The French Ambassador's residence was only a short
distance from Dan's beach hut. Situated in an old
colonial mansion on a large corner compound it was on
the inland side of Lido Road that paralleled the strip
of white sandy beach. A crowd of wooly haired Somali
bushmen, ragged, emaciated children and women carrying
babies had gathered in the street outside the gate to
rubber neck and gawk at their elected officials and the
foreigners as they arrived in their chauffeur driven
cars.
The air was still and heavy, and the French
Tricolor hung limply from a flagpole in the center of
the semi-circular driveway covered with crushed white
coral. They pulled to a stop under the floodlights that
played over the well manicured garden and the white
marble, rococo facade of the old two story building.
The mansion must have, at one time, housed a high
ranking colonial official, or was the residence of an
important and wealthy family. Inside it still bore
traces of the splendor of empire, and this opulent
elegance was ideally suited to the image that the French
like to project in their overseas diplomatic
establishments.
Rich silk damask and dark hardwood paneling,
imported from Italy and Kenya, covered the walls that
rose up to the high ceilings where crystal chandeliers
hung in the several large reception rooms decorated with
Louis XIV furnishings. Origianl oil paintings by French
Impressionists adorned the walls, and a superbly trained
staff of Somali servants moved easily through the guests
to offer caviar, canapes of smoked salmon and pate
d'foie gras, bite-sized pieces of lobster and shrimp, or
tender morsels of veal, chicken and ham. Vintage
champagne was abundant and was served in fragile, long
stemmed, crystal Napoleon champagne glasses.
The glitter surrounding any diplomatic function
had a chiaroscuro contrast with the bleak, crumbling,
weathered and impoverished environment in Mogadishu, but
this black and white contrast was even more pronounced
at French parties. Each time Dan attended a reception
at the French Embassy he could not help but think of the
excesses by the French monarchy which provoked the
revolution that brought into being the Republic founded
on the ideals of liberte, egalite, fraternite. It
seemed almost axiomatic and inevitable that sometime
during the course of the evening Dan would think of Jean
Jacques Rousseau's statement in the Social Contract
where he says, "At length, I recollected the thoughtless saying of a great princess, who on being informed that
the country people had no bread, replied, 'Let them eat
cake.'"
Dan was not, however, concerned with social justice
that night. He was a very happy and lighthearted man
who had just made a marriage proposal to a lovely,
exciting and lighthearted woman who had accepted, and
nothing would have made him happier than to announce
their engagement, so to speak, at this gathering that
had been carefully orchestrated to produce gaiety in the
otherwise drab quotidian monotony of life in Mogadishu.
Liliana and Dan moved quickly through the receiving
line with no raised eyebrows, innuendo or snide remarks,
although there may have been some of these from any of
the guests who bothered to pay attention to who was
arriving with whom. Once inside the party they each
accepted glasses of champagne and went their separate
ways to circulate through the conversation clusters that
changed and moved in slow perpetual motion as people
shifted to and fro with one group dissolving only to
form another. Several times during the evening Dan
looked across the room to rest his eyes on Liliana as
she slipped gracefully through the party, and each time
he paused to look at her his chest was filled with a
warm, loving sensation that frequently flickered with desire. He sometimes noticed that Liliana was looking
at him, and when their glances coincided they exchanged
little nods, winks or smiles to affirm one another.
Despite the pall that hung over most of the Italian
community the party was light and gay. Greg Chandler
was happily passing the word of his transfer to Rome,
and everyone was anxious to share and rejoice in a piece
of good news. At one point Dan stopped to chat with
Maggie Chandler, and it gave him an eerie feeling to
talk with her. She did a marvelous job, however, of
concealing what, Dan knew, were her true feelings of
grief and sadness.
Because Dan knew of her involvement with Antonio di
Paulo, he saw through much of her facade of gaiety. Dan
was able to detect a melancholy emptiness in her eyes
and in the tone of her voice, and he had a strong
impulse to take her in his arms and comfort her. But he
listened to his own advice, the same advice that he had
given Liliana, and he said nothing to Maggie about
Antonio. Dan believed that an illusion of secrecy would
allow her to heal more quickly than having to deal with
the knowledge that her husband's boss, as well as a lot
of other people, knew of her indiscretion and
infidelity.
For the most part the conversation was, as is characteristic of all diplomatic functions, light and
non-controversial. For the few people, mostly Italians,
who wanted to talk about the plane crash and persisted
in spreading the rumor that the Somali Army had been
involved, Dan repeated the view from the American
Embassy that they believed that the crash had been
totally unrelated to the troop movements, and that the
proximity of the troops to the crash site had been pure
coincidence. Dan thought this stance would have a
reassuring influence on people, and would tend to dampen
what could easily become hysterical fear. Even though
the Brits had adopted the same posture as the Americans,
everyone seemed more willing to accept what ever came
out of the American Embassy as the gospel truth; they
wanted to believe that in the American Embassy they knew
what was really going on in the country whether it was
true or not.
