Free Chaos of the Senses by Ahlem Mosteghanemi

be an actor or a novelist so that I could live more than one life. One life isn’t enough for me. I belong to a generationthat’s suffering from an age crisis, one that’s spent its life even before it’s lived it.’
    Then he added, ‘In any case, I’m an artist, and quite satisfied with my profession.’
    ‘You’re an artist?’ I blurted out in amazement.
    ‘What did you expect me to be?’
    ‘I don’t know, but . . . ’
    ‘But what . . . ?’
    ‘I used to know an artist from Constantine. I just now thought of him. He was so obsessed with the city that all he used to paint was . . . ’
    ‘. . . bridges!’ he said, finishing my sentence for me.
    ‘Did you know him, too?’ I cried.
    He smiled and said, ‘No, but I’d expect an artist who loves this city to do something silly like that.’
    ‘Why do you call it silly?’
    ‘Let’s just say I don’t like bridges.’
    ‘Strange. He spent months trying to get me to love them. I thought all artists would like the same landmarks.’
    He put out his cigarette as if to avoid an unpleasant subject and said, ‘Who knows! He might have changed his mind since then. The only people who never change their minds are dimwits!’
    Sensing that it bothered him for me to talk about Constantine, I tried to think of something else I could draw him into a conversation about. Before I’d opened my mouth, he looked at me and said, ‘I like you in that dress. Black suits you.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Really. But more than that, I like the fact that we both happened to wear the same colour today. I still remember the dress you were wearing the first time I saw you. Like Cinderella’sprince, who has nothing but a shoe to guide him to the girl of his dreams, I think that if I’d seen a woman wearing a muslin dress, I would have run after her, sure that she must be you!’
    He slowly knocked the ashes off his cigarette and continued, ‘What saddened me that day was that I didn’t get to exchange a single word with you. All the lights were against us, maybe because we were the best-looking couple at somebody else’s wedding. The band had been playing lively music when all of a sudden it stopped and struck up the wedding march in announcement of the bride and groom’s arrival. Women lined up on either side, decked out in their finest traditional garb and beating on ben-idirs and tambourines. Just when you and I happened to come in, both of us wearing black, the women starting to ululate. We weren’t the bride and groom, of course. We were there at that moment by sheer coincidence, just steps ahead of the bride and groom, but it was the loveliest possible mistake. Next to us, the actual wedding procession looked downright dull! It was as though they’d been escorting you to me in that black dress as my imaginary bride, and the scene stayed with me for years afterwards.’
    He puffed on his cigarette. Then he continued, ‘I remember how we were so flustered, we split up after that. You struck up a conversation with some other man, and I began talking to another woman, making a point of seeming interested in her. Wanting to avoid more lights and mistakes, each of us found a place in a different group. Even so, we couldn’t get past each other. Even while we were deliberately ignoring each other, we were still face to face. I don’t think you felt any desire for me at first, and I didn’t feel any for you. It was love that desired both of us, dreaming of a pair of characters like us to play these outlandish roles.’
    I just sat there listening, not daring to interrupt him with a single word. In silence I found a refuge, a way of creating theimpression that I already knew everything he was saying. Besides, silence imbues situations like this with a special sort of beauty.
    I felt sure he must be talking about some other woman. I couldn’t recall ever having gone to a wedding by myself wearing a dress like the one he’d described. I didn’t even have one in my wardrobe.