So two years after my shock of finding out about the affair, two years of Angela‟s trips to London with Marian, two years of my own life in limbo, Helmi decided to open a branch office in Greece and of course it was Angela who assumed the task. Oh, she did a fine job. There was no doubt that she would, in the first place. Except that she more or less left Egypt behind. During those two years before Greece we were almost strangers to each other. After that big one, I was in and out of minor depressions and was struggling to keep my business afloat with diminishing success. It had taken a downturn that needed a Helmi or an Angela to put right. I was not up to it. I started borrowing money from Angela to keep the printing office going and I was worried how it would all end. Then Greece came into the picture.

At the beginning, for more than a year, she would spend a month or two in Athens and come to Cairo for consultations with Helmi. I was left with the children and their nanny, Madame Nadia. It was with relief that I heard the news about the Greek venture. I thought finally I would have some peace. By that I mean I would not have Angela coming home ignoring me, without a simple greeting and the least snatch of conversation and worst of all to have that contemptuous look thrown at me when our paths crossed.

But, strangely, the house seemed empty without her. I missed her nearly as much as the children and when at the end of the first month we went all of us, nanny included, to bring her home from the airport our happiness, her happiness surprised me.

We talked of our little nothings and she talked of Athens, of her work, of the flat she had rented in Kolonaki, a fashionable part of the city which was also close to her office, of her mother who was so happy to have her near her. It was a festive atmosphere that day and when the children went to sleep much later than usual and I retired to my room, she came in and kissed me and we made love silently, passionately without talk, without endearments. It was not repeated during the week she stayed with us but was more civil and jolly with me and more affectionate with the children than I could remember. Why this should be so I can only presume. It was probably because in Athens she did not get to know or establish a relationship with another man. She worked long hours to make a success of the business venture that was solely her responsibility and had 193

not much time to spare. Moreover the presence of her mother may have been another hindering factor. My mother-in-law was of the conservative old school and disapproved of extramarital affairs. She thought the family was sacred and the woman should stick to her husband however flawed he might be.

The same scenario was repeated in her subsequent visits. We were friendly and we always made love that first day of her arrival. Sometimes we made love again one other time. She told me that I should start thinking of selling my business to settle in Athens because she could not live much longer isolated from the children. Her branch office was working beyond expectations and she would likely be stationed permanently there. She was searching for a larger flat that would accommodate the whole family plus our elderly nanny, Madame Nadia.

A year went by and despite my efforts I was unable to sell my business. The offers were derisory and even Angela told me not to sell at those prices and that the prospective buyers were out for a kill. She said if I would sign a power of attorney to her she would canvass her business acquaintances and would surely come up with a more reasonable offer. I did as she asked and a few months later the business was sold lock, stock and barrel together with its debts. She put the money into her account so as to be able, piecemeal, to transfer it to Greece through Helmi. Well, that was one major worry gone but things have a way of turning against me.

I am such a cry-baby, aren‟t I? But you, of all people, would know that an uneventful, static life can be absolutely devastating!

I had nothing to occupy me. I started taking the children to the club in the mornings with Madame Nadia. They were now five and four years of age. I bought each a bicycle and they amused themselves in the children‟s playground. I usually went off to play a game of squash or tennis and then showered and returned to stay with them for another couple of hours until it was time to return home. It was peaceful enough but I had a terrible feeling of redundancy and worthlessness. It weighed on me and depressed me.

A few months later Angela arrived from Greece and told us she bought a new flat, furnished it, and would take the children and Madame Nadia with her. She thought it best that I should stay a month or so longer in Cairo until they settled in. It would be too much of a hassle to have me there in their midst from the start. I agreed because, to tell the truth, I was worried that the change would unsettle me and my depressions were always round the corner ready to strike at the slightest mental perturbation. I was apprehensive that I would not be able to adapt to our new life in Athens. But that decision proved disastrous. I missed the children dreadfully and my loneliness was extreme. I started getting panic fits and could not take my breath. Panic not from any sudden fright. Panic from sober thought. I could not figure where I was heading, where it would all end. Panic from the confusion of my life. Panic from the vast loneliness that choked me. I roamed the streets for hours to tire myself out but nothing seemed to help once I was back in my empty home. My condition got worse and worse and I phoned Angela and told her I would come to your clinic or else I would probably kill myself.

And here I am.

END OF LETTERS.

