Driving dilemma (Part 4)

By Virginia Pasalo

 

If only Mercedes knew that Ramon had fantasies about her, she would have immediately cut off all associations with him. But she did not. She was a proper woman, a very loyal housewife, a dedicated mother. Despite all that she is, her clothes did not successfully hide her beautiful body, and because she had always taken a bath, she smelled, like Ramon said, the smell of an angel. How Ramon knew how an angel smelled was beyond explanation, except perhaps that he remembered smelling an angel in a dream.

Rashid, the employer of Mercedes, had looked at her this way many times, and intentionally passed near her to smell her hair. He wanted to smell more of Mercedes but he began to notice that his wife, Ayesha, seemed to smell his intentions and stayed more and more near him, like his own shadow. This shadow sometimes merged with his own, that sometimes he felt like he was alone, and at one point touched the tip of Mercedes’ flowing curls, and he pulled out his hands as soon as he is aware that a part of his shadow separated itself smelling like Ayesha. Mercedes, not aware of what had just happened turned around, and saw for the first time that Rashid had the most charming hazel eyes, but she quickly retreated from where she stood to start teaching the children. This furtive glance did not escape Ayesha’s who was not only jealous by now, but murderous.

Ayesha never left Rashid’s side from then on and plotted to permanently get rid of Mercedes from her household, but she needed an accomplice, her aunt, Fatima. The very next day, she asked her aunt to request Rashid permission for her to visit a sick relative in the next town, so that she could discuss her plan. Rashid quickly agreed, and Ayesha left with her aunt to stay for two days in the latter’s house.

That night, as the children were put to asleep, Rashid was restless. He loved his wife and could not understand this urge, it was not merely an urge, it was a longing. Only it was not a longing for Ayesha. He struggled with this feeling for so long now, and it bothered him that at yesterday’s breakfast, while watching Mercedes move around, a part of his body stood more erect than his own head. Shocked that this could happen in front of his wife, he immediately shifted his glance to Ayesha, who smiled upon seeing the involuntary movements, reassured that her husband’s desire for her still stands. Rashid held his wife’s hand, clutching it tightly, afraid to let go, but on the verge of going.

Back in the University of Australia where he studied Literature, Rashid was attracted to an Asian woman, a poet, for whom he had composed poetry that he was afraid to read, and merely kept to himself. She had an uncanny resurrection in Mercedes, reading literature and poetry to his children. Perhaps it was not her body but her soul that he wants to commune with, although at most times it was the swaying of her hair and her body that made his pulse race. He was afraid to explore her mind knowing he would be engaged by it, so that he avoided asking her about anything. He was afraid to look at her eyes, afraid risking to find himself, and never leaving his comfort zone.

“Here’s your tea, Sir.”

“Thank you, Mercedes, so the children are asleep?”

“Yes, Sir, do you need anything else? ”

“Yes, a pen and a paper.”

Mercedes hands over a pen and a sheet of paper. He writes something in calligraphy and shows it to Mercedes.

“What is it, sir?”

“The first line is your name. The second line tells you how I feel.”

“Thank you, Sir. I am going to sleep now, with your permission.”

Mercedes turned her back, almost running, afraid to see the third line in the calligraphy about to be written.

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