Children of the New World

9. Ali

9 ALI ... “You know Khaled?” Bachir said irritably in front of Lila’s door. “I don’t particularly like him.” “He is . . . I think he’s sincere,” Lila pouted. She made a gesture with her hand as if to drive away a thought. She turned to Bachir and smiled her usual smile with doleful candor, and they entered. Bachir had left his house before dinner. “I’m hungry,” he said and headed for the kitchen. Lila was happy to be able to take care of someone: she got him settled at the table on the only chair she owned. She served him an omelet, salad, and olives. He ate heartily, would look at her from time to time, and smile. “I didn’t know you were in town.” He knew nothing of her present life, not even of Ali’s departure. He didn’t dare ask any further questions. Throughout the previous year he’d been close to the young couple, often going to their home on Sundays when he had the afternoon off. He got along well with Ali and felt a deep affection for Lila, more than for any of his own sisters; but he knew nothing about Lila and Ali’s relationship, for in front of a third party they would adopt such reserve with each other that no one ever ventured to make assumptions about the harmony or distance between them. Instead, people would make believe they were addressing them as one person, which didn’t come very naturally. 181 ... 9 “Have you been in this place long?” Bachir was looking around at the uninviting walls. “Two or three weeks, I’m not sure,” she smiled wanly. “I’m trying to live alone. I’m having a hard time getting used to it,” then she sighed ostentatiously, “I’ll never be a modern woman!” Together they burst out laughing, both of them happy to have run into each other. Then there was a problem: Lila hadn’t anticipated having a guest, or anything else for that matter. She had only one bed. She suggested bringing the mattress into the other room for Bachir; this room was still empty and was a place where, every time she entered, she felt as if she were in prison. She herself would make do with the boxspring and a blanket. Bachir laughed at these schemes and they cheerfully resolved to stay up talking all night. “All night?” exclaimed Lila, who loved to sleep. “Why not?” Bachir was pacing back and forth: for him it was the end of a magnificent day. He knew Lila well—she always had to be dragged along, she could never arrive at a decision by herself. “Sure, I don’t mind,” she said, afraid only of being sleepy, but Bachir was convinced that sleeping was a waste of time. She didn’t agree: sleeping was one of her voluptuous pleasures and, besides, she was never stingy with her time. “Sure, I don’t mind,” she repeated, smiling submissively and turning on another lamp. They talked so much about so many things—the future, themselves , life, their country, everything—that the idea of sleeping never occurred to her once that night! Speaking honestly, with passion, in the deep of the night—those were beautiful hours she realized, later on, much later. They had a kind of cold clear furor that makes time stand still, so that to her the night, the marvelous pause, began to mean happiness, oblivion, and more . . . It was like the secret moment in which one finds oneself in profound unity, in a movement of the self where all currents, normally so chaotic and diverse, suddenly come together, a unique flow of the soul—but also a moment in which one discovers oneself and the other at the same time. Later on she amended her thought to “the others.” For, until that moment, she had believed indisputably that for her there was CHILDREN OF THE NEW WORLD 182 no way to know herself other than in love—and love was the cluster of links that enslaved her to Ali. After that night she told herself she was wrong: one can find oneself with the same lucidity when one is with a friend, a comrade in arms, or an equal. This also came with Bachir’s disappearance—she didn’t dare say “death” because her former terror of death was tenacious. For...