03.1 Photographer

Following day, Jamal loafed around the Silverside Club in a pair of dirty sneakers. He gathered some information out there. A very rich man called Zaid Falak from the Arab land booked in with four of his wives and twenty-four maids. It kindled him to boost an ego and so desired to meet this exalted lady.

He grew anxious as minutes ticked off. There was no sign of a movement on the pier as he watched from the breakwater.

Four in the afternoon, he climbed down to the beach through a pathway with a glow of haze in his eye. Deep blue water creeped up to the shore making way through the mudflats in sparkling ripples.

As he stepped on the beach, he could see the rambla over the water. They erected a fence on the other side, on the pier, to protect from straying eyes and the waterside left bare.

There were ghostly figures floating on the rambla under the trees. Jamal made up his mind to meet this woman; the youngest wife of Zaid Falak – and he’s got an edge for it.

He went up the pier, passing the white-painted fence and entered the club office.

Jamal negotiated with Elena, “I’d like to talk to Madam Marina. I have the photographs she asked for.”

“You shouldn’t be disturbing her,” said Elena.

“She’s expecting me,” he waved a broad hand, “We were on the beach yesterday. I took these photos and she said to come and meet her here.”

Elena knew this was not an easy type to tail off. She dialled Room No 333 uncertainly, “Madam! There is a man here looking for you. A Mister Jamal…”

“What does he want?” asked Marina.

“He says he has some photographs.”

“Pass him on!”

“It’s me, Jamal…the photographer,” he spoke aloud, “Remember, we met on the beach yesterday. I have those photographs for you.”

“I do not want them,” said Marina.

“It’s awfully good. You’ll have to take a look at them. I made large prints. Lying on the beach, relaxed, under the sun…”

“Mr Jamal! I am not interested.”

“Hold on, madam! You take one glance and you’d love them. I promise, you’d just love them. I give them all for free…I promise. You must take these sweet memories home.”

“Alright, I will meet you outside by the gate.” She knew he would not stop insisting.

“Thank you, madam!” He dropped the phone and grinned at Elena, “She is coming to see me. She likes these photographs.”

She wore a long shrug with double-bell sleeves, of an aquatic design, in tennis shoes and her hair neatly combed down, fresh out of the shower. Beneath it she wore a denim miniskirt and a white top.

Andrés noticed her walking out of the gate and meeting him seated on a bench. He suspected something peculiar but decided not to tell the manager as if to pretend that he saw nothing.

“Bonsoir!” she sounded quite reluctant about this meeting, “You shan’t be calling me!”

“Is anything wrong?” asked Jamal.

“I am married.”

“I know. So, where’s Prince Charming?”

“Abroad,” replied Marina, “he’ll be back very soon.”

“I brought these photographs. I have to say you look like a model, Marina.”

“Call me Mary,” she said.

“Well, Mary, how about that drink?”

“No thanks.”

“It won’t cost you anything.”

“No.”

“You’ll have to see these photographs, they’re pretty revealing. There is a pub by the corner.”

She rolled her eyes at the Silverside to see if someone was watching them and took a moment to say, “One drink.”

They walked up the ribera on Avenida Cervantes, two narrow lanes on either side of a wide green patch of a median. Wind caught on her long hair and her shrug blown to reveal a pair of pretty legs. After crossing five blocks, they reached a pub standing by a corner facing the pergola on the promenade.

Malibet was a small snack bar with arch windows, six tables set in the patio facing the road with eight chairs around each. Seated by a table at Malibet, under a palm, Jamal asked, “What would you like to drink?”

“A beer, please,” she said.

They ordered Bocks of Quilmes. There were quite a number of customers at the hour. Two others seated at their table.

He produced the large B&W prints from the envelope and Marina cried in grave shock with sight of the image, “Oh non! Vraiment!”

She lay in full frame on the beach with legs strewn, on a narrow piece of a towel with awning stripes, a gleaming shine on her body and black hair standing out against the soggy background.