The Stories of Paul Bowles

  She could see that this impressed them. They told her they loved her. They played games and danced with each other and with her. They tickled her, nuzzled her, took her on their laps and fussed with her hair. She found them more fun to be with than Tim’s friends, even though she was aware that the things they said had no meaning. To them everything was a game; there was nothing to learn from them.

  VII

  TIM HAD BEEN GONE for more than a week when they first brought Tony to the flat. He was a tall, noisy Irishman for whom the others of the group seemed to have a certain respect. At first Malika assumed that this was because he was not a eunuch like them, but quickly she discovered that it was only because he had far more money to spend than they did. Tony’s clothing always smelled delicious, and his car, a green Maserati, attracted even more attention than Tim’s. One day he came by at noon, while Bobby and Peter were still at the market. The black woman had received orders from Bobby to let no one in under any circumstances, but Tony was an expert in getting around such things. Malika had been playing a record of Abdelwahab’s; now she quickly silenced it and gave all her attention to Tony. In the course of their dialogue, he remarked casually that her clothes were pretty. Malika smoothed her skirt.

  But I’d like to see you in some other clothes, he went on.

  Where are they?

  Not here. In Madrid.

  They heard the door slam, and knew that Bobby and Peter had returned. The two had quarreled and were communicating only in acid monosyllables. Malika saw that the game of dominoes they had promised to play with her when they got back would not take place. She sat and sulked for a while, turning the pages of one of Tim’s financial magazines. Eunuchs were extremely childish, she reflected.

  Bobby came into the room and stood at the other end, arranging books on the bookshelves in silence. Soon the black woman appeared in the doorway and announced to him in French that Monsieur Tim had telephoned from London and would not be in Tangier until the eighteenth.

  When Tony had translated the information into Spanish, Malika merely sat staring at him, an expression of despair on her face.

  Bobby hurried out of the room. Ill at ease, Tony stood up and followed him. A moment later Bobby’s sharp voice cried: No, she can’t go out to eat with you. She can’t go out at all, anywhere, unless we go along. One of Tim’s rules. If you want to eat here, you can.

  Very little was said at lunch. In the middle of the meal Peter flung down his napkin and left the room. Afterward the black woman served coffee on the terrace. Bobby and Peter were arguing farther back in the flat, but their shrill voices were strangely audible.

  For a while Malika sipped her coffee and said nothing. When she spoke to Tony, it was as if there had been no interruption to their earlier conversation. Can we go to Madrid? she said.

  You’d like that? He grinned. But you see how they are. And he pointed behind him.

  A mí me da igual cómo son. I only promised to stay with them for two weeks.

  The next morning, while Bobby and Peter were at the market buying food, Tony and Malika put some valises into the Maserati and drove to the port to catch the ferry to Spain. Tony had left a short note for Bobby, saying that he had borrowed Malika for a few days, and would see to it that she telephoned.

  VIII

  THEY SLEPT IN Córdoba the first night. Before setting out for Madrid in the morning, Tony stopped at the cathedral to show it to her. When they walked up to the door, Malika hesitated. She peered inside and saw an endless corridor of arches extending into the gloom.

  Go on in, said Tony.

  She shook her head. You go. I’ll wait here.

  Driving out of the city, he scolded her a bit. You should look at things when you have the chance, he told her. That was a famous mosque.

  I saw it, she said firmly.

  The first day in Madrid they spent at Balenciaga’s, morning and afternoon. You were right, Malika said to Tony when they were back in the hotel. The clothes here are much better.

  They had to wait several days for the first items to be ready. The Prado was almost next door to the hotel, but Tony decided against making the attempt to entice Malika into it. He suggested a bullfight.

  Only Moslems know how to kill animals, she declared.

  They had been in Madrid for more than a week. One evening as they sat in the bar downstairs at the Ritz, Tony turned to her and said: Have you called Tangier? No, you haven’t. Come.

