Who's Afraid of Agatha Christie

Ahmed Fagih, Fagih

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2013
• Topic: Literature
• eBook ISBN:
  9781136177262
• Subtopic: Literary Criticism
• Index: Literature

First Published in 2000.  Who's of Afraid of Agatha Christie and Other Stories exemplifies Fagih's characteristic mixing of illusion and reality. his complexity of style. and penchant for lyrical writing. Translated from Arabic.

9

Love me Tonight

The odour assailed him instantly. He had paid for a ticket and crossed a long corridor, then slunk past a red curtain which covered the entrance into the warmth of the hall within.

He stood there for a moment to take off his coat and wipe the drops of rain which clung to his hair. He waited for his eyes to get accustomed to the gloom. The same odour rushed over him again: a mingled smell of perfume, perspiration, tobacco smoke and wine. It was now part of the place, it had hung there and accumulated, growing stale, clinging to the ceiling and becoming increasingly pungent. The smell aroused in him a desire to escape at once from this place and return to the street outside, to the lights, the sky and fresh air. Also to return to the hotel where members of the delegation, of whom he was one, were staying. He had waited until they all went to bed after a tiring journey from Tripoli before feeling confident enough to venture out.

A drum, being played somewhere in the night-club, seemed to be calling out to him. The sound of its beat appeared as if it was carried on the air waves from a distant place, moving towards him and calling him by his name, Abdullah. The drum was speaking in a mysterious language whose symbols he could not decipher, nor discover its secrets. Yet something deep within him recognised it, comprehended its message and was able to respond to it. All the other musical instruments accompanying this drum paled in comparison, as it continued to throb out its messages. It was as if an African tribe was communicating with one of its sons who had strayed and got lost in the jungle. He was about to fall prey to some wild ravenous beasts, so they were sending out a warning, and guiding his way back home to safety.

His eyes were getting used to the darkness. There was no jungle, no African tribe, nor any ferocious animals. The night-club was no different from any he had seen before. It was elegant, very sumptuous and glamorous; not so much a night-club, but more like the reception hall of an extremely wealthy man. Everything in it was glittering and glowing under the dim lights which were placed strategically in all corners. Even the carpets, curtains, décor, marble pillars and the tables at which the customers sat were magnificent. The clientele themselves glowed iridescently as if some phosphorous dust had been sprinkled all over their heads and clothes. They were all sitting at their tables in silence, concentrating on the music as if in a state of prayer. They didn’t seem to be watching a show or listening to a band, but as if they were participating in an act of worship which demanded supplication and reverence. He also noticed that contrary to what he was used to seeing in most night-clubs, not one customer was drunk or moved unsteadily amongst the tables. Every one of the customers was sober, glittering phosphorously under the lights.

A waiter moved forward to take his coat and usher him to a table he had chosen for him. He was wearing a suit which looked more like a period costume. His demeanour and manner of speech were impeccable as befitting a most exclusive salon. He didn’t look like an ordinary waiter, but more like a liveried Master of Ceremonies at a royal banquet. Everything about the place aroused Abdullah’s suspicions. He had crept stealthily out of the hotel under cover of darkness to indulge in a few drinks which he longed for, away from the prying eyes of the other inquisitive members of the delegation. He now found himself inside a strange world the likes of which he had never encountered previously. The only thing that worried him was a scandal should he be found out by the rest of the delegates who, like him, were attending a conference the following day.

