Read Online The Twelve Rooms of the Nile by Enid Shomer - Free Book Online
Authors: Enid Shomer
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again that night.
• • •
The musicians from the afternoon were already assembled in the courtyard when they returned in full regalia, wearing swords and bearing a bottle of rakı. Oil lamps shedding pools of creamy yellow light burned on tin sconces. The women sat singing together on the divan. A new and older alma with a savage expression and deep-set eyes took him downstairs and made quick work of him. His timing was so derailed by her voluptuous writhing that he stained the divan. When he set to work on her with his mouth, she seemed surprised, but tolerated it silently. Perhaps her magic button had been excised. He loved giving pleasure to a woman as much as he loved receiving it. Because he’d twice fallen in love with women eleven years older than he—Elisa Schlesinger, his first crush, when he was fourteen, and then, of course, Louise—he preferred older prostitutes and was beloved by them in turn. In Egypt, the old whores said they found him more enchanting than Max because of his impressive height and large, cowlike eyes. But he knew they were lying: they were grateful to him for the business.
He downed a glass of rakı, took Kuchuk aside, and, grasping her necklace with his teeth, had sex with her. Her cunt, he wrote later, felt “like rolls of velvet as she made me come.” Afterward, showing off her muscularity and grace, she offered him licorice straws from her second mouth.
But Kuchuk Hanem’s most remarkable talent was for the Bee, the dance forbidden in all of Egypt. She began by vibrating her torso as quickly as its namesake, shedding her clothing until she was naked. Her body was sinuous, fluid, assuming forms that seemed impossible. Backbends, simple flips, and rapid turns led to undulations thattraveled through her flesh like water through a sluice, from her neck to her breasts, belly, and hips, down through her legs until only her feet were shivering to the music. She wore castanets on her fingers and bells on her ankles, accompanying herself vocally with trills and shouts. The chirring, clapping, and tinkling built to a crescendo until she seemed half animal, half angel, moving according to some essential rhythm borrowed from nature in harmony with the whorls of turban shells, the branching lacework of leaves, the khamsin’s whirlwind. She was magnetic, paralyzing, her face altering from grave to frantically wanton and grave again.
For an encore, she performed a duet with a cup of coffee placed on the floor. Castanets clacking, she made love to the cup with a series of lascivious movements and ended by clenching it with her teeth and gulping it down. In that one stroke, he felt she had taken him whole into her mouth—or could.
In the past, Gustave had loved all his prostitutes, but never a particular one. His feeling was more for the institution itself, “prostitution” being an old and venerable word, like “university,” “Sorbonne,” and “Mother Church.” But by the time the dancing was over, he was convinced that he was in love with Kuchuk Hanem, and begged to spend the night with her. Though she worried that his presence would attract thieves, in the end she relented. They slept together in a small downstairs room, guarded by her pimps and by Joseph, who had paired up with an Abyssinian whore, forgetting for an evening his young wife. After another coup, Kuchuk drifted off, her little hand resting in his, her mound of Venus heating him like a hot water bottle. Delectable snoring issued from her elegant nose and slackened mouth. With her scruffy Papillion dog asleep nearby on his red jacket, they made as happy a family of three as might have lived anywhere on the earth. He gave himself over to reveries of domestic normalcy and oriental perversity.
At 3:00 A.M . he awakened for a final coup, rather like the affectionate screwing of an old married couple before breakfast. At dawn she fetched charcoal for the brazier, then returned to bed, warming herself in the heat of his
• • •
The musicians from the afternoon were already assembled in the courtyard when they returned in full regalia, wearing swords and bearing a bottle of rakı. Oil lamps shedding pools of creamy yellow light burned on tin sconces. The women sat singing together on the divan. A new and older alma with a savage expression and deep-set eyes took him downstairs and made quick work of him. His timing was so derailed by her voluptuous writhing that he stained the divan. When he set to work on her with his mouth, she seemed surprised, but tolerated it silently. Perhaps her magic button had been excised. He loved giving pleasure to a woman as much as he loved receiving it. Because he’d twice fallen in love with women eleven years older than he—Elisa Schlesinger, his first crush, when he was fourteen, and then, of course, Louise—he preferred older prostitutes and was beloved by them in turn. In Egypt, the old whores said they found him more enchanting than Max because of his impressive height and large, cowlike eyes. But he knew they were lying: they were grateful to him for the business.
He downed a glass of rakı, took Kuchuk aside, and, grasping her necklace with his teeth, had sex with her. Her cunt, he wrote later, felt “like rolls of velvet as she made me come.” Afterward, showing off her muscularity and grace, she offered him licorice straws from her second mouth.
But Kuchuk Hanem’s most remarkable talent was for the Bee, the dance forbidden in all of Egypt. She began by vibrating her torso as quickly as its namesake, shedding her clothing until she was naked. Her body was sinuous, fluid, assuming forms that seemed impossible. Backbends, simple flips, and rapid turns led to undulations thattraveled through her flesh like water through a sluice, from her neck to her breasts, belly, and hips, down through her legs until only her feet were shivering to the music. She wore castanets on her fingers and bells on her ankles, accompanying herself vocally with trills and shouts. The chirring, clapping, and tinkling built to a crescendo until she seemed half animal, half angel, moving according to some essential rhythm borrowed from nature in harmony with the whorls of turban shells, the branching lacework of leaves, the khamsin’s whirlwind. She was magnetic, paralyzing, her face altering from grave to frantically wanton and grave again.
For an encore, she performed a duet with a cup of coffee placed on the floor. Castanets clacking, she made love to the cup with a series of lascivious movements and ended by clenching it with her teeth and gulping it down. In that one stroke, he felt she had taken him whole into her mouth—or could.
In the past, Gustave had loved all his prostitutes, but never a particular one. His feeling was more for the institution itself, “prostitution” being an old and venerable word, like “university,” “Sorbonne,” and “Mother Church.” But by the time the dancing was over, he was convinced that he was in love with Kuchuk Hanem, and begged to spend the night with her. Though she worried that his presence would attract thieves, in the end she relented. They slept together in a small downstairs room, guarded by her pimps and by Joseph, who had paired up with an Abyssinian whore, forgetting for an evening his young wife. After another coup, Kuchuk drifted off, her little hand resting in his, her mound of Venus heating him like a hot water bottle. Delectable snoring issued from her elegant nose and slackened mouth. With her scruffy Papillion dog asleep nearby on his red jacket, they made as happy a family of three as might have lived anywhere on the earth. He gave himself over to reveries of domestic normalcy and oriental perversity.
At 3:00 A.M . he awakened for a final coup, rather like the affectionate screwing of an old married couple before breakfast. At dawn she fetched charcoal for the brazier, then returned to bed, warming herself in the heat of his
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