The Magician's Wife Read online

  ‘So that’s Bou-Aziz,’ she said. ‘The man in green?’

  ‘Yes, Madame. The woman is his daughter.’

  Some minutes later Lambert appeared in the courtyard. He had already been informed of the marabout’s arrival. Emmeline saw that this news made him nervous and as he began to instruct her in her duties he was demanding and censorious, making her repeat over and over again each simple task such as handing him the cornucopia, passing out the bouquets and other gifts, helping him move the table to centre stage, sweeping aside the plumes he scattered on the ground. None of these tasks seemed to her to be difficult and she felt a vague irritation when asked to repeat them. But when it came to the levers that controlled the electric charge in the heavy box, she was suddenly unsure. ‘The timing is everything,’ Lambert told her. ‘You will be in the wings, invisible, forgotten. My signals will not be seen by anyone but you. You must react immediately, both by turning on the charge to anchor the box, releasing the charge, and above all, turning this knob at the end of the demonstration to give the subject an electric shock. You must make sure that the shock continues for exactly thirty seconds. Watch the clock on top of the charging apparatus. Don’t look at what is happening on stage. Ignore him if he cries out. Just watch the clock. Thirty seconds, no more, no less. That gives the audience just enough time to see his pain.’

  ‘But it’s so cruel. I don’t know if I can do it.’

  ‘Have you ever seen men killed in a war? Killed by bullets, cannon balls, trampled by horses, buried in mass graves. Or taken captive, beaten, starved? That’s what I’m trying to prevent. We’re talking of the deaths of French boys, conscripts, sent out here to do their duty. Thirty seconds of an electric shock which leaves no after-effects. Please, Emmeline!’

  ‘I wish you could find someone else?’

  ‘You know I can’t. And we promised Deniau, remember?’

  ‘Deniau! Always Deniau!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he said. ‘Deniau didn’t make me come here, I wanted to come. And now that I’m here, now that I have this chance to save thousands of lives, is it going to come to nothing because you refuse to help me? My God, Emmeline! Besides, this performance won’t be like any I’ve done before. For the first time in my life I’m afraid. What if something goes wrong? Everything I do on stage depends on skill, timing, and above all in my ability to hold an audience. This audience! Arabs, savages! I need you, don’t you understand, I don’t want some stupid soldier bungling everything. You will be wonderful, you will be letter perfect by tomorrow evening, I promise you. All right?’

  She nodded. It was always the same. He was the man, he was in charge.

  He came to her then and kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you, my darling. Forgive me for asking you to do this. But, remember. I ask it for the sake of our country.’

  ‘Our country?’ she said. ‘And what of this country?’

  ‘This country?’ He looked perplexed.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Deniau came down into the courtyard, shortly before four, watching as Lambert rehearsed his and Emmeline’s performance, for the eighth time. When Lambert had finished Deniau applauded, then vaulted on to the stage and kissed Emmeline’s hand, congratulating her. ‘Wonderful! No magician in history has had so beautiful a foil. And now I want to ask one last favour of you, dear Madame. As Bou-Aziz has already arrived, we are planning a dinner for him this evening and we very much hope you will attend.’

  ‘I thought your banquets were for men only?’

  ‘The marabout’s daughter will be present. She accompanies him to almost every function. I think it’s fitting that you should represent us as our marabout’s wife.’

  ‘So I am to meet Bou-Aziz before the performance?’ Lambert said. ‘I wonder is that wise?’

  ‘I’m afraid we have little choice,’ Deniau said. ‘When I invited him to dine with us, he at once said he would be honoured to break bread with Monsieur Lambert. So, of course I assured him that you, too, would be honoured. And we’ve discovered that this will be the first time that he dines in the French manner. It will be a new experience for everyone.’

  The commandant of the Milianah headquarters was a Captain Raoult, who normally would be their host for the evening. But Deniau as chief of the Bureau Arabe obviously took precedence and so, that evening, he stood surrounded by his subordinates, welcoming a group of some twenty sheikhs, marabouts and civic leaders as they filed into the dining hall of the fort. When Emmeline and Lambert arrived Deniau whispered to her husband, ‘He’s not here yet. Stay by me. You shall be the first to be presented.’

