It was early winter, and London was freezing cold. Antaalie, an elegant young French woman, had been shopping in Bond Street, for the unique gifts she loved to send to people she knew would celebrate Christmas.

Bond Street was a great place to find the highest quality as well as prestige branded products. She had seen earlier at her favorite jewelers' window display,some turquoise and gold beetles, Egyptian, in 18 carats gold and sapphires, they were lovely and truly unique to the connoisseur she was . Her friends would love those.

She entered the jewelers shop which had just opened.

As she entered, the manager of the shop welcomed her with great warmth. After all she was a regular customer, and she was stunning, she had an aura around her that warmed any place she was in.

Mr.Thompson called immediately for a tea tray. Anataalie was used to the courtesy of this so British gentleman, and so she relaxed into the sofa chair, and removed her white kid gloves to pick up the porcelain cup of tea.

The manager could not help noticing on her fingers the rings he had sold her over the last three years. On her manicured hands, the diamond rings set with several solitaire diamonds, sapphires and emeralds were as dazzling and beautiful as ever. Boucheron was indeed the best jeweler there was in the world. Today she had worn only fresh water pearls on her ears and neck, it gave her a youthful and yet sober look. She looked ravishing.

It always warmed the heart of the manager to see that lovely women were wearing items from his shop. Anataalie was certainly a walking advertisement; she looked stunning in those.

Anataalie drank her lemon tea slowly while the manager showed her the Egyptian pieces she wanted.

Anataalie looked keenly at the pieces and said softly:
" Yes, those will do. How many do you have presently in stock?

The manager gleefully replied:
"Four, Mademoiselle Anataalie, we have just four.
Anataalie smiled:
"And so Monsieur Thompson, yes I shall take the four. Just add the wrapping separately, I will do the wrapping myself."

The manager laughed. He knew her well, she loved doing the packing of the gifts herself, she never wanted it any other way.And he was only too willing to oblige such a courteous customer.

As the shop assistant was instructed to pack as Anataalie had requested, the Manager took advantage of the free moment to show Anataalie a new piece, a recent arrival: a forearm snake type bracelet, also a piece from Egypt. It had an intrinsic handwork, and Anataalie looked at it for a while, and asked:
"How much? "
The manager told the price.
Anataalie said:
"Yes I want it too, but this one .please, have it wrapped up. "
The manager laughed and said:
"Yes, we always do wrap the gifts you make to yourself, and we spare no efforts in doing so."

Anataalie gave back a brief smile. It was enough, the Manager knew that Anataalie was a discreet and mysterious woman. She never gave anything of herself readily, only soft smiles.But he liked her a lot, she was easy to deal with, and very kind. She always inquired about his wife and children.

As they were in the process of completing the purchase, suddenly the face of the manager froze.

The security men were going hurriedly towards the entrance door. Anataalie casually glanced towards the place of the commotion.

There stood in the doorway a tall black skinned man, over 6-ft tall. He made a strange impression not only because of his unusual height but also for the fact that he was dressed with a sort of cape where there were only openings for the head and for the arms. It seemed to have been made from a brown rough fabric, very much like a blanket and the man wore only a pair of open sandals. Anataalie immediately felt the cold invading her as she shivered for the man. How did he walk around in those open sandals.The winter of London is always very freezing and she felt that he would surely catch his death, dressed that way. His cloth came only to the calves of his legs and his arms were bare. He had around his strong neck a cord with an animal tooth ,so it seems, from afar.

She could not see much more as the man was chased away. She was sad because oddly she felt that she should somehow explain to him about the weather, and to teach him somehow how to dress himself more adequately. She shivered, did he not feel the cold?

 

The commotion was soon forgotten. An English lady entered the shop; she was wearing an interesting hat that was pleasing to Anataalie. She seemed nice enough, but from the strained face of the manager, Anataalie could understand that she was not an easy customer to please.