  Malika did not want to think of Tangier. Sighing, she rose and went with Tony up to his room, where he put in the call.

  When finally he heard Bobby at the other end of the wire, he gestured and handed the telephone to Malika.

  At the sound of her voice, Bobby immediately began to reproach her. She interrupted him to ask for Tim.

  Tim can’t get back to Tangier quite yet, he said, and the pitch of his voice rose as he added: But he wants you to come back right now!

  Malika was silent.

  Did you hear what I said? yelled Bobby. Oíste?

  Yes, I heard. I’ll let you know. She hung up quickly so as not to hear the sounds of outraged protest at the other end.

  They went several more times to Balenciaga for fittings. Malika was impressed by Madrid, but she missed the comforting presence of Tim, particularly at night when she lay alone in her bed. While it was pleasant to be with Tony because he paid so much attention to her and constantly bought her gifts, she knew he did this only because he enjoyed dressing her the way he wanted her to look when they went out together, and not because he cared about her.

  Although the deliveries continued to be made, and the gowns and ensembles were perfect, Malika’s pleasure was somewhat lessened by her discovery that the only places where people really looked at what she was wearing were two restaurants and the bar downstairs. When she remarked about this to Tony, he laughed.

  Ah! What you want is Paris. I can see that.

  Malika brightened. Can we go there?

  When the last garment had arrived, Tony and Malika ate a final dinner at Horcher, and started early the next morning for Paris. They spent the night in Biarritz, where the streets were rainswept and empty.

  IX

  PARIS WAS far too big. She was frightened of it even before they arrived at the hotel, and she determined not to let Tony out of her sight unless she was safe in her room. At the Hôtel de la Trémoaille she watched him lying back on his bed, making one telephone call after the other while he joked, shouted, waved his legs, and screamed with laughter. When he was through telephoning he turned to her.

  Tomorrow night I’m going to take you to a party, he said. And I know just what you’ll wear. The oyster-colored satin number.

  Malika was excited by the sumptuous house and the guests in evening clothes. Here at last, she was certain, she had reached a place where the people were of the ultimate degree of refinement. When she found that they looked at her with approval, she was filled with a sense of triumph.

  Soon Tony led her up to a tall, pretty girl with flashing black eyes. This is my sister Dinah, he announced. She speaks better Spanish than I do.

  Indicating Malika, he added: And this is the new Antinea. He left the two together and disappeared into another room.

  Dinah’s manner with her made her feel that they had been friends for a long time. When they had chatted for a few minutes, she led her over to a group of South Americans. The women were covered with jewels and some of them carried the pelts of animals over their shoulders. Even the men wore huge diamonds on their fingers. Malika suspected that Tim would disapprove of these people, but then it occurred to her that perhaps he could not be relied upon as an arbiter of taste in a city like this.

  Paris es muy grande, she said to a man who smiled at her invitingly. I never saw it until yesterday. I’m afraid to go out. Why did they make it so big?

  The man, smiling more broadly, said he was at her service, and would be delighted to go with her wherever she wished, whenever it suited her.


  Oh, she said, looking pensive. That would be nice.

  Mañana?

  Somehow Dinah had caught the end of their dialogue. Not tomorrow, I’m afraid, she said briskly, taking Malika’s arm. As she led her away she whispered furiously: His wife was standing there watching you.

  Malika stole a frightened glance over her shoulder. The man was still smiling after her.

  During the next few days Dinah, who lived nearby in the Avenue Montaigne, came regularly to the hotel. She and Tony had long discussions while Malika listened to Radio Cairo. One afternoon when Tony had gone out and Malika was bored, she asked Dinah to put in a call to Bobby in Tangier. A half hour later the telephone rang, and she heard Bobby’s voice.

  Hola, Bobby!

  Malika! His voice was already shrill. You can’t do this to me! Why are you in Paris? You’ve got to come back to Tangier.

  Malika was silent.

