Leaving Tangier

29. Nâzim

NÂZIM WAS STANDING out in front of Kenza’s apartment building. He was nervous, and worried. It was his nature always to expect the worst, which was probably why his hair had begun to turn grey when he was still young. Tonight he was determined to conquer his distress. There was no reason to let himself get upset! Kenza would be there any moment; he would take her in his arms and carry her off somewhere far away. He longed so much to be free, to have his papers in order, and have a little money… Then he could take Kenza to see his native Anatolia, and show her the insolent beauty of its richly forested mountains. He thought suddenly of his family and friends, whom he hadn’t seen for more than two years, people whom he missed but never mentioned, which was a vaguely magical way to keep them from his thoughts, in a limbo of waiting. He was convinced that he would see them again some day, an especially splendid day, with a heart full of light and eyes brimming with happy tears; on that truly extraordinary day, he would finally become himself again, the man he’d once been. On that day his exile would be abruptly erased from his memory.

When Kenza finally appeared at the end of the street, he ran to her and threw his arms around her. He told her how happy he was to see her, how painfully he’d missed her; he kissed her hands and recited another Turkish poem to her. Kenza, however, was in an awkward position: Azel was sleeping at her place, so she couldn’t bring Nâzim home.

‘Let’s go to a hotel!’ suggested Nâzim.

Kenza hesitated. ‘Why not go to your place? I don’t even know where you live. Hotels are for secret lovers or prostitutes, and in Sabadell it was different, we were taking a trip.’

‘You know I live in a rat hole,’ protested Nâzim. ‘You deserve better than that.’

Kenza asked him to wait while she went upstairs to get a few things for the following day. Nâzim paced up and down, growing impatient. Perhaps Azel had forbidden her to rejoin him. Perhaps she’d changed her mind. The light went on in the apartment. At last, after twenty long minutes, Kenza reappeared. The idea of spending another night in a hotel excited Nâzim. Along the way, he began singing in Turkish and Arabic.

You are my intoxication

I’ve never drunk my fill of you

I can’t drink my fill of you

I don’t ever want to

Kenza laughed, wishing Nâzim could take her right away, but that just wasn’t done, it’s frowned on, especially coming from a woman, and an Arab woman at that. But surely he could understand — even though she’d noticed that he was almost as jealous and possessive as Moroccan men. They were now holding hands as they walked, and as they walked, she whispered in his ear, ‘I want you.’ He stopped, smiled, and backed her up against a wall, where he stood kissing her ardently. Passers-by pretended not to see a thing. At the hotel Nâzim paid for the room in advance and asked for a bottle of water. There was a bottle of arrack in his overnight bag.

The room was small and ordinary, nothing special. It smelled musty. The carpet was worn, the light dreary, but their desire was blind and not to be denied. Nâzim asked Kenza to follow his lead, then blindfolded her with his black tie and began to describe their room in his own way.

‘The room is small, but quite charming: the walls are covered with salmon-colored silk, and there’s a leather couch in one corner next to an antique armoire; a reproduction of a pretty painting in the Orientalist style hangs next to the window; the bedspread is of fine velvet; a large Persian carpet covers the floor. Now I’m going to undress you the way one would pluck the petals from a lovely rose — don’t move, whatever you do… I’m taking off your jacket first, then your blouse, your skirt, your shoes, stockings… Wait, wait, let me undo your bra … but you’re not wearing any panties, not even a thong! That’s wild, it’s driving me insane! You’re unbelievable, you guessed what I wanted … and how beautiful you are… Our love is so strong and you’re an absolute pearl, I don’t know how I can possibly deserve you, be worthy of you, I’m so lucky! I can hardly keep from shouting!’

She reached out for him but he eluded her, laughing, and she called out to him. They were happy. With Kenza still blindfolded, they fell onto the bed and made love for a long time.

The lights were out, the curtains closed; they awaited the dawn in silence. Then, suddenly, the sky became white.

‘Look, my beauty: this is the moment when the horses come down from the heavens to wreathe themselves in the colours of autumn and gallop around a great mountain of clouds. You see that camel bearing a wardrobe full of silk and satin dresses? He’s crossing the horizon seeking the lovers who were joined together this night. Daybreak has scattered itself among the tallest trees, and you — you are as beautiful as that caress of light: you are here and I am singing so that you will never leave me again. Oh, Kenza, in the name of this lovely morning, this dream stirring up the sky, will you marry me, and be my wife?’

Kenza removed the blindfold and looked up at him.

‘Do you mean that?’

‘I love you. You know, where I come from, a man finds it hard to confess his love to a woman, such things are left unspoken, barely hinted at, but I feel that I am not in Anatolia but here in Spain, and we’re different, no longer hemmed in by our taboos, our traditions, and I’m certain it’s because we each left our own countries that we’ve been free to become ourselves: we love each other without fear of prying eyes or the cruel words of nosy neighbours and hypocrites. Spain is setting us free, so you and I, the Moroccan woman and the Turkish man, we will get married and forget where we came from.’

‘Wait, wait, don’t go so fast! You never forget where you come from, you carry that with you wherever you go: you can’t cut your own roots that easily. People often think they’ve changed their way of thinking, but it resists, and I know what I’m talking about! Here, an Arab woman is called upon to change her behaviour, and if she doesn’t change, she is ground down, bullied, despised. Don’t you see, the question is much bigger than we are. As for the two of us — I need to think, and to take care of certain problems. Let me have some time. And as you know, I’m already married…’

After they parted in front of the hotel, Kenza felt herself wavering. ‘I’m so eager to be happy,’ she thought, ‘and to forget the past; I want to live, to do any number of things. And now I have to make up my mind.’ But she didn’t know quite what to think about Nâzim’s proposal. She knew hardly anything about this man. Whenever she asked him about his life in Turkey, he was always evasive. She had learned to be careful. Of one thing, at least, she was certain: she felt good with him in bed, where each time they were together her body discovered a new kind of pleasure. She had feelings for him too, of course, perhaps she even felt love, yet some doubt still remained. What was this man of culture and education doing in Barcelona? Why had he left his country? He’d said it was because of political problems, but Kenza was bothered by something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. As she walked she thought about what she had just experienced, one of the most wonderful nights of her life. A Frenchwoman in Tangier, suspected of adultery and cast off by her Moroccan husband, had once told her that secret trysts were always the most precious nights of love, for love was strongest when it defied the force of habit. Then why get married? To avoid ending up alone?

Kenza needed to talk to her best friend, Miguel.