Since I never mentioned to Dr Fatthi my love affair with Marian, I did not tell him that after Angela‟s initial return from Greece and the unexpected resumption of our 194

sexual relations, I kept on seeing Marian after Angela left. I did not tell Marian what had happened with Angela either and lived this parallel love life with the two women for a few months. It was a strange and happy time for me. I think I was in love with Marian.

Well, perhaps not as much in love as she was with me but I did love her and our sex was pretty wonderful. I did not speculate how long it would last or how it would end. I was living for the here and now, which, in any case, did not last very long. I suppose I should have expected it, since they were close friends, that at some point Angela would tell her that our relations had improved and we were making love again. And when she did, Marian cut our love affair short. I called her up to tell her Angela had left and she laughed.

“You little sneak,” she said, “I should be angry with you but heaven knows why I am not. I found out your prurient secret. I am sorry, I can not go on.”

“But I love you Marian,” I pleaded.

“So do I. I love you too, Paul, but I have my loyalties to consider.”

“And your inhibitions,” I added.

“Yes,” she said.

“Won‟t a little whisky melt them down?” I asked.

“Things have changed, Paul. I love you, baby, but it‟s good-bye.” She clicked off the phone.

Marian began seeing Spiro Athanasiades regularly after we broke up. I learnt this from Angela in one of those idle, gossipy conversations we started having as our conjugal life took a more friendly and companionable turn. One or two months later, when Angela happened to be in Cairo, we were invited at a reception given by Athanasiades Sr., Spiro‟s father, in one of the more fashionable hotels in Cairo. I do not recall the occasion for the gathering but I clearly remember the setting. At the entrance of the hall stood the hosts graciously welcoming their guests, the big man himself, short, chubby not particularly good-looking but pleasant, brimming with the self-confidence of the fortune he had amassed. Next to him, to his right Spiro, tall and handsome full of smiles and little jocular remarks for each one of us. The dissimilarity of father and son was striking and I often marveled at the miracles of nature. To his right, again, a step behind was Marian.

Her attitude was almost that of a soldier on duty; an aide-de-camp to a general. She was silent, subdued and utterly cowed. In awe, almost intimidated. I could not start to speculate how she had reached that point of submission. Did he treat her harshly? Was she putting on an act of the demure, modest little girl? Did his money dazzle her to that point? Was she hoping he would consider her for marriage? She kissed Angela and me with tight little smiles and did not return the complicit look I gave her. I felt sorry for her and her new distorted, repressed personality.

Dr Fatthi summoned me for a talk. As I was going to him I passed from the lobby and saw Helmi sitting in an armchair. I tried to avoid passing in front of him but he spied me and jumped up.

“Paul,” he cried. “I did not know you were still here. I thought you would be in Greece by now.”

“Hallo, Helmi,” I said. “I‟m here for an extended holiday. It is nice and peaceful and I am in love with a nurse. I buy her Kit Kats and she kisses me every morning.” 195

He laughed and peered at me with his piercing stare trying to figure my frame of mind.

“What brings you here?” I asked.

“Marian, of course,” he answered. “I came to see how she is getting on.”

“Miss her at the office?”

“More than that, it is a personal interest.”

“How kind of you,” I said.

He did not miss the irony but ignored it.

“So how is she?”

“Well enough as far as I can tell. For more details ask Dr Fatthi.”

“No, no. I just came to see her personally,” he explained hurriedly. “Angela is well, by the way. We are in constant touch.”

“Over the phone, it is permissible,” I said.

He laughed innocently.

“I‟ll be seeing you, Helmi. I have to go.”

Dr Fatthi smiled when I entered the office.

“You must be wondering why I have not talked to you for a while,” he said. “It‟s because you are well. I read your letters with great interest. There are quite a lot of insights I have gleaned from them but we shall not talk about them. No need to do so now. We shall keep them for future reference.”

I smiled.

“So you expect me to be back soon?” I said.

“No, no. Not at all. In fact you can leave the clinic right now.”

“I‟d rather stay a little longer, if you have no objection,” I said.

“Please yourself,” he replied.

Later I asked Marian about Helmi.

“I hate him,” I told her. “He is so unctuous he repels me. I don‟t know how you can stand him. I don‟t know how Angela ever managed to make love to him.”

“I suppose I am used to him after those three or four years I have been working in his office. He is not all that bad. He seems to genuinely care for me. And after all, who else do I have in this world? When we get out of here you shall go to Greece to your wife and children. I shall be going back to work. It is my only salvation.”