  As they awaited the arrival of Bou-Aziz, the sheikhs and marabouts gossiped and looked around in a manner which reminded Emmeline of those days, a few weeks past, when the company had assembled in the grande salle des fêtes to await the arrival of Emperor Napoleon and his consort.

  Deniau, as host, exuded the same confident watchfulness as the First Chamberlain at Compiègne and when at last, amid a hushed murmur of anticipation, the marabout and his daughter entered the room, Deniau went to them, spoke some Arabic words of welcome, then, turning to Lambert, presented him to Bou-Aziz. The marabout bowed slightly to Lambert then said something which his daughter now translated, speaking an excellent French. ‘My father welcomes you and your wife and asks God’s blessing on you.’

  As the marabout’s daughter said this, Bou-Aziz, tall and stooped, turned to Emmeline with a gentle smile as though waiting for her to speak. What should she answer? She felt herself blush as she turned to the marabout’s daughter and said, ‘We are honoured. We thank him.’

  The marabout smiled again and turned to a group of sheikhs who came to greet him. Deniau, pleased, moved close to Emmeline, saying softly, ‘An excellent beginning, my dear. Thank you.’

  And then, to her dismay, Deniau pointed to the dining table. ‘You will sit there, in the centre, on his right. His daughter will sit on his left. It will be a surprise for him to sit between two ladies. That is not the Arab custom. But here, as he will see, we are in France.’

  With that he approached the marabout’s daughter, taking her arm, leading her to a place at the centre of the table, and with a wave of his hand indicating to Emmeline that she should now sit in the place allotted her. When both she and the marabout’s daughter were seated, Deniau approached the marabout, and smiling led him to a seat between them. Emmeline saw the marabout hesitate, as though afraid that a mistake had been made. But when he at last sat down, tucking the skirts of his green robe under him, his daughter turned to Deniau with a smile. ‘I have told my father that tonight we dine in the French manner. This will be new for him. To sit with ladies!’

  ‘But if he wishes – ’ Deniau began.

  ‘No, no, he wishes that everything be done as you would do it in your own country. And he has asked me to tell you that neither he nor any of our countrymen will be offended if you serve wine to those who desire it.’

  ‘That is most gracious,’ Deniau said. Emmeline saw him turn to the marabout and say something in Arabic. The marabout answered with a gentle smile then smiled at Lambert who had been seated, also in the centre, facing Bou-Aziz across the table.

  And now, temporarily released from the need to make conversation, she could watch the theatre of this evening. The dinner prepared by the commandant’s cook was a succession of the most sought-after Arab dishes, but served on a tablecloth with porcelain plates, crystal glassware and silver cutlery. The marabout picked up a fork and, watching his hosts, awkwardly emulated their example. He and the other marabouts and sheikhs drank only water or goat’s milk. He spoke little, his few remarks mainly answers to questions put to him in Arabic by Deniau and Hersant. But as the second dish of couscous was served he turned to his daughter, gesticulating in the direction of Lambert. ‘My father gives you his apologies and begs you to forgive him. He did not understand when you were presented to him earlier that you are the great French marabout in whose honour he has come to Milianah. He has heard of the
miracles you performed in the mosque of Algiers. Allah has blessed you.’

  ‘Tell your father that I thank him for his good wishes,’ Lambert said. ‘But I performed my miracles in a theatre in the Rue Bat-Azoun, not in a mosque.’

  The marabout, smiling, put up his hands as if in self-defence. His daughter told them, ‘My father lives here. He has never been in a theatre. He does not know the word. He has been told that you perform your miracles as an act of worship and in a holy place.’

  ‘I wonder who can have told him that?’ Lambert said, turning to Deniau as if for assistance. Deniau at once began an explanation in Arabic, speaking urgently to Bou-Aziz, without bothering to translate for Lambert’s benefit.

  Emmeline saw at once that this angered her husband who, reaching across the table, touched the arm of the marabout’s daughter and said loudly, ‘Tell your father that I can perform my miracles in any place and at any time. Tomorrow, as he will see, I shall do my work in the open air.’

  The marabout bent forward, listening as his daughter translated, then speaking softly, slowly, as if pondering his words.