In the course of the evening Dan expressed his
opinion of the incident to President Abdirashid, the
Prime Minister, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, General
Said, the Commander of the army, and the commandant of the National Police, General Aden Ossman. They all showed their appreciation for the
faith that the American Embassy was showing in them by
accepting and supporting their version of what happened.
By the time Dan had spoken to all of them he was even more convinced that the Somali version was the truth.
Dan had just finished his conversation with General
Ossman when he spotted Marie-Claude Lecomte standing
alone, in what he suspected was a moment of trying to
catch her breath. Since she was a French Foreign
Service wife the party for her was more in the nature of
work than it was entertainment. Dan moved over to where
she was standing. "Bonsoir, Madame Lecomte," he said
and kissed her hand. "You look very elegant this
evening."
"Bonsoir, Monsieur Ambassadeur, merci," MarieȘClaude said, and, repeating her gesture of exaggerated
formality as she had done at the British Embassy, she
curtsied, but winked her eye and gave Dan a knowing
conspiratorial smile.
"No need for the curtsy, Marie-Claude," he said and
smiled at her. "I understand that you have been
enlisted as a co-conspirator, and I thank you."
"No need to thank me," she said. "I love it.
Liliana is so happy, and I like to see people happy. I
hope you are happy, too."
"I am," Dan replied. "Very happy, as happy as I
have ever been in my life. Just between you and me I
expect to make this happiness permanent, but this is
going to be complicated to work out, so keep it a secret will you?"
"I will," she said. "Liliana already told me, and
I'm thrilled for both of you. Her husband is - how do
say in English - such a jerk."
Dan was amused by her Marseilles French
pronunciation of jerk, and a little startled by her
frankness. "I don't want to bad mouth anyone," Dan
said. "I'm just trying to find happiness in a world
where there doesn't seem to be a lot of happiness, and
all I want for Liliana is for her to be happy. I don't
like to get involved in lying and deceit, but I don't
know what else to do. Nobody plans these things. They
just happen."
"I know," she said. "Let me tell you a secret,
both Jean Pierre and I were married to other people when
we met, and things do work out. Things will work out
for you and Liliana, too."
"You and Jean Pierre are both young people, Marie-Claude," he said. "There's a significant age difference
between Liliana and me. Jean Pierre is just starting
his career in diplomacy and I'm finishing mine, and in
your case there were no children involved."
"Nonsense! None of that makes any difference. You
are very young and youthful, Dan. The important thing
is that you love one another, and I can tell you that Liliana loves you."
"And I love Liliana," he said.
"I know you do," she said. "That's why everything
will work out for both of you."
"I'm glad I talked to you. You've made me feel
even better than when I came to the party, and I felt
very good then. Can I enlist you in another little co-conspiracy now?" he asked.
"Yes, of course," she replied. "What do you want
me to do?"
"I'm going to leave and go out to my car. Can you
slip up to Liliana and let her know that I'll wait for
her outside?"
"Good idea," Marie-Claude replied. "I'll take care
of things. Adieu, Monsieur Ambassadeur."
"Adieu, Madame Lecomte," Dan replied with a wide
smile. "By the way, I thank you for a lovely party.
You French really know how to do things up right." He
took her hand in his and kissed it, then began working
his way toward the door.
The average age of the expatriate and diplomatic
communities in Mogadishu was young in comparison to most
posts, and many people were splitting into smaller
groups to continue the party down at a beach hut or at
someone else's home. Others were planning to go to Azan's, the only restaurant in town, for dinner, and Dan
received several invitations to join one group or
another as he worked his way through the party to say
goodnight. He declined all of the invitations, and
wanted only to go home alone with Liliana.
Dan said goodnight to the French Ambassador,
complimented him on the party, and walked out of the
house to his car. Slipping into the back seat he told
Abukar to pull the car up in the driveway in front of
the house, and in a few minutes Liliana walked out to
slip in beside him.
He took her hand in his and squeezed it. "You
didn't mind my leaving without you, did you?" he asked.
"Not at all," she said. "It was a good idea"
"I'm glad," he said. "I don't want to hurt your
feelings. I had several invitations to join other
little parties that were forming, but I turned them all
down. I prefer to just go back to the beach hut and be
alone with you, but if you want to go to one of them my
tail can be twisted."
"No," she replied. "I had several invitations,
too, and I turned them all down. I'd prefer to go to
the beach hut and twist your tail for other reasons, and
besides we have a lot to talk about. We have plans to
make - fantasies to share."
Abukar pulled the car to a stop at the beach hut,
and Liliana and Dan climbed out to walk through the hut
out to the terrace where they were mercifully graced
with traces of a fresh breeze which was blowing off the
sea.
"That breeze is delicious," she said then stretched
her arms over her head and whirled around in a circle.
"That party was delicious - everything is delicious, and
I feel giddy and lightheaded. I think I drank too much
champagne."
"I don't know how much champagne you drank, but I
don't think it was the wine that makes you feel giddy
and lightheaded," he said and took her in his arms.
"These are giddy, lightheaded times, and I feel the same
way. Do you realize that just one week ago tonight we
drove into the bush and had that encounter with the
nomads? And it is less than a week ago that we made
love for the first time."
