Yalo by Elias Khoury Page A

so he could see the sole of her tawny foot and her calf rising and falling with the smoke of her American cigarette, which she exhaled into the air of the salon.
    Yalo drank his coffee and cognac quickly and left with Monsieur Michel for his house, where he understood that his job would be to guard the villa as well as Madame and her daughter, that he must not openly carry a weapon by night or by day, that he would receive a monthly salary of three hundred American dollars in addition to the meals that would be sent to him from the villa.
    But Yalo had erred, he would write that he had erred, and would feel moments of regret for the Madame during his long stay in detention. No, the truth was that his feelings of regret for the Madame began when he saw Shirin with her slender, trembling thighs in the interrogator’s room. Suddenly everything ran together in his head and he tasted thorns, and saw before him the Madame’s flirtatious calf, before he fell captive to Shirin’s small eyes.
    Yalo had erred that night two months before he was arrested and he was incapable of justifying or explaining his foolish behavior. Madame was wearing a white nightdress, stretched out on the sofa in the salon, her full breasts nearly exposed by the opening of her dress, emanating the fragrance of her perfume, Madame Roche. Yalo took his usual place on the floor beside the sofa. He told her he was tired and his eyes hurt, but she didn’tbelieve him. She poured out two tumblers of whiskey and told him to drink. She picked up the remote control and started the movie, and began ruffling the hair of the young man sitting by her. That night Yalo did not wait for the end of the movie, just as he did not wait for her teasing – that slow sexual ritual that she imposed on him. Fed up, he took her on the sofa. He heard her voice pleading, “No, not like this,” but he didn’t stop. He had never before slept with her here. She would take his hand and lead him to the bedroom and there slowly undress, drawing him to her slowly, and when he took her she asked him not to come quickly. She languished and delayed as she gazed at her naked body in the huge mirror placed at the foot of her bed and Yalo was immersed in the fragrance of her perfume and writhed between her thighs and at the cleft of her large, firm breasts. He came near at a signal from her eyes and moved away at a signal from her hands, and when he heard her final sighs and sank beneath the water that flowed freely from inside her, seeming to disappear, he felt that he was shooting his whole soul into her and that he wanted to fall asleep in her arms. But Madame transformed quickly at the final moment into a stranger, covered herself with the bedclothes, and her dilated pupils began to shift feverishly, and she said that she was afraid that her husband would be showing up. Yalo would laugh and go back to her but she firmly resisted him and he understood that he had to go. He put on his underwear and his rumpled pants tossed beside the bed, and he felt that his feet were as rumpled and limp as his trousers. He would walk on trembling feet to his house, where he’d drink a bottle of red wine and fry three eggs, then take a shower and sleep like the dead.
    That night Yalo felt nauseated and did not know how he had been able to get erect and feel desire. He felt sure that he would not be able to sleep with Madame Randa, but suddenly he got hard and was proud of himself. Yalo had wanted to ask her to postpone it but she did not understand his hint. He sat down on the floor like a dog, watching a movie that was like all thosemovies. All pornos were alike but possessed an undeniable excitement. He drained his glass in a single swallow, then jumped on top of Madame, took her in seconds, and got up. He did not take off his clothes. He unzipped his pants, flung himself on her, and finished. He refastened his pants, sat on the opposite sofa, poured himself another drink, and