It was early winter,
and London was freezing cold. Anataalie, an elegant young French woman,
had been shopping in Bond Street, for the unique gifts she loved to
send to people she knew would celebrate Christmas.
Bond Street was a great place to find the highest quality as well
as prestige branded products. She had seen earlier at her favorite
jewelers' window display, some turquoise and gold beetles, Egyptian,
in 18 carats gold and sapphires, they were lovely and truly unique
to the connoisseur she was . Her friends would love those.
She entered the jewelers shop which had just opened. As she entered,
the manager of the shop welcomed her with great warmth. After all
she was a regular customer, and she was stunning, she had an aura
around her that warmed any place she was in.
Mr.Thompson called immediately for a tea tray. Anataalie was used
to the courtesy of this so British gentleman, and so she relaxed into
the sofa chair, and removed her white kid gloves to pick up the porcelain
cup of tea. The manager could not help noticing on her fingers the
rings he had sold her over the last three years. On her manicured
hands, the diamond rings set with several solitaire diamonds, sapphires
and emeralds were as dazzling and beautiful as ever. Boucheron was
indeed the best jeweler there was in the world. Today she had worn
only fresh water pearls on her ears and neck, it gave her a youthful
and yet sober look. She looked ravishing. It always warmed the heart
of the manager to see that lovely women were wearing items from his
shop. Anataalie was certainly a walking advertisement; she looked
stunning in those.
Anataalie drank her lemon tea slowly while the manager showed her
the Egyptian pieces she wanted. Anataalie looked keenly at the pieces
and said softly: " Yes, those will do. How many do you have presently
in stock"?
The manager gleefully replied: "Four, Mademoiselle Anataalie, we have
just four". Anataalie smiled: "And so Monsieur Thompson, yes
I shall take the four. Just add the wrapping separately, I will do
the wrapping myself." The manager laughed. He knew her well, she loved
doing the packing of the gifts herself, she never wanted it any other
way. And he was only too willing to oblige such a courteous customer.
As the shop assistant was instructed to pack as Anataalie had requested,
the Manager took advantage of the free moment to show Anataalie a
new piece, a recent arrival; a forearm snake type bracelet, also a
piece from Egypt. It had an intrinsic handwork, and Anataalie looked
at it for a while, and asked "How much? "
The manager told the price. Anataalie said: "Yes I want it too, but
this one please, have it wrapped up".
The manager laughed and said: "Yes, we always do wrap the gifts you
make to yourself, and we spare no efforts in doing so."
Anataalie gave back a brief smile. It was enough, the Manager knew
that Anataalie was a discreet and mysterious woman. She never gave
anything of herself readily, only soft smiles.But he liked her a lot,
she was easy to deal with, and very kind. She always inquired about
his wife and children. As they were in the process of completing the
purchase, suddenly the face of the manager froze. The security men
were going hurriedly towards the entrance door. Anataalie casually
glanced towards the place of the commotion.
There stood in the doorway a tall black skinned man, over 6-ft tall.
He made a strange impression not only because of his unusual height
but also for the fact that he was dressed with a sort of cape where
there were only openings for the head and for the arms. It seemed
to have been made from a brown rough fabric, very much like a blanket
and the man wore only a pair of open sandals.
Anataalie immediately felt the cold invading her as she shivered for
the man. How did he walk around in those open sandals.The winter of
London is always very freezing and she felt that he would surely catch
his death, dressed that way. His cloth came only to the calves of
his legs and his arms were bare. He had around his strong neck a cord
with an animal tooth ,so it seems, from afar. She could not see much
more as the man was chased away. She was sad because oddly she felt
that she should somehow explain to him about the weather, and to teach
him somehow how to dress himself more adequately. She shivered, did
he not feel the cold? The commotion was soon forgotten. An English
lady entered the shop. She was wearing an interesting hat that was
pleasing to Anataalie. She seemed nice enough, but from the strained
face of the manager, Anataalie could understand that she was not an
easy customer to please. Anataalie was done, she bade farewell to
the Manager but the Manager insisted to accompany Anataalie to the
door, much to the annoyance of the lady. The Manager said: "Mademoiselle
Anataalie, I wish you a wonderful day and I shall convey your wishes
to my wife.
