Description
“I returned to the studio almost completely broken, collapsing onto the sofa in despair and gloom. I was utterly exhausted; my hands and feet ached from fatigue and beatings. I felt a deep sense of remorse and regret for my harsh treatment of Abbas and for losing everything. My own foolishness was embodied before me, and I felt a crushing despair. I tried to write a page of the novel, but I couldn’t. I surrendered to the sounds of the street, a cacophony of voices, movement, people, shouts, pebbles, chatter, laughter, and flirtations that unfolded in the garden or on the street near the restaurant. My gaze fell immediately on the picture of Tangier hanging on the wall. I said, ‘Tangier’s gone…’ and clapped my hands together.
I remained like this for over an hour when I heard a soft knock on the door. I ignored it at first, assuming it was the neighbors’ door, but the knocking persisted. I got up heavily in the dimly lit room and opened the door. Tamara was standing there with her bag in her hand.” I was startled to see her, then invited her in. She switched on the lamp, and we sat on the same sofa in front of the writing desk. She crossed her legs, opened her bag, took out a cigarette, and lit it before speaking.
I sat beside her and inhaled the intoxicating scent of her body and the rousing aroma of her awakened femininity. She said, a beautiful expression on her face, “You took the rug… and slept at that woman’s apartment… and then… no one knows what happened.”
She put me at ease because she got straight to the point, and it was clear that Abbas had sent her for this purpose.
I told her simply and succinctly, “I went to sleep and woke up to find neither Aida nor the rug…”
Her voice faltered as she spoke, but she wasn’t alarmed by my unconcerned tone about her brother’s predicament. Instead, she said jokingly, “You slept alone…!”
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