And he turned there, arms folded, leaning his weight back on the archway, smiling triumphantly at her.
‘Well, I want to speak to Dabeeb, and I am glad she is coming. But I’ve got no idea why you are behaving like this.’
‘Perhaps you fancy having Dabeeb yourself? Who knows what you and your filthy lot get up to.’
‘Having. Having. What is this word of yours, having. How can one have another person. No wonder you can’t —’ but she had been going to say, ‘No wonder you can’t make love when you think in terms of having—’ but of course had to check it.
‘You had better get the shield to protect her, or something like that,’ she said. ‘She won’t be able to stand up to the air in here.’
‘Thank you so much. It had occurred to me, you know. How do you suppose all these arrangements were made here?’
And he indicated the devices for the protection of the people who had worked, or who still worked in here from time to time — in this case, large clasps or brooches, which were for fastening at throat level.
Soon the sound of squelching feet, and Dabeeb appeared, wrapped in a vast dark cloak, one of her husband’s old army cloaks. She stood in the entrance, not looking at Ben Ata, but very closely, and shrewdly at Al·Ith, who smiled at her. She accepted from Ben Ata the brooch — which was of a yellow dull substance, very heavy — and pinned this at the opening of her dress at the throat, and stepped lightly in, dropping the wet cloak outside the arch on the floor of the portico.
She still did not look at Ben Ata, but was waiting for Al·Ith. Who had suddenly understood what was the probable cause for all the drama. Dabeeb had not looked at Ben Ata. In this awful place, with the antagonisms inseparable from being with — from sex, as they put it — this probably meant they had had each other. She had had him, or he had had her — however these barbarians saw it — but she was not disposed at this particular time even to wonder.
Seeing Dabeeb, the neat, handsome, capable matron, with her air of shrewd humour, standing there waiting for direction, Al·Ith decided to make as much as she could of the situation.
‘Please sit down, Dabeeb,’ she said, nodding at the chair Ben Ata had left empty. And now Dabeeb did glance at Ben Ata. The real danger of this situation — as she had momentarily seen it — had not been enough to allow her to raise her eyes to him, but now that she needed an order, a direction, she did look towards her lord.
But he had left it all to Al·Ith, and stood like a sentinel, watching the scene.
Dabeeb sat.
‘In our country we are going to have a great festival of songs and of stories. We have them often, but this one will be different.’
Already Dabeeb was alert and on guard: the eyes of the two women had engaged, and Dabeeb’s were warning. Al·Ith very slightly nodded, saying, ‘I understand, don’t be afraid.’ Ben Ata did not catch this minutest of nods, but he had seen that he had been mistaken. The sight of these two women, sitting opposite each other, both ready to catch from each other the best they could, did not fail to soothe him, and at the same time to disturb him. Their instant understanding made him feel left out, shut out.
He exaggerated his sarcastic look and soldierly straightness.
‘We want to try and find out if there are songs which perhaps we have forgotten or half forgotten that can tell us things.’
‘I see, my lady.’
Again the two pairs of eyes searched each other.
‘But there is no need to be afraid …’ here Al·Ith paused a moment, and then continued, ‘if you don’t remember any. That is why I asked Ben Ata if you would come up to talk to me. You really mustn’t worry …’ here Al·Ith paused again, and waited until Dabeeb had, in her turn, given the very slightest of nods, ‘about it. It is just an impulse I had. A whim!’ And she put on the look of one who was subject to whims and to having them indulged — a bit fatuous, self-congratulatory.
‘I see, my lady.’
‘I wish you would call me by my name.’
‘It is hard to remember.’ This was in an apologetic voice, almost a plea.
‘We have all kinds of songs, but for instance only the other day listening to some children some of us realized that parts of songs might have been forgotten, or changed — or something like that. And perhaps it is like that with you.’
‘Perhaps it is.’
‘There is a song I believe I heard the other day when I was here. The beat is like this —’ And Al·Ith rested the heel of her hand on the table’s edge and tapped with her fingers:
Dabeeb had caught it and nodded.
‘Perhaps it is a woman’s song?’
‘All manner of people sing it, my lady.’
‘Perhaps it has a tune that different words are set to, at different times,’ said Al·Ith casually.
‘I think that sometimes is so, with us,’ said Dabeeb.
Meanwhile, Ben Ata was as awake as he had never been in his life.
He knew quite well that this encounter between the two women was accommodating levels of understanding he did not, at the moment, in the least grasp. But he had every intention of doing so. But strongest in him, raging among thoughts and intuitions of a quite different character, was suspicion. And he was as forlorn and excluded as. a small child that has had a door shut in his face.
‘Is it something to do with light?’ suggested Al·Ith.
‘Light? Oh, I don’t think so. I haven’t heard that one.’
But her eyes had said yes, and begged and pleaded for Al·Ith not to betray them. Al·Ith was seeing that her idea about the women was not only correct — but had been far from adequate. She saw that here was something like an underground movement.
‘Shall I sing one of the versions for you? It is very popular.’
‘I wish you would.’
‘It is a very old song, my lady.’ And Dabeeb cleared her throat, and stood up behind the chair, holding on to it with one hand. She had a clear strong voice, and evidently used it often.
‘Look at me, soldier! He’s looking!
It’s at me he is looking!
Soon I shall smile, not quite at him, That’ll catch him!’
And now both women heard Ben Ata’s breathing, thick, angry.
Neither looked at him: they knew they would see a man in frenzies of jealousy. Everything was now perfectly clear to Al·Ith. She marvelled at her own clumsiness; and also at the aptness of events, which always pleased her, so inevitably and satisfyingly proceeding from one thing to another, turning facets of truth, the possibilities of development, to the light one after another.
She knew that Ben Ata had wanted to have this woman, and that she had not wanted to be had. She knew that Ben Ata’s mind was inflamed with jealousies and suspicions. There was nothing for it but to go along with whatever was happening and — and wait and see.
Dabeeb was singing:
‘Eyes shine— His, mine …
I know how to please him. Simple and tease him.
I’ll make him hunger. And languish and anger. And give me his pay, A corporal’s pay.’
Her strong voice left a strong silence, supported by the hushing rain.