As she went into the Bond Street, she realized how cold it was, she
was wearing a jersey suit of mauve color with a white kid jacket and
gloves and boots, yet she felt so very cold…She had never felt that
very cold on previous winters. It was just 11am in the morning and
many people were walking in Bond Street, the street was always fashionably
lively. She saw in some of the boutiques some famous lady singer Lulu,
and a model too. But she was shivering and she thought that she could
do with some warm beverage at an Italian restaurant she sometimes
went to while shopping in the erea. She entered, and the waiter greeted
her. He was a charming young italian man, with an eye for pretty ladies.
He always courted Anataalie whenever she came in the place, messing
around her, like he did to no other customer. Anataalie smiled, he
was happy.
She said, "Alberto, please I am feeling cold, I need a very hot cappuccino"
It was a busy place, but she could hear Alberto making an Italian
joke about Anataalie being cold, how he could resolve the problem.She
did not mind him , she was used to him, he meant no insult. He was
a good man, a bit of a playboy like all Italians. Soon he brought
her coffee and she took her cup in her two hands so that the warmth
would reach her heart faster.
As she was drinking, she noticed that Alberto was pacing nervously
the aisle up and down, with an angry face. She was puzzled, because
Alberto was always in a pleasant mood. She had never seen him that
upset. She called him and told Alberto, "Alberto, I am going to refresh
myself in the powder room, meanwhile please I need one more coffee
and a croissant."
She had already stood up and he was pleased to find her so close to
him. She was tall and slender, her skin was so perfect, her smile,
her hair, and he was so taken by her. He could smell her perfume;
she always wore that perfume.What a beautiful woman, Alberto thought,what
a shame. She is always alone. Not once did he see her accompanied
by a man.Many had tried to befriend her while she had been here on
previous occasions , but she always remained so aloof. Even Sergio
the owner of the restaurant was crazy about her, but she laughed him
away, gently.Alberto pondered often about this, Sergio was really
attracted by Anataalie and Sergio had a lot of money too, everyday
he was making a fortune from this restaurant, still she did not care
for his advances or declarations of love. She would even refused when
Sergio gave orders that her bills be on the house, she insisted to
pay, always.
Anataalie walked past other tables on her way to the Powder Room.
As she did so, she was surprised to see the same tall black man that
had been ousted from the jeweler's shop a little while ago, seated
at one of the tables by the wall, on his own. His back was to her
so she moved on and climbed down the stairs to go to the Powder Room.
She refreshed herself, and yes she understood why Alberto was angry.
Italians are a bit racist and do not take well to darker skins, one
of the many stigmas of their colonialist past, she thought. As she
came back up she found that the black man was still seated, his eyes
flashing with anger staring at Alberto. She felt the tension. She
understood the conflict right away.
It was easy to understand why Alberto was annoyed: Well, the black
man was eating with his hands, he had ordered a rear T-bone steak
and blood was dripping from the corner of his mouth too. Not a pretty
sight. And other customers were moving away from this aisle of the
restaurant to other tables. Somehow. Anataalie felt sorry. The black
man looked so alone, so isolated. He was a man like every other. She
had never understood the issue of colour of the skin, did it matter
that much?
As she arrived by the black man's table, she heard herself asking
him, "Do you mind if I seat here and have my coffee? " To Anataalie'
s surprise, the black man spoke in perfect English and replied "By
all means, Miss, make yourself comfortable."
She signaled Alberto to bring her coffee and croissant over to the
black man's table. Alberto was furious. As he did so, Anataalie looked
him in the eyes and flashed a smile, Alberto was happy and went away
singing. The black man was no fool: "It seems you have overpowered
the angry idiot very easily."
Anataalie controlled herself, because as the black man spoke, she
could see real close his smile his teeth bloody from the T-bone steak
still in his hand. It was no pretty sight, but Anataalie's face remained
placid. She deliberately smiled and drank her coffee nonchalantly.