  We’re waiting for you. What will Tim say if you’re not here?

  Tim! she said with scorn. Where is Tim?

  He’s coming back next week. I want to speak to Tony.

  Tony’s gone out.

  Listen to me! Bobby shouted. What hotel are you in?

  I don’t know its name, she said. It’s in Paris. It’s a nice hotel. Adiós.

  One morning not long afterward Tony announced abruptly that he was leaving for London in an hour. Dinah came in shortly before he set out. They seemed to be involved in a dispute, which ended only when he kissed each of them good-bye. After he had gone, Malika nodded her head sagely. London, she mused. He won’t come back.

  X

  THE DAY AFTER Malika moved into Dinah’s flat the weather turned rainy and cold. Dinah often went out, leaving her alone with the housemaid and cook. She was just as glad to stay indoors where it was warm. Her wardrobe, impressive as it was, failed to include any kind of covering for cold weather. Dinah had told her that the cold was just beginning, and that it would not be warm again for many months. It seemed to Malika that somewhere in Paris there must be a joteya, where she could take two or three evening gowns and exchange them for a coat, but Dinah shook her head when she asked her about it.

  The apartment was spacious, and there were plenty of magazines to study. Malika spent her time curled up on a divan, examining the details in the fashion photographs.

  Tony called from London, postponing his return for a few days. When Dinah gave her the news, Malika smiled and said: Claro.

  I’m having lunch today with a friend. She has mountains of clothes, said Dinah. I’ll see if I can’t get a coat for you.

  What she brought back that afternoon was a mink coat badly in need of repairs. Malika gazed at the rips with visible distaste.

  You haven’t any idea of how lucky you are, Dinah told her. She shrugged.

  When the garment had been fitted at the furrier’s and the skins resewn, it looked completely new, as if it had just been made for Malika. She ran her fingers over its glistening surface and examined herself in the mirror, and quickly decided that it was a very fine coat after all.

  Dinah’s friend came to lunch. Her name was Daphne. She was not very pretty and she tried to speak Italian with Malika. During the course of the meal she invited them both to a house-party at Cortina d’Ampezzo.

  Dinah was enthusiastic. She brought out an album of photographs after Daphne had left, and spread it in Malika’s lap. Malika saw that the ground was white and the people, whose clothing was not at all elegant, wore long boards on their feet. She was doubtful, but the strange white landscape and the groups of festive people intrigued her. It might be more interesting than Paris, which in the end had turned out to be rather dull.

  They went to the office to book plane passage. Have you any money at all? Dinah asked her as they waited.

  Malika was suddenly very much ashamed. Tony never gave me any.

  It’s all right, Dinah told her.

  Before they left there was a lively argument between them as to whether Malika should take all her valises with her on the plane to Milano.

  But you won’t need all those clothes there, Dinah objected. And besides, it would cost so much.

  I have to take everything, Malika said.

  All of her belongings went with them on the plane. They had bad weather on the way to Milano, where Daphne’s car met them. She was already in Cortina.

  Malika had not enjoyed the plane ride. She did not understand why people with cars took planes. There was nothing to see but clouds, and the rocking of the plane made some of the passengers sick, so that by the end of the flight everyone seemed to be nervous and unhappy. For a while as they sped along the autostrada Malika thought she was back in Spain.

  According to the driver, there were already so many friends staying at Daphne’s chalet that no place was left for them. Daphne was putting them up in a hotel. Dinah received this news in silence; presumably she was displeased. Malika, when she understood the situation, secretly rejoiced. There would be many more people in the hotel than in the house.

  XI

  IT WAS COLD in Cortina. At first Malika would not go out of the hotel. The air is like poison, she complained. Then she began to experiment a bit, finally discovering that it was an agreeable kind of cold.

