I could not help laughing, and said: “Why, since you come here?”
And she went on, almost talking into my mouth, sending her hot breath into my throat, and moistening my moustache with her lips:
“I want it as a remembrance.”
Still I did not grasp her meaning. Then she put her arms round my neck and said: “When you are no longer here, I shall think of it and when I kiss my husband I shall fancy it is you.” As she spoke, her r’s rolled their familiar thunder.
I was touched and amused at the same time and replied: “You must be mad. I would much rather stop here.”
As a matter of fact, I have no liking for assignations under the conjugal roof; they are mousetraps, in which the unwary are always caught. But she begged and prayed, and even cried, and at last said: “You shall see how I will love you there.”
And those r’s sounded like the rattle of a drum sounding a charge.
Her wish seemed so strange that I could not explain it to myself; but on thinking it over, I thought I could discern a profound hatred for her husband, the secret vengeance of a woman who takes a pleasure in deceiving him, and who, moreover, wishes to deceive him in his own house, between his own sheets, in his own bed.
“Is your husband very unkind to you?” I asked her. She looked vexed, and said:
“Oh, no, he is very kind.”
“But you are not fond of him?”
She looked at me with astonishment in her large eyes. “Indeed, I am very fond of him, very; but not so fond as I am of you, my darling.”
I could not understand it at all, and while I was trying to get at her meaning, she pressed one of those kisses, whose power she knew so well, on to my lips, and whispered: “But you will come, will come, will you not?”
I resisted, however, and so she got up immediately, and went away; nor did she come back for a week. On the eighth day she came back, stopped gravely on the threshold of my room, and said: “Are you coming to my house tonight? If you refuse, I shall go away.”
Eight days is a very long time, my friend, and in Africa those eight days are as good as a month. “Yes,” I said, and opened my arms, and she threw herself into them.
At night she waited for me in a neighbouring street, and took me to their house, which was very small, and near the harbour. I first of all went through the kitchen, where they had their meals, and then into a very tidy, whitewashed room, with photographs on the walls and paper flowers under a glass case. Marroca seemed beside herself with pleasure, and she jumped about and said: “There, you are at home, now.” And I certainly acted as though I were. I felt rather embarrassed, I admit, and somewhat uneasy.
As I was hesitating, in this strange house, to divest myself of a certain garment, without which a man, when he is taken unawares, looks as awkward as he is ridiculous and incapable of action, she snatched it off, and carried off into another room the cloak of my modesty, along with all my other clothes.
I recovered my courage in the end, and proved it to the best of my ability, with such success that, when two hours had passed, we still had no thoughts of sleep, when suddenly a loud knocking at the door made us start, and a man’s voice called out: “Marroca, it is I.”
She started: “My husband! Here, hide under the bed, quickly.”
I was distractedly looking for my trousers, but she gave me a push, and panted out: “Go on, go on.”
I lay down flat on my stomach, and without a word crept under the bed where I had been so comfortable, while she went into the kitchen. I heard her open a cupboard and then shut it again, and she came back into the room carrying some object which I could not see, but which she quickly put down. Then, as her husband was getting impatient, she said, calmly: “I cannot find the matches.” Suddenly she added: “Oh, here they are; I will come and let you in.”
The man came in, and I could see nothing of him but his feet, which were enormous. If the rest of him was in proportion, he must have been a giant.
I heard kisses, a little pat on her naked flesh, and a laugh, and he said, in a strong Marseilles accent: “I forgot my purse, so I was obliged to come back; you were sound asleep, I suppose.”
He went to the cupboard, and was a long time in finding what he wanted; and as Marroca had thrown herself on to the bed, as if she were tired out, he went up to her, and no doubt tried to caress her, for she flung a volley of angry r’s at him. His feet were so close to me that I felt a stupid, inexplicable longing to catch hold of them, but I restrained myself. When he saw that he could not succeed in his wish, he got angry, and said: “You are not at all nice, tonight. Goodbye, dear.”
I heard another kiss, then the big feet turned, and I saw the nails in the soles of his shoes as he went into the next room, the front door was shut, and I was saved!
I came slowly out of my retreat, feeling rather humiliated and miserable, and while Marroca, who was still undressed, danced a jig round me, shouting with laughter, and clapping her hands, I threw myself heavily into a chair. But I jumped up with a bound, for I had sat down on something cold, and as I was no more dressed than my accomplice was, the contact made me start. I looked round. I