The black man continued, "You are not from England, your accent is
different, where are you from"? Anataalie replied gently " I
was born in France. My name is Anataalie".
The black man smiled back: " I am glad to have met you Anataalie,
my name is Mobutu"
Anataalie said: "This name is very familiar" Mobutu said, "In Europe,
I do not know, but in Africa yes, our family name is well known. My
father is a king in African land; I am his eldest son. I am studying
law here. I am in my second year."
She listened to the warm tone of his voice and casually asked, hiding
her inner pain that he would feel cold in London dressed that way.
"Yes, how do you like the place?" Something in her wanted him to talk,
the sound of his voice soothed her anguish in a way that was hard
to describe.
Mobutu said, " I have no opinion, my father told me to come here and
study, and that is exactly what I am doing. Besides this, I know nothing.
I form no opinion, what for?"
Anataalie recognized this man, a strong will and pride, he felt so
close to her. Mobutu had finished his meal and Alberto came to remove
the dishes and clean the bloody mess on the table, murmuring Italian
insults in his breath. Mobutu looked at him furiously. Anataalie had
too finished her coffee and Alberto asked: "Would you like another
coffee Mademoiselle Anataalie, it is so cold?"
Before she could answer, Mobutu asked: "How much is a coffee?" Alberto
told him dryly the cost. "Please bring one coffee for Anataalie".
Alberto sneered: "For you too? "
"No, I said bring one for Miss Anataalie", Mobutu said sharply. Alberto's
face was red and Anataalie knew he was ready to explode. "Alberto,
it is nice, yes I would love to accept a coffee from Mr.Mobutu at
the sole condition that Mr.Mobutu accept a tea from me. "
The black man smiled: "Yes, of course, I should have know you are
a trader aren't you? Thank you. Anataalie. Yes, I would love to have
a tea."
Anataalie felt the anguish coming back. She already knew that he was
a profoundly proud man. He apparently did not have big means to live
here, and she felt so cold, remembering how he went so inedequately
dressed in the winter, with open sandals. She wished she could do
something for him, but she already knew it would be an insult to Mobutu.
She kept quiet. The coffee and tea came promptly. As they drank, Mobutu
asked: "Anataalie, did you sit here because you felt sorry for me?"
Anataalie looked deeply in the eyes of this unusual man : "Well Mobutu,
in a way yes, because you see to be in a place and not to conform
to its ways of living can be hard."
Mobutu asked, "What do you mean?" Anataalie said, " Well, for one
thing, you do not dress like British people." Mobutu replied curtly,
"And when you people come to my country, they do not dress like us,
rather they want to force us to wear trousers and jeans."
Anataalie retorted with a twinkle in her eye, "Ahh Mobutu, you eat
with your hands. You are an intelligent and very strong man, do not
fool me with your ready made explanation. That much you understand,
yes?" Mobutu smiled and replied proudly, "Well, Anataalie, my hands
are clean, probably cleaner than their so called forks and knives…."
Anataalie said "Yes, so you do not want to play by their rules,
and you get stressed unnecessarily. I feel pain Mobutu watching you
walking with open sandals in the winter."
Mobutu said "Yes everyday I may be stressed, but stress is no big
deal for me. What matters to me is that I do never betray our own
traditions for my own comfort. I am the son of a king. They may treat
me like a pauper here…but the blood in my veins is the blood of a
king. I shall never bow my head to tie my shoe laces. Do you get it
Anataalie? Do not feel anguish on my account, because I feel none
for myself. I am just fine the way I am." Mobutu looked into Anataalie's
eyes. He paused pensively for a while.
"Anataalie, I saw you earlier, I felt like talking to you, but they
would not let me in that shop. Did you see me then"? Anataalie
replied: "Yes, Mobutu, I did see you there Why did you want to see
me? It is strange."