Anataalie was done, she bade farewell to the Manager but the Manager insisted to accompany Anataalie to the door, much to the annoyance of the lady. The Manager said:

"Mademoiselle Anataalie, I wish you a wonderful day and I shall convey your wishes to my wife.

As she went into the Bond Street, she realized how cold it was, she was wearing a jersey suit of mauve color with a white kid jacket and gloves and boots, yet she felt so very cold…She had never felt that very cold on previous winters.

It was just 11am in the morning and many people were walking in Bond Street, the street was always fashionably lively. She saw in some of the boutiques some famous lady singer Lulu, and a model too.

But she was shivering and she thought that she could do with some warm beverage at an Italian restaurant she sometimes went to while shopping in the erea. She entered, and the waiter greeted her. He was a charming young italian man, with an eye for pretty ladies. He always courted Anataalie whenever she came in the place, messing around her, like he did to no other customer.

Anataalie smiled, he was happy. She said:
"Alberto, please I am feeling cold, I need a very hot cappuccino"

It was a busy place, but she could hear Alberto making an Italian joke about Anataalie being cold, how he could resolve the problem.She did not mind him , she was used to him, he meant no insult. He was a good man, a bit of a playboy like all Italians. Soon he brought her coffee and she took her cup in her two hands so that the warmth would reach her heart faster.

As she was drinking, she noticed that Alberto was pacing nervously the aisle up and down, with an angry face. She was puzzled, because Alberto was always in a pleasant mood. She had never seen him that upset.

She called him and told Alberto:

"Alberto, I am going to refresh myself in the powder room, meanwhile please I need one more coffee and a croissant."

She had already stood up and he was pleased to find her so close to him. She was tall and slender, her skin was so perfect, her smile, her hair, and he was so taken by her. He could smell her perfume; she always wore that perfume.What a beautiful woman, Alberto thought,what a shame. She is always alone. Not once did he see her accompanied by a man.Many had tried to befriend her while she had been here on previous occasions , but she always remained so aloof. Even Sergio the owner of the restaurant was crazy about her, but she laughed him away, gently.Alberto pondered often about this, Sergio was really attracted by Anataalie and Sergio had a lot of money too, everyday he was making a fortune from this restaurant, still she did not care for his advances or declarations of love. She would even refused when Sergio gave orders that her bills be on the house, she insisted to pay, always.

Anataalie walked past other tables on her way to the Powder Room. As she did so, she was surprised to see the same tall black man that had been ousted from the jeweler's shop a little while ago, seated at one of the tables by the wall, on his own.

His back was to her so she moved on and climbed down the stairs to go to the Powder Room. She refreshed herself, and yes she understood why Alberto was angry. Italians are a bit racist and do not take well to darker skins, one of the many stigmas of their colonialist past. As she came back up she found that the black man was still seated, his eyes flashing with anger staring at Alberto. She felt the tension.

She understood the conflict right away. It was easy to understand why Alberto was annoyed: Well, the black man was eating with his hands, he had ordered a rear T-bone steak and blood was dripping from the corner of his mouth too. Not a pretty sight. And other customers were moving away from this aisle of the restaurant to other tables.

Somehow. Anataalie felt sorry. The black man looked so alone, so isolated. He was a man like every other. She had never understood the issue of colour of the skin, did it matter that much?

As she arrived by the black man's table, she heard herself asking him:

"Do you mind if I seat here and have my coffee? "

To Anataali' s surprise, the black man spoke in perfect English and replied:
"By all means, Miss, make yourself comfortable."

She signaled Alberto to bring her coffee and croissant over to the black man's table.

Alberto was furious. As he did so, Anataalie looked him in the eyes and flashed a smile, Alberto was happy and went away singing.

The black man was no fool:
"It seems you have overpowered the angry idiot very easily."

Anataalie controlled herself, because as the black man spoke, she could see real close his smile his teeth bloody from the T-bone steak still in his hand. It was no pretty sight, but Anataalie's face remained placid. She deliberately smiled and drank her coffee nonchalantly. The black man continued:

"You are not from England, your accent is different, where are you from?

