Tangier

people of Dradeb. There was no proof as yet, no evidence against them, but Aziz told him that certain officers were trying hard to build a case. Achar and Bennani were careful, avoided direct attacks upon the King, but according to Aziz they left little doubt that they were complaining of his regime.

Aziz hesitated after he told him this, as if he wanted to add something more.

Hamid met his eyes. 'I understand,' he said. 'I'll speak to her tonight.'

He tried. He put it to Kalinka as calmly as he could. 'I'd appreciate it,' he said, 'if you'd stay away from the clinic for a while. I know you like your work there, but there's some trouble now. Achar and Bennani are stirring things up, and it would be better for me if you stayed away.'

She surprised him then-she argued back. 'It's my work,' she said. 'I can't do it if I stay away.'

'Of course, Kalinka-I know that. But please don't go down there anymore.'

'Why? Tell me why, Hamid.'

'Well-' How could he explain? 'I have some enemies in the police, and these men are watching Achar. By connecting Achar with you they could make it look as though I'm involved.'

'But you're not, Hamid-'

'Of course I'm not. But you live with me, and you're working there.' He looked at her.

She frowned. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'This is what I want to do.'

Suddenly he was furious. Didn't she care about his career? He stood up, started to leave the room.

'I just can't give it up,' she cried. He stopped, turned to look at her. Her hands were set upon her cheeks. 'There's such excitement down there, people doing things, trying to set things right. There's so much more to Tangier than I ever thought, Hamid. So much more than the people who go to Peter's store.'

'Are you saying I waste my time?'

'No, not that-'

'You're beginning to sound like Achar.'

'Well, he has been an influence, I admit-'

'Oh, yes. An influence! And you've certainly caught his mood. You have, Kalinka. Yes, you have. I know him. He's persuasive. And very attractive too.'

She stared at him. 'What are you trying to say?'

'That I'm sick of hearing about how noble he is. 'Achar says this.' 'Bennani's doing that.' You're more interested in them than in your life with me.'

'That's not true!'

'I hope not.'

'Well, it isn't.'

'Good. That's good. Now listen, Kalinka, I can't control you. You're a grown-up woman, and you're not my wife. But if we're going to be married, then that's something else. You can't go around and compromise my position. Perhaps you'd better think about that.'

'I have thought about it.'

'And?'

'Well, I'm not so sure we should be married, Hamid. At least not yet-not for a while.'

He looked at her, saw that she was serious, nodded, and left the room. Standing out on the terrace, looking across the city, he had the sense that everything between them was suddenly different. What was happening to her? Why had she become so willful? And he-why was he so difficult, making an issue out of her work just because of a hint from Aziz? He wasn't really jealous of Achar, though there was always the possibility, he realized, that if he tried to dominate Kalinka too much he could drive her straight into the doctor's arms. No, it wasn't that-his real fear was of disorder, the disorder he believed she was helping to sow in Dradeb, and the disorder that now seemed to have entered their home.

He'd wanted to marry her, had only held back until he could clear up some questions about her past. But now that that was solved, her relationship with Peter finally understood, she informed him that she wasn't yet ready herself and that as far as she was concerned their wedding could wait. That was something he hadn't anticipated. She had caught him in his pride.

They were quiet at dinner, excessively polite, then afterward moved about the apartment trying to stay out of each other's way. Finally, just before they went to bed, she broke the tension, for which he was grateful and relieved. She offered him a compromise which he immediately accepted. She'd be willing to stay out of the clinic, she said, but wanted to continue working on the census in the slum.

Census. It sounded more like a petition of grievances to him, something Bennani had organized, a door-to-door survey of what people thought, what they wanted in Dradeb, their sorrows, their complaints.

She cared about it, he could see, and that touched him, to his surprise. He remembered, months before, fearing she might change if she could give up her hashish. He'd wondered then if she'd become a different person, and, if she did, whether he'd still love her as much.

Well, he thought, she has become different, a quite extraordinary person, and there is no question about how I feel-I love her now even more than before.

Sometimes it was just little things that moved him, such as her insistence on participating in the fast. She didn't have to, wasn't a Moslem, but she couldn't bear the idea of everyone suffering except herself. It was hard not to admire her for that, her compassion, her empathy with anyone deprived.

As always, he'd found, the first few days of Ramadan weren't so bad, but having her as his companion in the misery made them even easier to endure. He was proud of her discipline, her ability to suffer all day without food or drink, until the moment when the cannon sounded and the mosques announced the night's release. Then he and Kalinka drank their full of soup and stuffed themselves with honey-cakes. Afterward he swept her in his arms and carried her to their bed.

Here they fondled each other for hours to the music of the city's flutes, soaring out of the pain of self-denial into realms of ecstasy and desire. Tangier seemed different then, so different from the dour city of the fast. They listened to their neighbors celebrating and agreed the nights were charmed.

Yes, she was a different person now, had actually grown, it seemed. Ever since he'd raised the veil from her past she'd become strong, incisive, and direct. Before, he'd seen no way to connect her to the world which he policed. She'd always been separate from the city, his private mystery, but now he felt there was a relationship between his public life and his life with her.

It wasn't just her work, this grievance census she was taking in Dradeb. It was something more, another kind of link. She mentioned it to him that night they fought and made up, an idea she had about the meaning of her mother's life.

'I think,' she said after they'd made love and were in bed listening to the flutes, 'that all those years that Peter was pretending, trying to duplicate his comradeship with mama-oh, you know, Hamid, starting a store here, arranging the beds the same, even making me pretend to be his wife-that all that time he was smothering me with rituals and lies. I couldn't breathe then, find myself, find out who I was. But now I'm free, thanks to you. I've stopped smoking. I've read books on Vietnam. Now, finally, I understand what mother did. And, listen Hamid, there's a connection too between Hanoi and Tangier, between what happened there and what I feel here.'

He sat up abruptly when she said that. He was astounded, unsettled, even shocked. 'No, no,' he said, 'it's not the same. Oh, in superficial ways, yes. But we're not a colony anymore.'

'But it is the same, Hamid, at least to me. Mama wanted much more than to put out the French. She wanted to change the country. Change the way people lived.'

'Where do you get these ideas, Kalinka? From Achar, of course-'

She slapped him playfully. 'I have my own ideas. Where do I get them? From using my eyes, like you.' She raised her body and grasped his face between her hands. 'You should know, Hamid. You, of all people, should know. You were born down there. No water. The degradation. Surely you remember what Dradeb is like. What difference does it make to the people down there if they're ruled by the French or a Moroccan king?' She paused, shook her head. 'It doesn't make any difference. None at all. All they care about is that someone care for them and that no one trample them-that they aren't hurt by life.'

He turned away. She was right, he knew it, could remember his feelings as he'd gazed up at the Mountain as a boy. But he'd put them aside, replacing his hurt at the indifference of the Europeans by a fascination with their styles of life. He wanted to tell her about that, and about all the hurt he'd once felt, but he was afraid that if he