Mobutu replied gently, "It may be strange to you yet. Yes, I had to
talk to you; you are so different from others. As you walked, I could
see only you, none else. Something in you called on me." Anataalie
smiled, "Maybe it is because I wore a purple suit with white. Maybe
I was the attractive woman you always dreamt of meeting. " Mobutu
looked serious and did not take to the joke, he said: " Anataalie,
I am the son of a king, the guardian of our ancient traditions and
wisdoms, I know much about the ills of the soul…You are in great pain."
Antaalie lowered her eyes, felt a sharp stab in her heart. She thought
for a while, and said, "Mobutu, pain is part of life. It is our human
condition." Mobutu's eyes flashed with anger: " Why do you evade me,
Anataalie? You know what I mean, your soul is wounded, your heart
has been bled dry…. I could feel your aura from where I was. You are
all kindness, yet also all pain, tell me about it Anataalie. Please.
I must help you."
The word "please" that came from the lips of the son of a foreign
king felt like another stab in her heart. " Mobutu, I cannot talk
those things here." Mobutu urged, "Yes, you can. Drink your coffee
slowly, and when you feel the warm liquid finding its way in you,
feel how it dissolves all your frights, open up to me. I want to help
you, really."
His face was tense, his eyes lit with a deep light as if coming from
the depth of times. Anataalie drank her coffee slowly, she felt well,
safe with Mobutu…His face was gentle inspite of the traditional tribal
carvings they made on his cheeks. He had very intelligent and compassionate
eyes. She said, "Mobutu, you have come too late. The pain cannot be
taken away, my soul has absorbed it like a sponge. It is too late
now." He said "I know, you are in terrible pain, for how long more
Anataalie?"
As he said this he started beating the top of the table gently, and
a gentle soothing drumbeat like was heard only by them both. She understood.
She stood up, looking at him very hard in the eyes, his look was very
pained and tears were falling down his cheeks. She said "Yes, Mobutu.
Yes."
That night, she went home. Her flat was very beautiful; she used to
describe it jokingly to some of her invitees that congratulated her
on her sense of interior design, as a sanctuary for wounded blue birds.
She went to take a long scented bath, and put on her most dazzling
light blue dress, she loosened her hair and addorned it with an Austrian
crystal pin…. It was midnight. She went to lie on her bed. She closed
her eyes, gently. As she did so, she went into a deep sleep.
There, in the depth of her sleep; she reached the dream where Mobutu
had been waiting for her. He was there in Africa, he had drums made
of camel skin, soft skin, and he started the drum beat, a call sent
to her, a call returned by her heartbeat…. He was at the drums for
long, sweating heavily, his arms tensed by the effort…he played the
drums harshly urging her soul purge herself from the pain…it proved
impossible.
Anataalie was covered in sweat and was convulsing under the pain that
was being disturbed in her soul…she screamed with anguish… Mobutu
came towards her, she saw the sad and pained look in his eyes, the
drumbeat went slow, and she realized that she and he had arrived to
a new place, a water pond. As she looked into the water, she saw a
reflection of a new birth, she was a deer with a broken leg, a royal
Bengal tiger was ready near by to pounce and eat her alive.
Then she saw Mobutu reaching for his arch; he took one arrow, and
aimed at the heart of the tiger. The arrow killed the tiger on the
spot and he died almost instantly in a last huge roar…As the tiger
died, Anataali at last felt her soul at ease, all the pain was gone…she
felt so light, so happy. Then she turned her trusting deer eyes towards
Mobutu, he was crying as he aimed at her heart; she died without a
noise.
In London, at the same time, Anataalie heard, after the echoes of
the drum beat, a dull silence. Then she felt an unendurable pain in
her heart, her body tensed, she remembered Mobutu kind eyes, and said,
"Thank you Mobutu, May God bless you always". Her heart
had stopped beating. She was no more.
In some furnished flat in London, one English man knocked angrily
on his neighbour's door. A tall dark-skinned man opened the door,
he was in tears.
The English man said "Mr.Mobutu, please do not beat your drums
at night, my kids cannot sleep…You do not seem alright too… Is there
any matter"?
The black man replied "No John, everything is fine, I shall not
play my drums for some time. Good night".
Copyrighted Rahman,Brigitte Arlette-2000-All rights
reserved.
