MAGIC FINGERS
a story by Albert Russo (3,000 words)

excerpted from his award-winning book
THE CROWDED WORLD OF SOLITUDE, volume 1,
the Collected Stories (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc)


He had passed the state examination in the capital with flying colors and his parents had been so proud of him, for Abdel, the eldest of their four children, had vowed to become an accredited physiotherapist, which meant that he could now relinquish the menial tasks he had been performing as the family’s breadwinner since his father, Tawfik, had fallen, five years ago, from a date tree and lay semi-paralyzed in their tiny abode on the dusty outskirts of Sfax.
When his father’s sister had introduced Meriam to Abdel the year before the exam, his mother had cried for two solid weeks, cursing the day his aunt had seen the light, for Abdel was the apple of her eye and she could not conceive that her son’s heart be shared by another woman, even if she was only seventeen. But Meriam turned out to be the sweetest, most respectful daughter-in-law any parent could have hoped for and Tawfik took to her straight away, considering the girl as his own flesh and blood. She doted on him and cared for the invalid with more patience than his own wife, not to say anything about his other children. Added to which, Meriam, a Berber from the eastern coast, with her milky complexion, her natural auburn hair and her luminous gray eyes, wore a perennial smile on her lips. Eventually, Abdel’s mother accepted her, for, hard as she might try, she could honestly not find the slightest defect in the lass.

Wherever he sought, be it initially in the specialized clinics, in the city’s major hotels, or even in some of Sfax’s better known hamams, Abdel encountered stiff competition and low salaries. What particularly distressed him was the fact that a state diploma, although it would always be required, was no guarantee for a decent pay and even less for a stable job. Then one day he answered an ad in the papers, offering a renewable year’s contract in a luxurious residential complex on the island of Jerba, a resort famous for its sandy beaches and its cosmopolitan tourism.
Within ten days, Abdel got a letter from the director of the Aladin Spa, saying that the young man fitted the profile and that he could come to Jerba for a three-month trial period. What’s more, the salary was two and a half times what he was earning in Sfax, going from one place to another.
When he announced the news, Abdel beamed. His young wife applauded the wonderful opportunity. Not his parents: they were at first very skeptical, especially Tawfik who considered his son’s decision as a betrayal. It would be the first time Abdel would leave the house. “How will I cope with your poor father, now that you’ll be away?” lamented his mother. Seeing how despondent his parents were, the young man told them: “I’ll leave Meriam with you during the trial period, so that she may continue to give you a hand.” To reassure them, he added, “I’ll be sending you money regularly and you won’t ever be in need. Inch Allah, if I get the yearly contract, which I am sure I will, I’ll be able to buy father an electrical wheelchair.” Abdel didn’t know whether his father’s tears were prompted by a sense of gratitude or despondency, but from that moment on, Tawfik became taciturn. His mother kept on nodding her head as if destiny had dealt her a terrible blow and she couldn’t restrain herself from telling him: “It’s no good to leave your birth place. The two members of our family who emigrated never returned, not even for a visit, and we’ve never heard from them since, they’re lost to us.”
“But Mom,” retorted Abdel, “I’m going to Jerba, not overseas, and we’ll talk over the phone at least once a week, so you have nothing to worry about, then too, I’ll be joining you for the holidays.” She didn’t look convinced and added: “Jerba is far enough, you have to take a boat to go there, or else the plane, God forbid.”
As for Meriam, she was none too pleased that her husband hadn’t consulted her, stating to his parents that she would remain with them during these three months. It was the first time she would be separated from him and he could read distress in her eyes. She hadn’t reacted on the moment, not to antagonize her in-laws. The young man started feeling guilty and realized that, with his best intentions, he had deeply hurt the three persons he most loved. Notwithstanding his feelings, he reasoned with himself:
“I have to go ahead and do it, for the good of everyone concerned, even if it pains me.”

