Obsession by Florencia Bonelli
“I believe you. Actually, I would love to know about her. She looks very sweet in the photo.”
“Yes, she was very sweet, very easily frightened and very insecure, although she acted differently with Eliah than with anyone else. She was always in love with him, from when she was very young and my brother started playing with the Al-Muzara brothers.”
“She was the sister of Sabir Al-Muzara, the writer, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, they were twins. At first Eliah didn’t give her a second glance, because he was a boy and only concerned with playing with Sabir and Anuar, the older Al-Muzara brother. But later, when the Al-Muzaras were under my parents’ guardianship and came to live in our house, Eliah started to look at Samara with new eyes. Well, at that point he was fifteen and his hormones were raging.”
“Why were your parents made the guardians of the Al-Muzaras?”
“My papa and Samara’s father were very good friends. They met in college. Whenever Samara’s parents traveled, the kids would stay at our house, because they didn’t have any relatives in Paris. They died when they were visiting their family in Nablus, in the West Bank. They were mistakenly attacked by an Israeli tank. It was a big diplomatic scandal because they were French citizens, but it didn’t go any further than that. The Israeli government paid compensation to the Al-Muzara children, which my papa administered and gave them when they reached the legal age. The relatives in Nablus were very poor, so they ceded the guardianship of the Al-Muzara children to my parents. They took charge of Anuar, Sabir and Samara, and we all grew up together, like siblings. But Samara had already been in love with Eliah for some time and eventually she won him.”
“Eliah loved her very much, didn’t he?”
“Eliah is a strange guy. He doesn’t usually show his emotions, but I suppose if he married her it was because he loved her. My brother doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do. My parents thought that they got married too young, but when Eliah gets something into his head, nothing can change his mind. Sometimes he seems like a Taurus, because he’s so stubborn. And the situation was a little uncomfortable because they were living under the same roof, so finally they agreed. They were eighteen. I don’t know if you really know what you’re getting into when you get married at that age. My brother wasn’t in Paris very often because he was studying to become a pilot and living in Salon-de-Provence at the time. When he was on leave and came back to the house, he wanted to be with her, but also with Sabir, Gérard and Shiloah. He was very young and immature. He was nineteen and thought that he was the master of the world. Sometimes Samara drove him crazy, because she was jealous and insecure. He said that she clipped his wings, that she overwhelmed him, that she took away his freedom. Samara’s insecurities and fears acted like an anchor upon him. Once, at the start of 1991, in the middle of the Gulf War…Eliah was in that war, I don’t know if he told you.”
“Yes, he mentioned it.”
“He was there from the beginning. He left here in September 1990 and was one of the last to return. When the war had already broken out, in January, one of my father’s brothers, the head of the Saudi air force, came to have dinner, and said that since my brother was one of the best pilots, with excellent marksmanship, they were giving him the riskiest missions, the ones right in the heart of Baghdad. Nobody was happy to hear the news, but poor Samara stood up and fainted next to her chair. When Eliah found out, instead of taking pity on her, he got angry.”
“Why?” Matilde was shocked.
“Oh, because that’s how he is. He must have felt that Samara was trying to hold him back. Once, I heard them fighting and he was telling her he needed a strong woman at his side. Eliah is like a bird, Matilde, and no one, not even my father, has been able to clip his wings.”
Actually, thought Matilde, your brother is a Horse of Fire and nobody has been able to break him in.
“Samara had had two miscarriages, something that caused my brother great sadness because he wanted to have children, so Samara wanted with all her heart to get pregnant again to please him. The afternoon she found out she was pregnant, she went all over Paris looking for Eliah to tell him. Nobody knew where he had gone. And in that state, looking for him anxiously and nervously, she was killed in the tunnel that runs under Place de l’Alma, the same place Lady Diana was killed last year. The experts say that it wasn’t actually an accident.”
“What?” Matilde leaned back in her seat.
“Someone had cut the brake-fluid hose and worn down the seat belt.”
“My God! Who would do that?”
“They never found out for sure, but we think it was someone trying to get revenge on my brother.”
“Who? Who would want to get revenge on Eliah? Why?”
“We don’t know. Maybe for something to do with his business. Eliah was like a madman. His only thought was finding the people who had wrecked Samara’s car. The evidence pointed to my sister-in-law’s chauffeur, who called in on the morning of her death to say that he couldn’t come to work because he was sick. A few days later, when Eliah went to look for him in his apartment, he found him hanging from a rope from his ceiling.”
“My God! Maybe he killed himself because he couldn’t stand the guilt.”
“Yes, maybe. Or maybe he was murdered. Eliah said that Samara’s chauffeur may have actually carried it out but—how do you say it? The auteur intellectuel?”
“We say the mastermind.”
“The mastermind of the event was someone else. As I said, it might have been to do with his business or some other insane reason entirely. As much as Eliah continued with the investigation and pressured the police, he never uncovered this supposed mastermind. He felt very guilty, it devastated him. He changed after Samara’s death in 1995. Something in him died with her.” Yasmín paused and fixed her dark eyes on Matilde’s. “Something that was resuscitated when he met you. I don’t think you know the power you have over my brother.”