He wondered what the place actually was, perhaps it was not a night-club at all. It was definitely not the palatial mansion of a wealthy man he had strayed into by mistake. He had paid for a ticket and a clear illuminated sign outside advertised this establishment as a night-club. What was it then? Perhaps it was the den of a gang of criminals who employed such a grand manner to trap their victims! The silence which reigned all over the assembled people, above which nothing was heard apart from the sound of the music, was eerie. It indicated that something out of the ordinary was about to take place and they were all holding their breath in anticipation of a strange spectacle. Perhaps a Samurai warrior would emerge from behind one of the pillars, unsheathe a sword hanging from his belt and commit hari-kiri in the traditional Japanese way. Perhaps one of the customers sitting at his table would suddenly leap up, kiss his lady companion, then draw a gun out of his pocket, aim it at her forehead then shoot her whereupon she would slump down dead on the floor. Or a similar violent act which would fill them with terror. Why not leave immediately and save his skin before it was too late? But the magical irresistible beat of the drum continued, even after the dance show came to an end and it was the turn for a singer to appear on stage.

All that mattered to him was that beat, the likes of which he could not recall hearing anywhere else. No other rendering or singing had so captivated his senses like this drum, played by an old negro who artfully and skilfully employed it as an instrument for relating all the tales, poetry and legends contained in Africa. He was deeply immersed in these ancient visions awakened in him by this playing, as he greedily drained his third drink, when he suddenly discovered that the place had abruptly and rapidly emptied of all customers! His heart missed a beat as he looked all around him fearfully, but there was no one around except for a few waiters scattered here and there. One of them, the same waiter who met him at the door and led him to his table, was standing nearby, looking at him and smiling malevolently. The game was now over and the trap was sprung! The scandal he had feared about to happen. Indeed not only a scandal but even the threat of murder! He would be discovered, an unidentified victim, in a den of sin and inequity.

His reputation had always remained unblemished back in his home town. He was known to follow the Holy scriptures both in word and deed. All the people who knew him addressed him by the respectful and distinguished title of ‘Sheikh Abdullah’. What would they think of him now. What legacy would he leave his young daughter and his son, who was ten years old, soon to reach manhood? He cursed his weakness which drove him to this place. He realised that the first thing he must now do was to muster all his strength and make a dash for the door. He must attempt to save himself, rather than submit to this fate. He was poised for flight when a swift glance in the direction of the dance floor surprised him greatly. All the customers were crowded in that space!

His heart resumed beating. It dawned on him that it was now the turn for the customers to dance for a while. He breathed a great sigh of relief and scolded himself for thinking ill of the waiter who was not smiling gloatingly, but amiable. The dancing had now started and all he had to do was to join the others and follow suit. There was no reason now for fear, suspicion or thoughts of flight. Everything around him promised an enjoyable and entertaining evening.

The sound of the drum was still reverberating against the walls and ceiling of the hall, inviting him to the delights of the world. All he had to do was get up and dance as no one had ever danced before. Not only dance, but hold a dialogue with the rhythmic beat of the drum, transported by perfume-laden winds from the heart of Africa. It would be his only means of communicating with this drum, to which he felt bound by old ties of friendship. He would relate to it through his dancing all the stories he had learnt from his grandmother as a child, growing up in a village on the edge of the desert. He would recount all his worries and sorrows and would not cease until he had completely freed himself of all the burdens that weighed him down. He would dance and dance until he collapses down with exhaustion!

He almost made his way to the dance floor only to realise in the nick of time that it would be useless. It had escaped his notice in the midst of all his musing that he had no partner to dance with. He also remembered that he had never been taught how to dance in the European fashion. In fact the very first time he had seen men and women dancing together was during his first visit abroad. How could he have failed to notice that he was the only unaccompanied person in that hall? The other clientele had naturally headed for the dance floor because that’s what they’d been used to since childhood. None of them arrived at this place on his own, every man was accompanied by a woman and vice versa, consequently they danced together. He felt acutely embarrassed at being the odd one out. He was like a cripple, the blood in his veins turned into water and he was powerless to stand up or move his feet. He was certainly disabled and his only hope of recovery from the paralysis which afflicted him was to see another person on his own not participating in the dancing. One last sweeping glance around him dashed his hopes and increased his discomfort. He was the only person without a partner.

