BAMAKO, Aribert Raphael [read out loud books .TXT] 📗

come out when he was looking into her eyes. He struggled to come to terms with what happened. Where could he go? What could he do to ease the strain?
Hassan was thoroughly annoyed with Talya, and yet, at the moment, to contemplate her leaving was even more frustrating than dealing with her staying in town.
When he arrived at the riverbank, he parked the car, got out and ran down the levee trying not to slip over the pebbles rolling ahead of him. The air was almost fresh. The wind swept through the valley creating a pleasant mini-climate. At the water’s edge, Hassan squatted and tried to calm down. He was incensed and in some curious way excited. It was an excitement and irritation similar to what he had experienced often before entering a courtroom, some sort of apprehensive tension disrupting his capacity to focus.
Why didn’t he say anything to Talya? He had told her he would stay with her that night, but here he was, far away from her, as far as he could possibly have gone. Talya had done the wrong thing. She had been disrespectful toward a friend. That was a totally unacceptable behaviour on the part of a woman. Hassan couldn’t reconcile his resentment of her bad manners with his budding feelings of love for her. Love, for the first time he permitted himself to acknowledge the possibility of that feeling. He thought of Talya and what he knew, or rather thought he knew of her.
Although she had been brought up in a Muslim school, this North American way of hers seemed void of emotions save those of rage. Even though he could understand her reaction when asked to pay someone to find the very person responsible for her company losing a half-a-million dollars, he couldn’t relate to Talya’s total disregard for Mohammed’s feelings.
It had been obvious to Hassan that his friend was more concerned for Rheza’s well being than he was about finding Savoi. Talya had not even shown any consideration for Rheza’s predicament. Hassan couldn’t accept that either. When it came to friendship or family, Hassan was always ready to listen even if he thought the proposal unreasonable. He had a hard time subduing his desire to walk away from it all. Something stronger than his will power, however, admonished him for even thinking of leaving Talya to her own device.
What was Talya going to do now? Was she going to leave? Was she going to fly home, as she said she would? Was she deciding on some other plans? A swirl of questions roamed around Hassan’s mind. Perhaps, he hadn’t been fair. Maybe, he should have stayed with her as he planned. At least he would know what she had in mind. It seemed his greatest fear was to be realized, Talya would leave—and he wouldn’t be there to prevent her from getting away from him so soon.
Hassan stood up, collected some little stones, threw them right back and watched them ricochet on the surface of the water. It was an aimless gesture, but everything he was doing now appeared to be aimed at nothing. He looked up to the skies stretching above the horizon. The sun was nearly setting.
He must go to the mosque and pray, he told himself. Allah would give him the guidance he needed. His faith—that was another thing, which troubled him about Talya—he was a child of Islam. He needed to think if his love for Talya (or was it just infatuation?) would ever alter his beliefs. He had grown up in the Muslim faith ever since his father passed away. Before that, he could not say that his mother brought him up in her faith—he remembered very little about it. In fact, Hassan could not remember if his mother had ever practiced her faith, neither could he remember if she had converted to Islam before marrying his father. All he really knew was that he adored her.
All of his life Hassan had wanted to be close to a white woman—like his mother. Perhaps that was the reason for his attraction to Talya.
As he walked along the water’s edge, he kept on thinking, kept on reflecting and just kept on going nowhere. Nightfall was approaching and he needed to get back to town. He wanted to go back to the office—not to the mosque, not for the moment at least. He wanted to know if Mohammed had called. Suddenly he longed for company.
He returned to the top of the embankment and got into his car. He had not resolved anything but he was sure now of one thing: he wanted to make love to Talya. He had to find out if it was infatuation or love, that he felt for her and he had to come out with it. After all, she is white and probably promiscuous as most white American women generally are.
He was torn between ambivalent thoughts. He had been taught that if the woman accepted him he would need to show her the respect she would deserve and marry her in the end. Despite the fact that Talya was white and that he yearned for the taste of white flesh, Hassan couldn’t accept such a proposition—marriage… No, not now, not ever maybe, and not with Talya! Yet he wanted her, he needed her. Above all, he needed to tell her how he felt. The thought frightened him. He was afraid of her reaction. Would she even listen to him?