Anataalie replied gently
" I was born in France. My name is Anataalie".
The black man smiled back:
" I am glad to have met you Anataalie, my name is Mobutu"
Anataalie said:
"This name is very familiar"

Mobutu said:
"In Europe, I do not know, but in Africa yes, our family name is well known. My father is a king in African land; I am his eldest son. I am studying law here. I am in my second year."

She listened to the warm tone of his voice and casually asked, hiding her inner pain that he would feel cold in London dressed that way:
"Yes, how do you like the place?"
Something in her wanted him to talk, the sound of his voice soothed her anguish in a way that was hard to describe. Mobutu said:
" I have no opinion, my father told me to come here and study, and that is exactly what I am doing. Besides this, I know nothing. I form no opinion, what for?"

Anataalie recognized this man, a strong will and pride, he felt so close to her. Mobutu had finished his meal and Alberto came to remove the dishes and clean the bloody mess on the table, murmuring Italian insults in his breath. Mobutu looked at him furiously.Anataalie had too finished her coffee and Alberto asked:

"Would you like another coffee Mademoiselle Anataalie, it is so cold?"

Before she could answer, Monbutu asked:
"How much is a coffee?"
Alberto told him dryly the cost.
"Please bring one coffee for Anataalie."
Alberto sneered:

"For youtoo? "

"No, I said bring one for MissAnataalie",. Mobutu said sharply.

Alberto's face was red and Anataalie knew he was ready to explode.
"Alberto, it is nice, yes I would love to accept a coffee from Mr.Mobutu at the sole condition that Mr.Mobutu accept a tea from me. "

The black man smiled:
"Yes, of course, I should have know you are a trader aren't you? Thank you. Anataalie. Yes, I would love to have a tea."

Anataalie felt the anguish coming back. She already knew that he was a profoundly proud man. He apparently did not have big means to live here, and she felt so cold, remembering how he went so inedequately dressed in the winter, with open sandals. She wished she could do something for him, but she already knew it would be an insult to Mobutu. She kept quiet.

The coffee and tea came promptly. As they drank, Mobutu asked:

"Anataalie, did you sit here because you felt sorry for me?"
Anataalie looked deeply in the eyes of this unusual man :
"Well Mobutu, in a way yes, because you see to be in a place and not to conform to its ways of living can be hard."

Mobutu asked:

"What do you mean?"

Anataalie said:

" Well, for one thing, you do not dress like British people."

Mobutu replied curtly:
"And when you people come to my country, they do not dress like us, rather they want to force us to wear trousers and jeans."

Anataalie retorted with a twinkle in her eyes:

"Ahh Mobutu, you eat with your hands. You are an intelligent and very strong man, do not fool me with your ready made explanation. That much you understand, yes?"

Mobutu smiled and replied proudly:
"Well, Anataalie, my hands are clean, probably cleaner than their so called forks and knives…."

Anataalie said;
:Yes, so you do not want to play by their rules, and you get stressed unnecessarily. I feel pain Mobutu watching you walking with open sandals in the winter."

Mobutu said:
"Yes everyday I may be stressed, but stress is no big deal for me. What matters to me is that I do never betray our own traditions for my own comfort. I am the son of a king. They may treat me like a pauper here…but the blood in my veins is the blood of a king. I shall never bow my head to tie my shoe laces. Do you get it Anataalie? Do not feel anguish on my account, because I feel none for myself. I am just fine the way I am."

Mobutu looked into Anataalie's eyes. He paused pensively for a while.

"Anataalie, I saw you earlier, I felt like talking to you, but they would not let me in that shop. Did you see me then?

Anataalie replied:
"Yes, Mobutu, I did see you there Why did you want to see me? It is strange."

Mobutu replied gently: "
"It may be strange to you yet. Yes, I had to talk to you; you are so different from others. As you walked, I could see only you, none else. Something in you called on me."