The waiter was still standing there, looking in his direction and smiling. He ordered another drink, hoping the waiter would go away. However, after fetching the drink, the waiter went back to his former place, turning towards him to smile now and again. The smile did not appear malicious or ingratiating, but it was derisive and scornful. Abdullah felt the situation getting increasingly embarrassing and the paralysis in his legs grew worse.

He felt like saying to the waiter:

‘What’s so amusing? You’re just a waiter giving yourself airs and graces as if you were a royal Master of Ceremonies. What’s so odd about a customer not taking part in the dancing? Haven’t you seen this happen before? Perhaps you’ve discovered that I’m a visitor from Tripoli. What’s so shameful about this? You are nothing but a royal fake, hiding your horns under a haze of phosphorous dust! Tripoli is one of the greatest cities in the world. It has witnessed successive Roman, Greek and Arab civilisations. I am well aware of your countrymen’s feelings of envy at our historical heritage. What’s wrong with people who don’t know how to dance? In my country we consider men and women dancing in public a disgrace. Where have you obtained such distorted facts about my nation? You who have been corrupted by a crumbling and decaying civilisation. What’s wrong with the women in my country? They are sacrosanct and inviolable. You have to wash your mouth out in rosewater before speaking of their reputations. Do you want a life for them like that of the women in your country? Women whose femininity and humanity has no value. You want women to frequent clubs, cafés, dance in public, drink wine and accompany men everywhere … do you call this freedom! Perhaps this is considered a virtue in your country. I see that you disapprove of our marriage custom. I know all the thoughts that go around in your head, whose brain cells have rotted with wine fumes. What’s so disgusting about a man marrying a woman he had never seen until his wedding night? That’s what happened to me when I got married. I accepted this person whom fate had led me to quite contentedly. How can you call this dreadful, you profligate, taking men to your wife’s chamber each night after the show ends. How can we protect our sons and daughters from sin if we allow them licence to get acquainted, to mingle freely and indulge in love before marriage? What? Did I hear you mention love? What kind of ‘love’ is this that a man like you, devoting his life to debauchery, would like to sacrifice ‘honour’ for? Is there any love apart from the one you sell in dissolute shops which trade daily in this commodity? Isn’t that the type of love you are referring to? No, my iridescent man, this love is what you keep to yourself and trade with as you please. I assure you that you will not succeed in corrupting us despite all the films of vice and profligacy which you send to us. We refuse to give up even one iota of the honour and virtue which distinguishes our lives and conduct. A man in my country still would not hesitate to kill his daughter immediately should he discover that she had succumbed to the corrupting influence of your films and magazines; or should she form a liaison with a man behind her family’s back! Why are you looking at me with such astonishment? No, I have not yet lost my senses!’

‘Bring me another drink and make it a double this time!’ He called the waiter over so sharply that it startled the man, who hurried to his side.

The dancing was now over and people were returning to their tables. The drum stopped playing. The compere announced a magician who hurried onto the stage. He immediately went into his act, pulling out handkerchiefs and a large number of doves out of his pockets. It so happened that when the customers returned to their tables, a young couple were sitting directly opposite Abdullah. He had probably given them a fleeting glance at the beginning of the evening, but only now did he become aware that they were not exactly adults, but teenagers, almost children. What else could he call a man of about eighteen or nineteen and a woman of a similar age but children?! How could he help but feel shocked and wonder at the motives of a father or mother who would allow such young people to attend a night-club at this hour of the night?

Abdullah devoted himself exclusively to the two young people. He gave up watching the magician and adjusted his seat so that he could observe no other spectacle but them. The girl was wearing a simple sky-blue dress whose hem just about covered her knees. The boy was wearing a full evening dark-coloured suit, exactly as if he were to anticipate his manhood. Apart from the glow of the phosphorescent dust which made everything around them sparkle and glow, there was nothing exceptionally exciting about them, apart from the fact that the girl was very pretty. Hers was the type of simple subdued beauty which reminded one immediately of the most beautiful poetry ever read, and the most beautiful music ever heard. It invoked all the most glorious scenes of sunrise, sunset, lakes and rivers which had held their spectator spellbound. Her face had an angelic aura, reminding one of the drawings in children’s books. If he could think of a title for her, the one that most readily came to mind would be ‘Cinderella’. She was indeed none other than this character, emerging straight out of the pages of a fairy story book.