Abdel got the post and came to fetch his young wife in November of the same year, amid the sulking mood of his father and the recriminations of his mother, and this, in spite of the fact that he had handed over to them two-thirds of his salary, which was a large sum indeed for the family. But as the French say, the heart has its reasons which reason knows not.
At the Aladin Spa, Abdel’s clients were mostly foreign tourists, of these, two-thirds consisted of women, young and middle-aged, with a scattering of Tunisian business men and wealthy people from the continent who owned summer residences here. Of the dozen physiotherapists employed at the spa, only three were male and Abdel was the youngest. Soon however, even though he had the least experience, he received high praises both for his dexterity and for his gentleness and was booked solid every day. The women, especially, appreciated his charm and his popularity at the spa rose to the point where some of his clients would skip their appointment during his day off, which, of course, caused some friction with a number of his colleagues. “You don’t have to be so zealous,” one of them remarked, “you’re spoiling our customers and because of you, they’ll expect more from us!”, while Aziza, the head of personnel, often had to come, knocking at the door of his cubicle to remind him that the next customer was waiting. He would always be gratified with a compliment and , more often than not, with a generous tip. But what pleased him above all was that these foreigners opened new horizons in his life and he could no longer envisage his future without their presence. With the French which he now spoke fluently and the basic English he had acquired during his last two years of high school, he could lead a conversation with most of his customers, whether they came from France, Italy, Germany, the UK, the Scandinavian countries or even from the far away United States. At home, he kept a box full of postcards and photographs that bore messages such as: “To the best masseur I’ve ever had,” or, “Will never forget the wonderful moments of relaxation you gave me,” or, “To Abdel, of the magic fingers!” On weekends, he would open the box and lay the contents on the bridal bed like as many trophies and Meriam would revel in the contemplation of these images, even if she’d seen them in the past, but each new addition would enhance the pleasure, for not a week went by that Abdel did not receive a card or an envelope from overseas - he always took great care in opening his mail, not to spoil either the format or the beautiful stamps which would usually adorn them. Meriam had a preference for the family snapshots taken in a living-room, in front of a villa or in a garden full of flowers. The young woman dreamt of owning one day a small house and of tending herself a garden, with a plot in the backyard to grow her own vegetables and to install a chicken coop. Not that she complained about her present conditions: they were renting the servants’ quarters of an unfinished residence, built in the middle of an arid plot of land, equidistant between the Aladin spa and the nearest village. Yet there were hints which did not escape Abdel. Life here in Jerba was much dearer than in Sfax, for the island was barren and most of the food, especially the better quality meat, like mutton or turkey, and the fruit had to be imported from the continent. As for the modern amenities, which the young man bought on credit, such as a fridge, a TV set or even a simple electric fan - summers here were unbearably hot, especially when the wind blew in from the Lybian desert -, they would be twice as expensive as in their native city. On the other hand, Abdel was too proud to let his wife take up a job, so she spent most of her time at home, doing housework, sewing, cooking and daydreaming. He told her to go out to the village and to visit some of the people they struck up an acquaintace with. He’d even suggested that she follow a French course or go to a gym class, but the young woman preferred to keep to her quarters, inviting the three or four married women who lived in the neihborhood for a cup of mint tea and a tray of almond sweets.
Since they’d moved to Jerba, Meriam had put on a lot of weight, a condition which might have been quite popular with previous generations of Arab men, but which today, with global television and Western influence, was no longer appealing. Then too, because she led a much more idle existence here than in Sfax, she would take a bus to Midoun, the only town of a certain importance within the radius of twenty kilometers, every Friday morning, which was market day and spend much of their money on clothes and on perfume. Since she stayed in Midoun till the closure of the last stall, she would come back home by taxi, another heavy expense. In spite of this and of the fact that she would be now less responsive to his love-making, Abdel adored his wife and she would continue to dote on him as if he were a king.