  She would sit with the others on the terrace of the hotel in the brilliant sunshine, wearing her warm coat, sipping hot chocolate while they had their cocktails. The red-cheeked jollity of the people around her was a new experience, and the snow never ceased to fascinate her. Each morning when Daphne and her guests came to fetch Dinah, Malika would watch the noisy group rush out toward the ski fields. Then she would wander through the public rooms. The employees were polite, and often smiled at her. There was a shop in the hotel that sold skis and the clothes that had to be worn when using them. The window displays were changed daily, so that Malika was often to be seen standing outside the door, inspecting the merchandise through the glass.

  Twice a tall young man had sauntered up to the shop windows as she stood there, giving the impression that he was about to speak to her. Both times she had turned away and resumed her aimless meandering. Tony and Dinah had warned her repeatedly against entering into conversation with strangers, and she thought it better to observe the etiquette they considered so important. She had discovered that Otto the barman spoke Spanish, and in the morning when the bar was often empty she would go in and talk with him. One morning he asked her why she never went out to ski with her friends.

  I can’t, she said in a muffled voice.

  At that moment, in the mirror behind the bar, she saw the tall young man come into the room and remain standing by the door, as if he were listening to their conversation. She hoped Otto would not continue it, but he did.

  That’s no reason, he said. Take lessons. There are plenty of good skiing professors in Cortina.

  Malika shook her head slowly several times.

  The young man stepped to the bar, saying, in Spanish: He’s right, our friend Otto. That’s what Cortina’s for. Everybody skis here.

  Now he leaned on the bar and faced Malika. I spend a lot of time south of the border myself, he said as though in confidence. I have a little hacienda down in Durango.

  Malika stared at him. He was speaking in Spanish, but she had no idea of what he was talking about. He misunderstood her expression and frowned. What’s the matter. Don’t you like Durango?

  She looked at Otto and back at the tall young man. Then she burst into laughter, and the sound filled the bar agreeably. The tall young man’s face seemed to melt as he heard it.

  She slid down from the barstool, smiled at him, and said: I don’t understand. Hasta luego, Otto. While the young man was still making a visible effort to collect his thoughts, she turned and walked out of the bar.

  This marked the beginning of a new friendship, one which grew to substantial proportions later that same day. At the end of the afternoon Malika and the young man, who said his name was Tex, went for a walk along the road outside the
hotel, where the snow had been packed down. The peaks of the mountains around them were turning pink. She sniffed the air with enthusiasm.

  I like it here, she said, as though the subject had been under discussion.

  You’d like it more if you learned to ski, he told her.

  No, no!

  She hesitated, then went on quickly: I can’t pay for lessons. I haven’t any money. They don’t give me any.

  Who’s they?

  She walked on beside him without answering, and he took her arm. By the time they got back to the hotel she had agreed to let Tex pay for lessons, skis and clothes, on condition that the clothes be bought at a shop in the town and not at the hotel.

  Once she had been fitted out, the lessons were begun, Tex being always present. Dinah did not like the idea at all. She said it was unheard-of, and she asked Malika to point Tex out to her.

  Malika, who had felt no resentment at being left each day to her own devices, could not understand Dinah’s objections. She was delighted with her new friend, and arranged for Dinah to meet him in the bar, where she sat for a half hour listening to them speak in English. Later that night Dinah told her Tex was uncivilized. Malika did not understand.

  He’s an idiot! Dinah cried.

  Malika laughed, for she took this to mean that Dinah also liked him. He has a good heart, she replied calmly.

  Yes, yes. You’ll see that good heart soon enough, Dinah told her with a crooked smile.

  Having observed that Tex’s interest in her was due in part to the mystery with which she seemed to be surrounded, Malika offered him as little information about herself as possible. He was still under the impression that she was Mexican and a member of Dinah’s family, and that for one reason or another Dinah was in charge of her. His misconception amused Malika, and she did nothing to correct it. She knew Dinah and Daphne were persuaded that she and Tex were having an affair, and this pleased her, too, since it was not true.