“Yasmín, I’m not interested in having power over your brother.”
“Yes, I know. You’re not that kind of woman.” She fell silent, and took a bite of her gâteau au chocolat, looking at Matilde the whole time. “I think that you are Eliah’s first true love, the kind that lasts forever. I never thought I would see my brother so much in love. It wouldn’t have surprised me in Alamán, he’s the romantic of the family. But Eliah…I never would have expected it. Are you in love with him?”
“Is it possible not to be in love with him?”
“I want you to know that I would love having you as a sister-in-law,” Yasmín said, and squeezed her hand affectionately.
“Thank you, Yasmín. But I don’t think that I’m made for marriage. My career is my priority. It gives meaning to my life and I have a project to complete, something that I’ve wanted to do since I was sixteen.” Yasmín looked at Matilde in amazement. “Anyway, I don’t think Eliah wants to get married again. As you said, he values his liberty above everything else. And so do I.”
It was hard for her to lie so brazenly; it sickened her to play the role of the cold, superior, modern woman and it hurt her heart to see the sad expression on Yasmín’s face. She felt bad for disappointing her. She felt as though the food had turned to stone in her stomach. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and fixed it into an empty, false smile.
“I’m going to ask Thérèse for Sándor’s address now. I’ll be right back.”
Yasmín suspected that her bodyguards knew where they were taking her. Matilde had found out that Sándor lived at number twenty-three Rue Maurice Arnoux, in a suburb of Paris called Malakoff. The car stopped in front of a very old double door. Yasmín lowered the window and looked up at the five-story building. Sándor lived in the apartment on the third floor. She waited a few seconds with her hand pressed to her heart to calm its insistent beating. Once she was sure that her voice would sound normal, she spoke in Italian to the man driving her.
“Calogero, do you know where you’ve taken me?”
“I understand that you and he are friends.”
“Yes, good friends.”
“Then get out, ring the bell and tell him to let you in.”
Yasmín walked behind her Sicilian bodyguard. The man pressed the buzzer for apartment fourteen. Yasmín wrung her hands and prayed that Sándor was at home. When she heard him ask who was there, relief flooded up from her knees and excitement pricked at her eyes, although it was immediately replaced by panic.
“It’s Calogero, Sanny. Open up.”
The click of the automatic door sounded immediately. Yasmín gestured to the bodyguard that he could go back to the car. There was no elevator. She walked up the stairs slowly so that she wouldn’t arrive breathless. The door to Sándor’s apartment was ajar.
“Come in, Calo! I’m having a shower. I’ll be right out.”
Yasmín’s already-racing heart sped up. She couldn’t speak, not even to say, “It’s Yasmín.” When she saw him appear wearing only a towel, she stifled an exclamation and clapped her hand over her mouth, though she made no move to turn around or leave the apartment. Another white towel was hung around his neck, his face was covered in shaving cream and he had a razor in his hand. She stood still, rooted to the ground near the door, staring at him, unsure what to do next.
“How did you find out where I live?” Sándor asked, and she was even more upset to see how angry and yet in control of the situation he was. “Did Calo tell you?”
“No. I got your address from someone else.”
“What do you want? What did you come for?”
“I broke up with André yesterday. For you.” Encouraged by a gleam that sweetened Sándor’s eyes, she added, “Because I love you and not him. It doesn’t matter to me that I’m rich and you’re poor, that you don’t know how to write French or how to use the right silverware, or how to cope with the people in my circle, or that I’m older than you. Nothing matters to me, Sándor, except you.”
The silence was prolonged. Yasmín thought that there must be a school nearby because she could hear the sound of children playing. Sándor stared at her for what seemed like a long time, though it couldn’t have been more than a minute later when she saw him put the razor on a small sideboard and wipe off the rest of the shaving cream with the towel around his neck.
Sándor sensed Yasmín’s shame and nervousness, and suddenly he felt something she had never inspired in him before: tenderness. She was standing at the door defenseless, dressed like a queen and yet completely vulnerable and submissive, her pride relinquished. She had exposed herself in an act of pure courage, and that made him love her even more. He told himself that he should go into the bedroom and get dressed, but he was afraid she would turn around and flee. He walked over to her slowly and smiled sweetly, which she responded to with a sob that she tried to repress but wasn’t able to entirely. He stretched out his hand to stroke her cheek. Since that day when he had kissed her in the house on Avenue Elisée Reclus, he hadn’t been able to get the sensation of touching her skin out of his head. He had sought out textures that resembled it without finding anything that even came close. The softness of Yasmín’s skin was unique.
“You don’t know how much I missed you, Yasmín. Forgive me for what I said to you in Eliah’s house. I didn’t feel any of what I said to you.”
“Sándor, I don’t want you to change, not even a little. I don’t want to teach you anything. It’s you that has to teach me to be a better person.”
Sándor held her by the arms, looked her in the eyes and kissed her with a renewed passion and the strength of a love that had been clandestine and was now able to step out into the light for them both to enjoy. Yasmín’s response only made the kiss intensify and Sándor, little by little, lost control.
