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By Root 1023 0

affection. She would begin to wonder why she was so miserable. She would throw a tantrum if he arrived half an hour late. She would go into a black sulk if he so much as mentioned his wife. She would complain that he no longer gave her presents, but accept them nonchalantly when he did. The man would be irritated but he would be unable to leave her, for by this time he would be eager for her grudging kisses, greedy for her perfect body; and she would still make him feel like a king in bed. She would find his conversation boring; she would demand from him more passion than he was able to give; there would be rows. Finally the crisis would come. His wife would get suspicious, or a child would fall ill, or he would have to take a six-month business trip, or he would run short of money. And Elene would be back where she was now: drifting, alone, disreputable—and a year older.

Her eyes focused, and she saw again her face in the mirror. Her face was the cause of all this. It was because of her face that she led this pointless life. Had she been ugly, she would always have yearned to live like this, and never discovered its hollowness. You led me astray, she thought; you deceived me, you pretended I was somebody else. You’re not my face, you’re a mask. You should stop trying to run my life.

I’m not a beautiful Cairo socialite, I’m a slum girl from Alexandria.

I’m not a woman of independent means, I’m the next thing to a whore.

I’m not Egyptian, I’m Jewish.

My name is not Elene Fontana. It’s Abigail Asnani.

And I want to go home.

The young man behind the desk at the Jewish Agency in Cairo wore a yarmulke. Apart from a wisp of beard, his cheeks were smooth. He asked for her name and address. Forgetting her resolution, she called herself Elene Fontana.

The young man seemed confused. She was used to this: most men got a little flustered when she smiled at them. He said: “Would you—I mean, do you mind if I ask you why you want to go to Palestine?”

“I’m Jewish,” she said abruptly. She could not explain her life to this boy. “All my family are dead. I’m wasting my life.” The first part was not true, but the second part was.

“What work would you do in Palestine?”

She had not thought of that. “Anything.”

“It’s mostly agricultural labor.”

“That’s fine.”

He smiled gently. He was recovering his composure. “I mean no offense, but you don’t look like a farmhand.”

“If I didn’t want to change my life, I wouldn’t want to go to Palestine.”

“Yes.” He fiddled with his pen. “What work do you do now?”

“I sing, and when I can’t get singing I dance, and when I can’t get dancing I wait on tables.” It was more or less true. She had done all three at one time or another, although dancing was the only one she did successfully, and she was not brilliant at that. “I told you, I’m wasting my life. Why all the questions? Is Palestine accepting only college graduates now?”

“Nothing like that,” he said. “But it’s very tough to get in. The British have imposed a quota, and all the places are taken by refugees from the Nazis.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” she said angrily.

“Two reasons. One is that we can get people in illegally. The other ... the other takes a little longer to explain. Would you wait a minute? I must telephone someone.”

She was still angry with him for questioning her before he told her there were no places. “I’m not sure there’s any point in my waiting.”

“There is, I promise you. It’s quite important. Just a minute or two.”

“Very well.”

He went into a back room to phone. Elene waited impatiently. The day was warming up, and the room was poorly ventilated. She felt a little foolish. She had come here impulsively, without thinking through the idea of emigration. Too many of her decisions were made like that. She might have guessed they would ask her questions; she could have prepared her answers. She could have come dressed in something a little less glamorous.

The young man came back. “It’s so warm,” he said. “Shall we go across the street for a cold drink?”

So that was the game, she thought. She decided to