The Traveller

Khaled was the proprietor of a teashop in a small Tunisian town. The
shop did a passable trade from local men who came to drink tea, smoke
and play backgammon, but Khaled always looked forward to the times
during the day when a series of battered old buses would converge on
the town and screech to a dusty halt in the town square. There was a
fair chance that these buses would disgorge one or more travellers with
time to kill before their onward journey, and such travellers (if they
were male, of course) would invariably spend an hour or two in the
teashop in preference to sitting around in the hot sun.

On one such day a young man arrived on a late afternoon bus, stood
for a few moments surveying his surroundings and headed for the
teashop. Khaled noticed that he was quite well dressed and carried a
briefcase, which marked him out as a possible commercial traveller,
although the town surely possessed little potential business; maybe he
would stay the night in the one rather basic hotel before moving on.
The young man entered the teashop and ordered a tea; Khaled determined
to engage him in conversation and soon prevailed upon him to open his
briefcase to show his wares. The briefcase contained gold jewellery;
rings, hoops, bangles and necklaces. Khaled had no doubt that these
items had been smuggled in from the neighbouring country, which had
been in a state of semi-civil war for some years; as a businessman he
well knew that civil unrest, though tragic for its victims, provided
great opportunities for the man with entrepreneurial spirit, the forces
of law and order being fully occupied with weightier matters than shady
business dealings.

"Perhaps, my friend, you would like to buy some gold for your
beautiful young woman?" ventured the traveller, having soon ascertained
that Khaled lived close by and had a younger wife. Khaled spread his
hands expressively.

"Unfortunately I am not a rich man; I can only employ one assistant"
- a brief nod towards Hassan, the helper who was indolently leaning on
a broom - "and business is slack. I cannot make enough money to live by
selling tea alone. Also my wife already has lots of jewellery. But I
can supply ? other things, useful to travellers on long journeys. A
little stimulant, or some reading matter, perhaps?"

The two men settled more comfortably in their chairs; this game of
buying and selling, whether or not any goods changed hands, could take
a long time. By mutual consent the combatants resumed small talk
pertaining to civic and family matters, each waiting to spot the chink
in the other's defence which would admit to the merest possibility of a
purchase being made, at a very special price as between friends, of
course.

During the evening Khaled's wife was surprised to receive a
telephone call from her husband; his voice sounded distant and muffled
but he explained that he was ringing from the public call booth in the
busy square rather than from the tea shop as he didn't want to be
overheard by his patrons. He had arranged to take a break from work and
Hassan had agreed to cover for him for a while; he was feeling quite
romantic and would be arriving home shortly and had a little request.
She sighed; clearly he had been drinking the whisky he kept behind the
bar, and probably reading those disgusting magazines again. He had
often explained to her, as though speaking to a backward child, that he
could make far more profit on whisky than tea and that he had to drink
with a client to demonstrate that the whisky was good; he also thought
that alcohol made him a great lover but in reality he just became loud
and clumsy. Why were men such fools? she wondered. He explained his
latest desire; that she should dress completely in silk, open the
window for him, blindfold herself with a silk scarf, lie on the bed and
await his imminent arrival. The phone went dead. Climbing in through
the window like he was a character from the Arabian Nights! Whatever
next? She sighed again and went to get changed.

He arrived surprisingly quietly and vaulted through the window
without falling over. She waited to be grabbed and fondled, but when he
touched her it was so lightly that she thought it was her imagination.
Was that the tiniest of touches on her little toe? Yes, there it was
again, a teeny nibble, this time on her second toe. When he reached her
big toe he put the whole toe in his mouth and drew his teeth slowly
down to the tip, completing the treatment by lightly running his
fingernail across her sole, causing her to squeal. He repeated the
process on her other foot, and then started on her fingers. She felt
his teeth loosen her ring, and heard it clatter on the floor; she
opened her mouth to speak, but he put his finger to her lips and hushed
her. Maybe there were some useful tips in those magazines after all,
she thought. All too soon he was gone back the way he came, whispering
"More! Later!" in a husky theatrical voice. She resumed her pose and
waited expectantly for closing time at the teashop.

Later that night Khaled arrived home in a bad mood; the traveller
had bought nothing but tea and had left early, saying he had changed
his mind about staying at the hotel and would catch a late bus onwards
to save time on the morrow. Khaled entered the house, walked into the
bedroom and stared with astonishment at the spectacle before him.

"Why are you dressed like that, you dozy bitch? Why the blindfold?
And where's your ring, you stupid cow?" he roared.

When the truth dawned upon him he dashed out of the house in a fury,
first to the hotel and then to the bus stands. But the last bus out of
town had long since gone.