“Yasmín, please.” He turned around and put his hand on his forehead, worked up.
“Sándor.” Yasmín pressed her cheek against his back and put her hands under his arms until she was caressing the sides of his chest. “How do you feel? I see that you’re not wearing the bandage anymore and the bruising is fading.”
“I’m fine. Yesterday I had a few X-rays and they told me that the ribs are healing very well, so they took the bandage off.”
“Thank God. Look at me, don’t turn your back on me. Why did you stop kissing me? Do you not feel well?”
He turned around to face her. His face was full of foreboding.
“Yasmín, don’t play with me. Is it true that you left Saint-Claire for me?”
“Yes, just for you. I couldn’t keep on betraying him, I felt terrible. I thought about you all day, I wanted to be with you and not him. It wasn’t fair to André.” The suspicion that lingered in his eyes made her say genuinely, without a hint of reproach, “Don’t feel pressured by the fact that I broke up with him. It had to happen. I didn’t love him and that’s that. I realized that when I started to have feelings for you, but that has nothing to do with our relationship.”
“You think I feel pressured by that?” He shook his head. “No, Yasmín. Knowing that you left Saint-Claire for me makes me very happy.”
“Then why do you look so glum?”
“Because I’m thinking that we come from different worlds. You were brought up as a princess. And I…”
“Enough, Sándor! I don’t want you to keep making the argument that I need to be pampered to keep us apart.”
“Don’t you need to be?”
“Sándor.” Yasmín inhaled to calm the anger that was bubbling up inside her. “Can we forget for a moment our situations in life and be happy about what’s happening to us? Are we going to throw away this opportunity to get to know each other and love each other because I have money and you don’t? Then we’d be letting everything that’s bad in this world—consumerism, materialism, social conflict—end our love before it’s even begun. Sándor.” She took his face in her hands. “Let us live in the present, which, right now, is marvelous. Then we’ll see what happens.”
Though his brain didn’t work that way—he needed to plan the future down to the most minute detail—Sándor was allowing Yasmín to convince him. He loved her so much, he wanted her as he had never wanted any woman, so he didn’t need much persuading.
“If you’re saying this to me after seeing where I live…”
“I would have told you this if I had found you in a dank, filthy cave.”
“Really?”
“Though I have to admit I would have taken you out of there and brought you to live in a decent place.”
Sándor chortled.
“Your apartment is very pretty.”
“I would have straightened up a little if I had known you were coming.”
“It’s great like this, really.”
“Thank you for this surprise, Yasmín.”
“Are you happy I came?”
“The happiest man in the world. I felt terrible after our argument. That kiss we shared was all I could think about.”
He bent his head, drew her to him and kissed her again.
“Please, Sándor, make love to me.”
He took her by the wrists and, walking backward, guided her toward the bedroom. He didn’t want to worry about the poverty of his apartment, the mess his bed was in, the shoes scattered everywhere or dirty socks on the floor. He grabbed the blanket by the two opposite corners, made a pouch and tossed it onto a chair. Yasmín laughed. Sándor grew serious once more and she stared at him as he calmly took off his towel and exposed his nudity. She was so nervous, she couldn’t take her eyes off her lover’s erect penis. Although she was anxious to touch it, she didn’t take the initiative. He approached her with the security of an experienced man, and she wondered how many women he had had in that bed. He undressed her gently, as if she were the one with the wounded body and he didn’t want to cause her pain.
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” she whispered.
“What?
“Offered myself so brazenly to a man.”
“I believe you. You’re proud, my love.”
“I hope you can appreciate it. It’s a demonstration of what I feel for you. And that I’m not as proud as you think, not really.”
They made love all afternoon with a fervor neither of them had experienced before. Yasmín realized that her worries about the age difference had been groundless. The skill and agility Sándor demonstrated during sex made her feel as though she were the one five years younger. She wondered again about his women when she saw him take a box of condoms out of the bedside table. She told herself that finding out that he wasn’t a loner as she had thought would help her not to take her love for granted. She got full confirmation of his sociability at dusk, when there was a knock at the door and it turned out to be a neighbor of Sándor’s, a Russian girl who had been teaching him to speak her language. She had brought beef Stroganoff with mushrooms and rice. Yasmín got dressed quickly while Sándor opened the door in a robe. She was annoyed that they were speaking a language she didn’t understand and laughing, not to mention that the girl was very young, pretty and knew how to cook. When he saw her appear, Sándor put his arm around her waist and said in French to his neighbor, “Sveta, this is Yasmín, my girlfriend.”
After saying good-bye to the neighbor and putting the beef Stroganoff in the freezer, Sándor walked Yasmín down to the bottom floor. Before he opened the door, he pressed her into a corner in the lobby and kissed her.
“I don’t want to let you leave. Will you come back tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’ll come in the afternoon, after I leave the laboratory. It’s all your fault, I’ve been neglecting my work a lot,” she said in a childlike tone.
They went outside. If the bodyguards knew what had happened on the third floor, they didn’t let on. Yasmín slid into the backseat.
“Calo, can I talk to you for a moment?” Sándor asked him.
Calogero got out of the car and they walked a few feet away.