Maybe we'll see each other at the hotel.”
Sarah woke something up in me, but as always, it disappeared. It seemed like the years hadn't passed, and we were the same. I needed wa rmth, affection, something. At that moment, she made me fe el it. It was so long since I had felt the hands of a woman. And suddenly I saw a woman in front of me, dressed in black, who was trying to explain in French and a little Spanish what she wanted to the waitress.
“I speak French, if you'd like me to translate," I said after considering for awhile if I should speak to her or not. It was like continuing the chat with Sarah. I translated what she wanted, a sandwich with cheese but no ham.
"What is your name?"
"Fátima."
"Are you from Tétouan?"
"I was born in Tangier but I live in Paris. I'm here to visit my mother, she's sick. They say she's not doing so well, she's in a coma. I think it's serious.”
"Interesting. I was born in Tétouan, and live in Madrid. My name is Eli." I have no idea why I didn't tell her my real name.
I looked at her eyes for a long time, they seemed fam iliar, as if she was family. But that would be impossible. Fátima is a Muslim name, there are no Jews with that name.
“You must be Jewish.”
“Yes, and you, Muslim?”
“It is difficult for me to talk to Jews since they st arted killing Palestinian children," she said, but her bod y language said the opposite.
"It's been hard for me since I was born." I smiled in order to avoid starting a political conversation.
"I don't know what is happening to me, my boyfriend of three years, Marcel, is Jewish, my best friend at univ ersity, Jewish, and also named Marcelle, the director of my hospital, Jewish, the doctors I work with, Jewish, and it's not like Paris doesn't have any Muslims, but that's who I spend all my time with. I try to escape them, maybe that's why I find them. I'm sorry...”
"You don't have to apologize," I said while tears began to fall from her eyes.
"It has been a difficult few days, my mother, and many other things...letters...how can I explain. You're a stranger! I could tell you everything, though, I'm desperate.”
"Did you leave your boyfriend? I lef t my wife. It isn't easy.”
"No, not exactly. I told him I needed to think. It's true, I needed to think. Sometimes you have to think.”
“And somehow, in a short amount of time I cannot calculate now, my hand was holding hers and we were kissing.”
"I have to go to Morocco today, to see my mother." But we were already in the street, head ing to the hotel.
The receptionist said, "Hello, Mr. Benzimra."
"What did he say?" asked Fátima.
"He was just greeting me."
"Ok, fine, it doesn't matter. I hope he doesn't think I'm a prostitute."
"I think you are allowed to come into my room in the middle of the day, and I don't care what anyone thinks."
We went into the room and started kissing without saying another w ord. We took off our clothes and f ell into bed. I don't know how long the sex lasted, but it was over quickly, surely less than five minutes. We both came together and felt and deep and complete satisfaction, something that has never happened to me. It was as if we had k nown each other for centuries. As if we knew every part of each other's bodies.
"That was incredible. Give me your telephone number. "
I was so tired, and after finished I almost passed out. It was more than just sleeping. I must have been in that sta te fifteen or twenty minutes before opening my eyes, and saw that she had left a note. "Very romantic," I thought.
"Eli, it was so wonderful, that it is best we don't see each other again." That's what she wrote, and in Spanish.
These French women, now I would only think about her, I would look for her in all of Paris, I would go live in Paris, that's what I was thinking. How could it be? I was married ten years, more than ten years, and nothing like that had ever happened. I fell asleep and when I woke up it
Sarah woke something up in me, but as always, it disappeared. It seemed like the years hadn't passed, and we were the same. I needed wa rmth, affection, something. At that moment, she made me fe el it. It was so long since I had felt the hands of a woman. And suddenly I saw a woman in front of me, dressed in black, who was trying to explain in French and a little Spanish what she wanted to the waitress.
“I speak French, if you'd like me to translate," I said after considering for awhile if I should speak to her or not. It was like continuing the chat with Sarah. I translated what she wanted, a sandwich with cheese but no ham.
"What is your name?"
"Fátima."
"Are you from Tétouan?"
"I was born in Tangier but I live in Paris. I'm here to visit my mother, she's sick. They say she's not doing so well, she's in a coma. I think it's serious.”
"Interesting. I was born in Tétouan, and live in Madrid. My name is Eli." I have no idea why I didn't tell her my real name.
I looked at her eyes for a long time, they seemed fam iliar, as if she was family. But that would be impossible. Fátima is a Muslim name, there are no Jews with that name.
“You must be Jewish.”
“Yes, and you, Muslim?”
“It is difficult for me to talk to Jews since they st arted killing Palestinian children," she said, but her bod y language said the opposite.
"It's been hard for me since I was born." I smiled in order to avoid starting a political conversation.
"I don't know what is happening to me, my boyfriend of three years, Marcel, is Jewish, my best friend at univ ersity, Jewish, and also named Marcelle, the director of my hospital, Jewish, the doctors I work with, Jewish, and it's not like Paris doesn't have any Muslims, but that's who I spend all my time with. I try to escape them, maybe that's why I find them. I'm sorry...”
"You don't have to apologize," I said while tears began to fall from her eyes.
"It has been a difficult few days, my mother, and many other things...letters...how can I explain. You're a stranger! I could tell you everything, though, I'm desperate.”
"Did you leave your boyfriend? I lef t my wife. It isn't easy.”
"No, not exactly. I told him I needed to think. It's true, I needed to think. Sometimes you have to think.”
“And somehow, in a short amount of time I cannot calculate now, my hand was holding hers and we were kissing.”
"I have to go to Morocco today, to see my mother." But we were already in the street, head ing to the hotel.
The receptionist said, "Hello, Mr. Benzimra."
"What did he say?" asked Fátima.
"He was just greeting me."
"Ok, fine, it doesn't matter. I hope he doesn't think I'm a prostitute."
"I think you are allowed to come into my room in the middle of the day, and I don't care what anyone thinks."
We went into the room and started kissing without saying another w ord. We took off our clothes and f ell into bed. I don't know how long the sex lasted, but it was over quickly, surely less than five minutes. We both came together and felt and deep and complete satisfaction, something that has never happened to me. It was as if we had k nown each other for centuries. As if we knew every part of each other's bodies.
"That was incredible. Give me your telephone number. "
I was so tired, and after finished I almost passed out. It was more than just sleeping. I must have been in that sta te fifteen or twenty minutes before opening my eyes, and saw that she had left a note. "Very romantic," I thought.
"Eli, it was so wonderful, that it is best we don't see each other again." That's what she wrote, and in Spanish.
These French women, now I would only think about her, I would look for her in all of Paris, I would go live in Paris, that's what I was thinking. How could it be? I was married ten years, more than ten years, and nothing like that had ever happened. I fell asleep and when I woke up it
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