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Authors: Amin Maalouf
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and turned to look, first at her and then, with pitying expressions, at me. Some exchanged remarks under their breath with their neighbours: I couldnât hear what was said, but their smiles and titters were not lost on me.
I need not say how hurt and humiliated and embarrassed I felt. I decided I would have it out with my nephew and make him understand he must behave better in future. But what could I say? What had he done wrong? Wasnât it I who was behaving as though the lie linking Marta and me together gave me special privileges?
And so it does, in a way. Since the people in the caravan think sheâs my wife, my honour will be tarnished if I let her behave irresponsibly.
Iâm glad I confided in my journal. Now I know that the feelings upsetting me are not unjustified. Theyâve got nothing to do with jealousy; itâs honour and respectability that are at stake. I canât just let my nephew whisper in public to the woman everyone thinks is my wife, and make her roar with laughter!
Iâm not sure whether putting all this into words makes me angrier or calms me down. Perhaps writing only arouses the passions in order to allay them, as beaters flush out the game in order to expose it to the huntersâ arrows.
12 September
Iâm glad I didnât give in to the desire to tell Habib or Marta off. Anything I might have said would only have sounded like jealousy. Though as God is my witness it isnât that! Anyhow, Iâd only have made myself ridiculous, and made them whisper and laugh together at my expense. Trying to defend my respectability, Iâd just have damaged it.
I preferred to deal with the matter quite differently. This afternoon I invited Marta to ride beside me, and as we went along I explained why Iâd undertaken this journey. Habib may already have told her something about it, but if so she gave no sign, listening attentively to my explanations, though she didnât seem very worried about next year.
I wanted our conversation to be rather formal and serious. So far, Iâd thought of Martaâs presence in our party as an unavoidable accident, sometimes annoying or embarrassing, at other times comical, amusing and almost reassuring. By taking her into my confidence as I did today, Iâve in a way made her one of us.
Iâm not sure if I did right, but at any rate I felt relieved and much more comfortable after our conversation. After all, Iâd been the only one that suffered because of the tensions that had sprung up in our little group since we broke our journey in Tripoli. Iâm not the sort of person who thrives on adversity. I want to travel in the company of affectionate nephews and a devoted clerk ... As for Marta, I donât yet know what I really want. A kind of considerate neighbour? Something more? I canât just listen to my own longings as a lonely man, though every day I spend on the road will make me feel them more. I know I ought to do my best not to pester her with my attentions, though Iâm well aware too that they spring from my soul as well as my body.
I havenât spent a night alone with her since we left the tailorâs house. Sometimes weâve slept under canvas, sometimes at an inn, but always all five of us together, or even with other travellers as well. Though I havenât done anything to change things, I have sometimes wished circumstances would arrange for Marta and me to be alone with one another again.
To tell the truth, I wish it all the time.
13 September
Tomorrow is Holy Cross Day, and this evening I had a serious argument on the subject with the caravaneer.
Weâd stopped for the night at a khan on the outskirts of Alexandretta, and I was strolling round the courtyard to stretch my legs when I overheard a conversation. One of the travellers, a very old man, from Aleppo judging by his accent, and very poor judging by his patched clothes, was asking the caravaneer what time we were to
I need not say how hurt and humiliated and embarrassed I felt. I decided I would have it out with my nephew and make him understand he must behave better in future. But what could I say? What had he done wrong? Wasnât it I who was behaving as though the lie linking Marta and me together gave me special privileges?
And so it does, in a way. Since the people in the caravan think sheâs my wife, my honour will be tarnished if I let her behave irresponsibly.
Iâm glad I confided in my journal. Now I know that the feelings upsetting me are not unjustified. Theyâve got nothing to do with jealousy; itâs honour and respectability that are at stake. I canât just let my nephew whisper in public to the woman everyone thinks is my wife, and make her roar with laughter!
Iâm not sure whether putting all this into words makes me angrier or calms me down. Perhaps writing only arouses the passions in order to allay them, as beaters flush out the game in order to expose it to the huntersâ arrows.
12 September
Iâm glad I didnât give in to the desire to tell Habib or Marta off. Anything I might have said would only have sounded like jealousy. Though as God is my witness it isnât that! Anyhow, Iâd only have made myself ridiculous, and made them whisper and laugh together at my expense. Trying to defend my respectability, Iâd just have damaged it.
I preferred to deal with the matter quite differently. This afternoon I invited Marta to ride beside me, and as we went along I explained why Iâd undertaken this journey. Habib may already have told her something about it, but if so she gave no sign, listening attentively to my explanations, though she didnât seem very worried about next year.
I wanted our conversation to be rather formal and serious. So far, Iâd thought of Martaâs presence in our party as an unavoidable accident, sometimes annoying or embarrassing, at other times comical, amusing and almost reassuring. By taking her into my confidence as I did today, Iâve in a way made her one of us.
Iâm not sure if I did right, but at any rate I felt relieved and much more comfortable after our conversation. After all, Iâd been the only one that suffered because of the tensions that had sprung up in our little group since we broke our journey in Tripoli. Iâm not the sort of person who thrives on adversity. I want to travel in the company of affectionate nephews and a devoted clerk ... As for Marta, I donât yet know what I really want. A kind of considerate neighbour? Something more? I canât just listen to my own longings as a lonely man, though every day I spend on the road will make me feel them more. I know I ought to do my best not to pester her with my attentions, though Iâm well aware too that they spring from my soul as well as my body.
I havenât spent a night alone with her since we left the tailorâs house. Sometimes weâve slept under canvas, sometimes at an inn, but always all five of us together, or even with other travellers as well. Though I havenât done anything to change things, I have sometimes wished circumstances would arrange for Marta and me to be alone with one another again.
To tell the truth, I wish it all the time.
13 September
Tomorrow is Holy Cross Day, and this evening I had a serious argument on the subject with the caravaneer.
Weâd stopped for the night at a khan on the outskirts of Alexandretta, and I was strolling round the courtyard to stretch my legs when I overheard a conversation. One of the travellers, a very old man, from Aleppo judging by his accent, and very poor judging by his patched clothes, was asking the caravaneer what time we were to
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