Anataalie smiled :
"Maybe it is because I wore a purple suit with white. Maybe I was the attractive woman you always dreamt of meeting. "

Mobutu looked serious and did not take to the joke, he said:
" Anataalie, I am the son of a king, the guardian of our ancient traditions and wisdoms, I know much about the ills of the soul…You are in great pain."

Antaalie lowered her eyes, felt a sharp stab in her heart. She thought for a while, and said:
"Mobutu, pain is part of life. It is our human condition."

Mobutu's eyes flashed with anger:
" Why do you evade me, Anataalie? You know what I mean: your soul is wounded, your heart has been bled dry…. I could feel your aura from where I was. You are all kindness, yet also all pain, tell me about it Anataalie. Please. I must help you."

The word "please" that came from the lips of the son of a foreign king felt like another stab in her heart.
" Mobutu, I cannot talk those things here."

Mobutu urged:
"Yes, you can. Drink your coffee slowly, and when you feel the warm liquid finding its way in you, feel how it dissolves all your frights, open up to me. I want to help you, really."

His face was tense, his eyes lit with a deep light as if coming from the depth of times.

Anataalie drank her coffee slowly, she felt well, safe with Mobutu…His face was gentle inspite of the traditional tribal carvings they made on his cheeks. He had very intelligent and compassionate eyes.

She said:
"Mobutu, you have come too late. The pain cannot be taken away, my soul has absorbed it like a sponge. It is too late now."

He said:
"I know, you are in terrible pain, for how long more Anataalie?"

As he said this he started beating the top of the table gently, and a gentle soothing drumbeat like was heard only by them both. She understood.

She stood up, looking at him very hard in the eyes, his look was very pained and tears were falling down his cheeks. She said:
"Yes, Mobutu. Yes."

That night, she went home.
Her flat was very beautiful; she used to describe it jokingly to some of her invitees that congratulated her on her sense of interior design, as a sanctuary for wounded blue birds.

She went to take a long scented bath, and put on her most dazzling light blue dress, she loosened her hair and addorned it with an Austrian crystal pin….

It was midnight. She went to lie on her bed. She closed her eyes, gently.

As she did so, she went into a deep sleep,

There, in the depth of her sleep; she reached the dream where Mobutu had been waiting for her.

He was there in Africa, he had drums made of camel skin, soft skin, and he started the drum beat, a call sent to her, a call returned by her heartbeat…. He was at the drums for long, sweating heavily, his arms tensed by the effort…he played the drums harshly urging her soul purge herself from the pain…it proved impossible.

Anataalie was covered in sweat and was convulsing under the pain that was being disturbed in her soul…she screamed with anguish…

Mobutu came towards her, she saw the sad and pained look in his eyes, the drumbeat went slow, and she realized that she and he had arrived to a new place, a water pond. As she looked into the water, she saw a reflection of a new birth: she was a deer with a broken leg, a royal Bengal tiger was ready near by to pounce and eat her alive.

Then she saw Mobutu reaching for his arch; he took one arrow, and aimed at the heart of the tiger. The arrow killed the tiger on the spot and he died almost instantly in a last huge roar…As the tiger died, Anataali at last felt her soul at ease, all the pain was gone…she felt so light, so happy.

Then she turned her trusting deer eyes towards Mobutu, he was crying as he aimed at her heart; she died without a noise.

In London, at the same time, Anataalie heard, after the echoes of the drum beat, a dull silence. Then she felt an unendurable pain in her heart, her body tensed, she remembered Mobutu kind eyes, and said: Thank you Mobutu, May God bless you always. Her heart has stopped beating.

She was no more.

In some furnished flat in London, one English man knocked angrily on his neighbour's door. A tall dark-skinned man opened the door, he was in tears. The English man said: Mr.Mobutu, please do not beat your drums at night, my kids cannot sleep…You do not seem alright too… Is there anything the matter?

The black man replied: No John, everything is fine, I shall not play my drums for some time. Good night.

Copyrighted Rahman,brigitte Arlette-2000-All rights reserved.