Feasting on fantasy, Hassan drove back to town and arrived at the office to find the door closed and everyone gone. It was not surprising since the hour drew late already. He went in and checked his messages—nothing from Talya, of course not. Nothing from Mohammed; he must be upset. Oh yes, Mohammed would be angry about Talya’s outburst that morning. However, Mohammed could wait. Hassan needed to get to Talya. He needed to tell her that he wanted her. He knew he was heading for trouble.
He could stay for the night at the hotel. No, Talya wouldn’t let him, and he knew that, too. Hassan went out again, got behind the wheel and drove toward the city. Like a thirst to be quenched, he could not reach the oasis fast enough. He practically ran over a pedestrian near the market, went through red lights and arrived at the Grand.
He parked the car and walked in. He went directly to the desk asking Monsieur Dia if Talya was in. The clerk told him that Madame Kartz was in the lounge and perhaps he would care to join her. All of a sudden, his rush and desire fled, leaving only apprehension and fear. What was she going to say? Was she alone? What was his pretext for barging in? Was he supposed to be the friend now or the lawyer? He muttered some thank-you to the clerk, hesitated a moment and walked toward the lounge. The door opened and Talya appeared as if nothing happened, book in hand, shoulder bag in place and looking determined as ever. Hassan stopped. Unable to smile, he stood frozen.
Talya came closer, and in a fraction of a second she was there looking up at him. Hassan opened his mouth; yet he could not say anything. The words were stuck in his throat.
Astonished to seeing him standing there, Talya said, “Hassan, what are you doing here? I thought you were so upset this morning you wouldn’t want to speak to me ever again. Really, I’m sorry for what happened. I should have known better than to confront Monsieur Fade like that. He was only doing what he thought was best …” She didn’t stop talking.
Hassan didn’t hear a word she said. He was completely mesmerized.
Come on man, say something.
“I don’t know!” he uttered at last.
25
“What do you mean, you don’t know? What don’t you know?”
Talya was so amazed at seeing Hassan standing there; questions tumbled out of her mouth and replies were indeed needed—right now.
Of course, he had been offended. Of course, he couldn’t understand Talya’s outburst in Mohammed’s office. Then, why didn’t he ask the questions which were begging for answers?
“I was asking you what you’re doing here, and you said you didn’t know. Well? Let’s go to the lounge, sit down and talk about this, shall we?”
Hassan stared and remained mute as a carp. He didn’t move either.
“What happened, Hassan? Is there something you wanted to tell me? Come on, let’s go in and sit down. We can’t just stand here in the doorway.”
Eventually, Hassan seemed to hear what Talya was saying. He opened the door to the lounge mechanically. He held it open. They went in and sat down. They sat facing each other and Talya waited for an answer, or a comment, or anything which would indicate that his brain was not totally frozen. The drinks came and she continued waiting.
After a short while, he took a sip of the juice and he seemed to come down to earth.
At last, he said, “Talya, the reason why I’m here is not important. What is important is that I’m here. I needed to be here.” In his usual fashion, he bent forward and put his elbows on his knees. “And yes, something happened this afternoon, to me personally. It has nothing to do with the Savoi affair. What happened isn’t about business. It’s about us, about you and me.”
What on earth is he talking about? What is this ‘us’ business?
He drank some more. He was hesitant, as if he were in two minds as to what he wanted to say next. He took a deep breath, stretched to the back of the seat and went on, “I know I’m not a young man anymore and you may resent every word I’m going to say to you, but just hear me out. I need to tell you this. Perhaps it isn’t a good time but never may be a good time and never won’t do as far as I’m concerned—”
Talya cut him off at the fork. “Hassan, I’ve been here for a week and a lot has occurred during that time—”
He held out a hand to stop her talking. “I know that, Talya, but you’ve been saying to everyone who wants to hear it that you’re leaving. So, I didn’t think I had time to spare in letting you know how I feel about you and I don’t think I can keep my emotions in check for very much longer. I need to know what you would say, think or do, if I told you I was falling in love with you!”
You could have knocked her out for the count—it wouldn’t have given her a stronger shock than that declaration. Talya was still miles behind, like the caboose of a runaway train. She was lagging, dragging at a distance in the foggiest of notions that she cared for Hassan. Nowhere was there a port-of-call named ‘love’ in the stormy seas of her emotions at that moment. Hassan’s announcement threw her totally off balance. She didn’t know anything about the man; or