Almost two years had gone by since the young couple had settled in Jerba, but still, Meriam was with no child, a situation which worried her in-laws much more than it did Abdel, who would rather accumulate more wealth before such an event could occur, for he intended to give his heir a good education - the couple had agreed on a single child -, and he didn’t think he was ready for it yet, inasmuch as he still had to provide for his parents and his brothers and sisters.
The services of the young physiotherapist continued to be in great demand at the Aladin Spa, and even though his salary had increased, Abdel began to feel restless, seeing no real potential in his present job. But there seemed to be no better proposition around him at the moment, so he decided he wouldn’t seek for anything new before a year or two. This is when something occurred which caused the young man to reconsider his whole life and put him face to face with a dilemma that gave him many a sleepless night. It happened at the end of a stifling month of August, just when Meriam had left Jerba to rejoin the family in Sfax, for she had suffered much from the heat and needed a breather.
The second Madame Gérard cast her eyes on the young masseur, she knew she had to have him. Abdel had experienced infatuations from foreign women in the past, but he’d always managed to keep them at bay and to reason himself. He had a natural charm and though he was aware of it, he never tried to seduce these women, but then too, he was not made of wood and it would be a lie to say that some of them - he had a weakness for the blonde types - did not stir his imagination. But in the case of Madame Gérard, who was still quite handsome, with her high cheekbones and her expressive almond-shaped eyes, things got out of hand, so to speak.
It was a rule at the spa that the female clients wear at least a two-piece bathing suit when the physiotherapist was a male, for you should not forget that, however modern Tunisian society is compared to that of other Arab countries, propriety requires that women be soberly dressed in the presence of the ’strong’ sex, especially in public. When Abdel, having asked Madame Gérard to prepare herself for the massage session, returned to his cubicle, he missed a few heartbeats: the woman had shed her bathrobe and was now naked, save for a G-string. Her limbs were still firm under an even bronze tan - before coming to Jerba, she must have spent some time on a naturist beach -, her thighs bore none of the ugly marks of cellulitis and her breasts looked as ripe as those of a young girl. The wrinkles of her forehead and her sandy-colored hair brought the beholder back to the reality of her age, she probably was in her early forties. Although the ceiling fan was blowing at full throttle, Abdel felt the heat surge from below his waist up, and he soon felt beads of perspiration tease his pores, for, like all of his colleagues, he wore a starched white cotton tunic over his pants. He’d had, in the past, other female customers who’d more or less candidly thought they should take off the top of their swimsuit, but he’d always gently advise them to keep it on.
Blushing, and in a tone that was barely louder than a whisper, the young physiotherapist asked Madame Gérard to cover her breasts with the bra he’d handed her from the metal closet which stood against the wall. In response, the lady gave him an impish smile and said: “Surely you’ve seen women in the nude before and, anyway, I like to be massaged on the whole surface of my body, so please put that away.”
After some hesitation, Abdel motioned her to the table and told her to lie on her stomach, then he started applying some algae-enriched oil over her legs. When he began to actually work on her, she stretched her arms and murmured: “Mmm, it feels as if a hundred butterflies were frolicking over my skin, what wonderful hands you have!” She almost dozed off in bliss, until Abdel gave her a light flick on the shoulders, ordering her to turn round. A minute later, Madame Gérard grabbed the young man by the waist and kissed his mouth. “No, Madame, please,” Abdel mumbled, “it’s not proper, it’s ...” but she did not let him continue. For a while the young man succumbed to her embrace and responded passionately, but very soon he recovered his senses and wrested himself from her embrace, muttering an excuse for his ‘untoward behavior’.
He averted her eyes as she said: “I agree, this is not the right time nor the right place. From now on, you will come to my hotel and give me private massage sessions. I shall pay you double the rate. When are you finished here?” she asked, with a certain aplomb. “At 7 pm,” said the young man, “but ...” She got up, slipped into her bathrobe and scribbled the address with her room number on a piece of paper then handed it to him. Without waiting for his answer, she said, “I’ll expect you at 9 sharp this evening,” and she blew him a kiss, before opening the door of his cubicle.
Abdel had butterflies in his stomach, he’d never been or at least allowed himself to be in such a situation. He was torn between the decision to go back home and that of rejoining Madame Gérard. It was also the first time Meriam was not with him. He finally gave in to the temptation and two hours later, he found himself standing, dressed in his navy blue suit and wearing the suede mocassins he’d sported on his wedding day, in front of her door at the sumptuous moorish-style Hasrubal Hotel. She welcomed him, garbed in an exquisite embroidered silk kimono whose deep turquoise background highlighted her tanned complexion. Offering him a glass of Champagne from the living-room bar, she told him to call her by her first name. This was an introduction to the most glorious love-making Abdel had ever experienced, not even in his wildest dreams had he fathomed that such peaks could be attained. There was total osmosis between him and Anaïs and such incredible freedom in her gestures and appeal, that all the sexual taboos his environment had accustomed him to, fell, all of a sudden, as lightly as a castle of playing cards. The young man felt as if his whole body and spirit were shrouded in a bracing, sweet-scented breeze. Then Anaïs said something he first believed he had misheard. As he did not react, she repeated the words: “I don’t want you only as my lover and my personal masseur, I want you to marry me.” The young man froze. His mother’s warning flashed behind his lids like a net of needles: “Never succumb to those shameless foreign women, they will beguile you, then it will be your ruin!”
Abdel could not resist Anaïs and he saw her every single evening, but his conscience was torturing him, in spite of the fact that he had repeated to her he would never leave his wife or divorce her.
On the eve of Meriam’s return, Abdel had a very disturbing dream: his wife was running towards their house, she was about to put her arms around him when he pushed her away as if she were a total stranger, while behind her shoulders Anaïs smiled at the scene with a triumphant grin. He began to perspire profusely and he watched himself with horror melting down like a wax figure cast near a hearth of smouldering embers.

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 19.11.2009

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