  ‘My father says that you are right. It does not matter if we worship God in mosques, in the market square, or in the lostness of the desert sands. It is the act of worship that links us to God. Your miracles, I am told, are wonderful to behold. You are blessed in that you can in this manner bear testimony to God’s greatness. Tomorrow, through them, He will be praised.’

  The marabout then turned to Deniau and spoke in a low voice. Emmeline saw that he seemed weary, his head nodding, as though he were in pain, his left hand agitatedly fingering a string of prayer beads draped around his neck. She looked across him at his plain, patient daughter. ‘Is your father ill?’

  ‘No, Madame. But he is asking permission to retire. It will soon be the hour of the fifth prayer, the prayer at darkness. We must leave now.’

  Bou-Aziz rose and said something to the other guests. Heads nodded, sheikhs and the other marabouts stood, bowing, murmuring what Emmeline guessed were words of farewell. Bou-Aziz, bowing in turn to Emmeline and Lambert, then went to the door of the dining room accompanied by Deniau. When he left, Emmeline saw the sheikhs gather together in a sudden heated discussion.

  After some minutes, Deniau, who seemed to eavesdrop on their conversation, walked over to Lambert and said, ‘They’re worried. Tonight, Bou-Aziz did not inspire confidence. I suspect that after tomorrow, if all goes well, you will be the great marabout.’

  In her dream that night she wore, not the long grey dress which Lambert had decided she should wear on stage, but stood naked, her only covering Jules’ black-and-gold-striped valet’s vest, open to show her breasts. Facing her in the dream was a wall of Arab faces, male, bearded, inscrutable, watching, as she bent to pick up the plumes which her husband had pulled from the cornucopia and scattered on the floor. And now in the dream she must turn her back on these faces, bending down to expose the nakedness of her buttocks to their view. She woke, sweating in the cold desert night. Her husband lay, seemingly asleep on his couch across the room. She rose and went out on to the balcony overlooking the barrack square and the makeshift stage in its centre. She looked across the square to the infirmary where a solitary light burned in a window. Was that Jules’ room?

  Suddenly, behind her, Lambert’s voice. ‘Can’t you sleep, my darling?’

  She turned. He stood facing her in the moonlight, incongruous in his hair net.

  ‘I had a bad dream,’ she said.

  ‘Oh? What was that?’

  ‘I was naked on the stage in front of the Arabs, wearing only a servant’s vest.’

  ‘Stage fright,’ he said and laughed as though he had made a joke. ‘It happens to every performer. But you’ll not be naked, far from it. In fact, I’ve been meaning to tell you. Charles thinks it would be a good idea if you appeared on stage wearing a veil in the Arab fashion. Some of the sheikhs are very conservative. Any woman, even a foreigner, appearing unveiled, offends their eyes. Besides as my assistant you’re merely part of the scenery. The audience watches me and only me.’

  She stared at him. Charles. Charles thinks . . . Again, Deniau, using us like puppets.

  ‘And why wasn’t I told this before?’

  ‘Told what, my darling?’

  ‘The veil. Surely he should have asked my opinion?’

  ‘But why? Don’t you want to wear a veil? I thought you’d be pleased. I know you hate to make a show in public.’

  ‘That’s not the point. I thought you were the magician. Is it your performance or is it his?’

  ‘What are you talking about? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter. How is Jules? Did you visit him tonight?’

  ‘No, but I spoke to his doctor. The fever hasn’t broken yet. Let’s go inside, shall we? It’s cold out here.’

  She felt his hand on her shoulder but did not turn round.

  ‘I’ll come in a moment. I need the air.’

  She heard him pad across the floor in his loose felt slippers. Outside the walls of the fort, a pariah dog howled provoking a brief barking chorus of response. Into her mind came an image of the Emperor, his long waxed moustaches, his satyr’s pointed beard, his hand, languid, holding a half-smoked cigar. ‘In the spring I will complete our conquest of the entire country.’

