I had to be back in Egypt; I had a film unit shooting on the Nile, and the director was going a little daffy in the heal. I decided to bring things to a conclusion. The taxi took me to a shabby row of flats, overlooking a line of decaying trees. Anna had a red door and a small room furnished with darkness and tattered wallpaper; it smelt of spilled raki.
She was sitting in a deep chair looking up at a drawing of Mama as a Gibson Girl. She held a sticky glass of raki and looked at me and smiled.
“Hung over?”
“Like a mountain goat. Anna, I've got bad news for you.”
She grinned and refilled the glass. “The Picasso? You've found out it wasn't real? Well, I remembered we sold the real one years ago. I told Hajji I didn't remember, but I did. It doesn't matter, darling. I'm old and falling apart. I can't last much longer. I'll get by. They can't count the old girl out just yet.” She smiled and looked up at Mama.
“It isn't much of a world any more, Stevie. They've taken the color our of it and made it damn dull. The world has lost more than values and a sense of humor; it's lost its desire to live fully and let the next man alone. We had a motto in the old days—if you don't like it, don't knock it—but now they're prying apart the atom and making over their plows into Hying bombs. I must really feel bad to talk like this.” She stood up and stretched her once-lovely arms.
“Kiss me, Stevie, and go away. It's been good seeing you, and now I can finish off the few dance steps left to me and then go see what Sari is doing someplace else… Pass the bottle, darling.”
I left her there, and I felt old and tired in the sunlight.
Pinterest