“Dr Fatthi called me for a chat this morning.”

“Oh? What did he have to say?”

“Once again, that I am well, that I could leave this very minute. I told him I wanted to stay a while longer.”

“Thank you, Paul. I am really grateful to you, you know. Fatthi says I am almost recovered as well. So it won‟t be long.”

“If it weren‟t for the children I would stay with you.” She looked at me with a slight smile.

“Life is full of useless ifs. Let‟s not talk about it.” With the letters over, I started browsing my psychology periodicals that Dr Fatthi, more than once, told me to throw away. I found something interesting though by no means complete or comprehensible. It defined Hypomania thus: Hypomania, as the name suggests, is a state of mind or behavior that is „below‟

(hypo) mania. In other words, a person in a hypo manic state often displays behavior that 196

has all the earmarks of a full-blown mania (e.g. marked elevation of mood that is characterized by euphoria, overactivity, disinhibition, impulsivity, a decreased need for sleep and hyper sexuality), but these symptoms, though disruptive and seemingly out of character, are not so pronounced as to be considered a diagnosable manic episode.

Another important point is that hypomania is a diagnostic category that includes both anxiety and depression.

Marian said that Dr Fatthi mentioned that medical term to her. I asked her once or twice what had caused her to attempt suicide but she refused to talk about it despite our intimacy. I did not press her. As our time at the clinic was drawing to an end our bonding seemed to strengthen. Marian began brooding, had fits of melancholia and I was afraid she would regress to her previous state. I kept telling her that when we would leave the clinic I would stay a while with her in Heliopolis and even when I left for Greece, Angela and I were planning to keep our flat and our servant so I would be returning every so often to Cairo to see her. This, apart from the fact that Angela would be shuttling regularly back and forth from Athens to Cairo due to her job. This seemed to boost her morale but I could sense her sadness during our nighttime lovemaking. Apart for an almost insatiable desire for intercourse she would cling to me and kiss me incessantly, tell me she loved me madly and would not let me leave her room. I usually stayed till dawn and Amina‟s sharp eyes did not miss my increasing fatigue. What kept me on my feet were the long, lethargic after-lunch siestas I resorted to.

On the last evening after a fiery love session she started crying. I told her that, as promised, I would go to her house for a few days, that far from it being our last evening together it was the start of our adjustment to life. She had to go back to work and I had to start thinking of doing something useful with my life. If I did not my depressions would recur again and again. And if our love had become an addiction in this closeted loony bin, we would have to wean ourselves from it gradually and try to live normally and put this mad desire in a more mundane context.

“You have been so good to me, Paul,” she said. “I sometimes think I do not deserve your kindness and concern.”

“Don‟t be silly, my dear. I do love you. As you once said, we are in the same boat and this has brought us very close.”

“When we go outside you might hear some terrible rumors about me,” she said.

“They are true, Paul. I love you and I would feel a traitor if I lied to you and told you they were not.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I cannot tell you. I did not even tell Dr Fatthi.”

“But I might hear the rumors. Isn‟t it better to hear the story from you?”

“You might not want to see me again.”

“How can you possibly say such a thing? Is that what caused you to jump from the balcony?”

“Yes.”

“So get it off your chest Marian. People go to church and confess. The Christian religion amongst the many stupidities it propagates did one thing correctly. It instituted the practice of the confession. It is the Dr Fatthi of the faithful. When they are burdened with something serious, they go to their priest and confess. However bad the crime, the priest usually gives them absolution and they go away relieved, happy and forget about it.

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I cannot imagine what is so terrible that you cannot tell me. Getting it out will help. It will relieve you, if not totally, at least to some extent.” She cuddled up to me and kissed me. She held my penis and tried to arouse me.

“Please tell me,” I insisted.

“After we make love,” she pleaded in a playful baby voice. “It might be the last time.”

“Won‟t you want me after that?”

She laughed and then burst into tears.

“You know what I mean.”

“First you tell, Marian. Then we make love.”

She wiped the tears with the bed sheet and was silent for a while collecting herself. I had never seen her so volatile.

“Good bye, Paul,” she said. “I love you.”

“Hello, my darling Marian, nice to see you again. I love you too. Our parting was not very long, was it?”

She laughed, took a deep breath and began her story.

“When we stopped seeing each oth