"Yes," she replied, "I do realize all that, and I
realize that just a few hours ago you asked me to marry
you, and I said yes, yes, yes. My God, we're both
married! We're both crazy, and I love it!"
"I know," he replied. "I feel like I've cut all of
my ties to reality, or that I can't distinguish between
fantasy and reality. It's like my fantasies are manifesting themselves in reality. Here we both are on
the East coast of Africa, a million miles from our own
cultures, in a troubled region, and we're both as happy
as clams. We are like a couple of clams buried in the
sand. We're lost in a fantasy of our own making.
You're right, we are crazy, and I love it, too!"
"Do you want to continue with our fantasy, or do
you want to come back to reality?" she asked.
"Reality has a way of forcing itself upon people,
and I think it will force itself on us come Sunday
morning when Rita and Carlo return. I think for
tonight, and maybe tomorrow, I would prefer our little
never-never, fantasyland," he replied.
"Good," she said, "because I feel the same way. I
feel wild and seductive - happy and free. Have you ever
been to Spain?"
"Yes, many times."
"Did you like it?" she asked and walked to what had
become 'her' chair to sit down.
"I love Spain," he replied and sat down in the
chair beside her. "How about you. Have you been there
- did you like it?"
"Yes, I've been there twice and I love Spain, too."
she replied. "Do you want to hear one of my fantasies?"
she asked.
"Yes, I'd love to hear your fantasy," he replied.
"When I was a teenager, growing up in Amalfi - do
you know where Amalfi is?" she asked.
"Yes, it's just South of Naples - it's a beautiful
little village," he replied.
"Well that's where I was born and grew up. My
father was the headmaster of a school there - anyway,
when I was a teenager, I wanted to be a flamenco dancer,
and I took lessons. Do you have any flamenco records?"
"I think so," he replied.
"Oh find one and put it on," she said.
"I will," he said and got out of the chair.
"Come with me." he took her by the hand and together
they walked to a cabinet inside the hut where he looked
through a stack of records and pulled several out. "How
will these do?" he asked.
Liliana looked through the stack, then chose one.
"This sounds good. It has soleares on it." She handed
the record to Dan, and he placed it on the turn table of
the stereo.
"Will you dance for me?" he said as they walked
back out to the terrace to the first strains of a
flamenco guitar coming over the speakers.
"Yes," she said. "You sit down and I'll weave a
spell for. Imagine we are in a room lighted only by candlelight, and it the shadows there is a guitarist
sitting on a straight back chair holding his guitar on
his thigh. His fingers crawl over the strings like a
spider as he goes through the intricate falsetas to
Soleares."
From the record came the raspy voice of a cante
hondo singer in a protracted lamentation like an Islamic
muezzin calling the faithful to prayer.
"I am a gypsy dancer sitting on a straight back
chair," Liliana said, and continuing her soliloquy, she
sat down on a straight back chair in the shadows on the
other side of the deck. "The singer walks to where I am
seated and for several minutes he stands beside me
repeating his lamentations while the guitar plays in
counterpoint."
Liliana's story was perfectly synchronized to the
music coming fro m the record, then she rose from the
chair and in two quick feline steps she was in the
center of the deck where she stood, back arched, head
erect, face turned upward. Slowly her left hand moved
in serpentine rhythm with the guitar. Her left arm rose
until it was fully extended above her to complete an arc
with her right arm which was thrust downward behind her.
The guitar stopped. The lamentations ceased - she
was Lilith, and the focus of Dan's attention. "Ole," he said.
The guitar started again, and Liliana ebbed and
flowed from her imaginary guitarist then back to where
she saw the singer. Her hands and arms undulated like
the wings of an angel in flight. With their music the
singer and guitarist charmed her, and with her body she
seduced them. Her face was illuminated with the torment
of creating and the sweet agony of release. The tempo
of the music increased. She swayed, lifted her skirt
and clicked her heels against the floor. Pulling a comb
from the back of her head she let her hair fall over her
face, and she taunted Dan like a wild creature with a
final explosive flourish where he sat transfixed by her.
The music stopped and he clapped his hands with
applause. "Ole," he said. "You're marvelous, and
you're wasting your time as a school teacher. You
should be a dancer."
"Did you like it?" she said breathlessly and
dropped into the chair beside Dan.
"I loved it - you're really, really good."
"Oh thank you. That was fun," she gasped trying to
catch her breath.
"Would you like a cognac?" he asked.
"Just a small one," she replied. "I can still feel
the champagne."
Dan walked to the bar poured two cognacs then
returned to sit beside her again.
"You know you really are Lilith when you dance and
make love," he said and touched her glass in a toast.
"The first time we made love, or rather the second time,
when you were on top, I looked at the expression on your
face and I thought about the Spanish dancers I have
seen. Their facial expressions have a quality of sweet
agony - ecstasy. You had that expression on your face
when you had an orgasm, and you had it just now when you
danced."
"Oh really," she said with a wicked smile and
sipped her cognac. "That's called honda de cara in
Spanish. Do you want to see it again?"
"I most certainly do," he replied and set his glass
on the table. "Right now!"
He got up, offered his hand to her and together
they walked to the bedroom.