  Chapter 10

  Noon. In the city’s mosques, in the enclosed courtyards of private dwellings, in dark alleys, in narrow lanes, and, outside the walls of Milianah throughout the great encampment of tents and huts, men covered their heads, removed their shoes, unrolled carpets and rugs, prostrating themselves in prayer. In the barracks square of the French fort, the Kabyle workers who had erected the stands, ignoring Lambert, Emmeline and Deniau who stood under the shaded arches of the square, knelt in unison, heads turned towards Mecca, murmuring their prayers as though each were alone with God. Emmeline, as always moved by this devotion, turned to Deniau and asked, ‘I have been wondering. What is it they are saying?’

  ‘The prayer? It’s from the Koran,’ Deniau said, seeming pleased to display his knowledge. ‘It says, “Praise be to God, the Lord of the worlds, the merciful, the compassionate, the ruler of the Judgement Day. Thee we serve and Thee we ask for aid. Guide us in the right path, the path of those who are gracious: not of those with whom Thou art angry, not of those who err.” I suppose you could call it their version of the Lord’s Prayer. Not very different, is it?’

  ‘I think it is,’ Emmeline said. Both men looked at her, as if surprised that she would have an opinion.

  ‘Oh?’ Deniau said. ‘In what way?’

  ‘They don’t ask for favours, for daily bread, for forgiveness of trespasses, deliverance from temptation and evil. All they ask is God’s help to guide them in the right path. Isn’t that what all of us should ask?’

  ‘Dear Madame!’ Deniau said, smiling in amusement. ‘You constantly amaze me. And now . . .’ He opened his briefcase, taking from it a white cotton headdress and a veil of white lace which he handed to her. ‘Here is your Muslim disguise. I tried to find a pretty veil. Now Henri, we will start to seat the various sheikhs and goumier companies shortly after one. Bou-Aziz and his attendants will be the last to arrive. When he is seated I will begin my introduction. You will appear only after I finish. I would like you to walk past the ranks of sheikhs and marabouts ignoring them, and go up on to the stage turning to face the entire audience. Bow and then begin. I think that will be very effective.’

  Lambert slid his ivory-tipped baton out of his sleeve with the ease of a master conjurer and touched it to his forehead in a mock salute. ‘At your orders, Mon Commandant.’

  ‘And I, what shall I do?’ Emmeline asked.

  ‘I’m afraid I want you to take up your position hidden in the wings, shortly before one. I know it will be an hour’s wait there, alone, behind the stage. I apologize. But it is one way of ensuring that Henri’s entrance has the maximum effect.’

  ‘Before
we start,’ Lambert said, ‘I must warn you, Charles, that my performance today will not be as elaborate as that evening in Algiers. We will not perform the trick of having an Arab disappear as Emmeline would not be strong enough to help me carry the table on which he stands. I shall also omit the punch bowl which dispenses supplies of coffee. I have decided that today’s performance must hinge on my two most convincing illusions, the heavy box and my invulnerability to bullets. These Kabyles are unsophisticated men of the desert. I suspect that they are not, like an Algiers audience, willing to be entertained. Fear is the weapon I must use on them.’

  At one o’clock in the arid midday heat, Emmeline, wearing the long grey dress Lambert had chosen for her and carrying the headdress and veil given her by Deniau, came down from the apartments and, unnoticed by the workmen who were putting the last benches in place at the rear of the square, entered the makeshift room in the wings to the left of the stage. There in a corner were the electric levers she must pull, the cornucopia she must hand to her husband, the feather plumes he would scatter on the floor for her to pick up, the bonbons and favours which she must offer to the audience. She sat at a small mirror, first covering her hair with the headdress, then fitting the veil over her face so that only her eyes and forehead were visible. When she had done this a masked Arab woman stared at her through the mirror as though by this simple act of disguise Emmeline Lambert was no more. Minutes later, from the streets outside, she heard the clatter of horses’ hooves, the shouted cries of camel drivers, the distant firecracker sound of rifles. Turning to look through the slats of the dressing room she saw the first of the Arab companies arriving in the square of the fort. An unseen French military band struck up a martial air as below her vantage point a colourful mass of Arab men, wearing white, red or blue burnouses, many carrying old-fashioned rifles, some with swords and daggers, came strolling through the aisles where French soldiers and a handful of interpreters waited to show them to their seats. There were no women in this audience. She looked again at the veiled female in the mirror. She looked at the levers, those black handles which she must pull to inflict pain. Today, Henri depends on me. He will not forgive me if I fail.