The young man was indeed a child, with baby features except that he had a man’s build and height. One could not help but imagine him as a knight riding astride a winged horse, which parted a path through the clouds as it rose high up into the air. The knight was on his way to abduct his lady love who was waiting for him on a high balcony bathed in moonlight, just as a scene from a young girl’s fantasy.

Despite sitting close to them and being completely absorbed with them, he could not make out what the young lovers were whispering to each other. In fact they did not say much, being content with a single word, a murmur or a sign in order to be understood. They giggled and laughed, delighting in each others’ mutual happiness. He watched them during moments when they were so completely wrapped up in each other, that it seemed as if a force had dismissed all other people away from the face of the earth and no one was left on it except for themselves. All the cities, oceans and forests on it were their sole exclusive domain. They would indeed be most surprised should they discover that this wasn’t the fact and that they were not the only two people in the night-club, but that there were scores of other customers in it as well. The conjuror had now emptied his bag of all its tricks and was leaving the stage. The old negro appeared next, carrying his drum. He was accompanied by five dancing girls, scantily dressed in a few long coloured feathers. They launched into their dance routine, but the lovers soon returned to their absorption with each other. They laughed in mutual delight and wonder at everything that was going on around them, as if they were a prince and princess fresh out of the pages of a story book. Here they were discovering a new world which filled them with astonishment and curiosity. It was abundantly clear that their joy in each others’ company knew no bounds. It seemed as if they had both suffered greatly in the past before they met. In fact Abdullah felt that the drum which had now resumed its pulsating rhythms, was telling their story. Apparently they were formerly two elderly people who had grown weary with time. The moment they met they changed into people in the full flush of youth! Should they get separated, even for an instant, they would return to their previous old decrepit selves. They might even evaporate into thin air and disappear completely off the face of the earth.

Abdullah believed what the drum was saying and could not imagine them staying away from each other. Should they get separated, they would do everything possible, even travelling from the furthest corner of the earth, to be with each other. Otherwise they would perish or melt away. Or they might find themselves being transformed by God into a rat, a rabbit, a tortoise or an ant. Their only hope of deliverance from such a fate would be to stay together constantly.

Abdullah began to realise that what he was watching was true love. The preconceptions he had formed in his mind about love began to disappear. He was now certain of the beauty and splendour of human emotions. He was utterly convinced that illness would never afflict anyone who had experienced such feelings. Such a person would never know poverty or hunger, indeed not even death itself. He was certain in his mind that even the rain which poured down outside would not dare drench their hair or clothes should they go outside, because it would know that they were in love. Neither cold nor heat would bother them. No one would prevent them from entering any restaurant, café or place of entertainment, where they would be allowed to enjoy eating, drinking and watching free of charge. Moreover, they would not have to pay for transport or pay rent for the house they occupied. Indeed not pay for anything they bought from shops because they were in love!

Only now was he awakened to the tragedy of human existence without love. It was a calamity that he had spent a lifetime as a prisoner of an environment which regarded love as an obscenity. He had been conditioned to believe in this notion, and had not discovered its sham and falsehood until it was too late. It was only now that he realised the extent of the ugliness in his life. Not once during his lifetime had he exercised his human potential.

Long ago he had been transformed into a tortoise, an ant, a rat. He was certain that all the ailments which had afflicted him throughout his life: headaches, in...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Contents
• Who’s afraid of Agatha Christie?
• The Night of the Masks
• Don’t Kill the Dog
• Radiant as the Sun
• The Last Station
• A Man from Ireland
• The Book of the Dead
• Never Seen a River
• Love Me Tonight
• Lying