When Salim arrived home from work the first thing he noticed was the light over the front porch was not on. Although his initial reaction to this was annoyance he decided not to make an issue out of it. After all, Magali had been trying her best over the last few months—he should allow for some mistakes. She was still adjusting, just as he was.

He dismissed the driver who had brought him home and walked up to his front door. The key was stiff in the lock as usual and he reminded himself that he had been meaning to do something about it. To his surprise, however, the lock didn't turn—the door was unlocked.

This did anger him. Magali should know better than to leave the door unlocked! Fortunately it appeared that no-one had tried the door—it was still shut. He let himself in, closed the door and locked it, then removed his shoes on the entry mat, put on his slippers, and hung up his jacket on the coat rack on the wall.

He turned towards the living room, and suddenly he was aware of the silence. There was no sound in the house apart from the muffled noises of the neighbours' activities. There was no noise of dishes and pots and pans from the kitchen, no sound of playing and talking from the boys' room. In fact, the usual smells of a meal being prepared were conspicuously absent, too. And there wasn't a light on in the house. Was anyone home?

Salim paused to switch on the porch and hall lights, then made his way to the living room. All was darkness here too, and he switched on the light. The morning paper which he had left on the sofa was still where he had dropped it, and his half-empty glass of coffee was where he had put it down and forgotten it. A chill went through him.

He threw down his briefcase and rushed out to the kitchen, calling out Magali's name, calling out for Isaac and Aram. There was no sign of them. It was disconcerting to find the dishes from breakfast still left on the table, unwashed—something Magali never did, normally.

His stomach tight with anxiety and his heart pounding like a jack-hammer, he ran to the boys' room. He turned on the light. Their school uniforms were hanging on the wardrobe door. They had not been put on that day. He looked at the boys' beds, still unmade. Isaac's teddy bear was not in its usual spot by his pillow. Aram's little fire engine was not in its place on the bookcase.

He raced back to the living room, to the telephone. Calm down, he said to himself, There's been an accident or something and she had to take one or the other to the hospital. Try and think clearly. Call Ali. He'll know what's happened.

He picked up the receiver and dialled his next-door neighbour's number. Ali answered. No, he hadn't heard from Magali. He'd only just got home from work. Hang on, he'd ask Salma. No, she hadn't heard anything. Magali had gone out with the boys—to take them to school, he assumed—at the usual time that morning. Had Salim rung the other neighbours?

Salim thanked him, hung up, and dialled the other neighbours' number. No answer. What to do now? Best thing is to wait—she's sure to ring.

He went to his and Magali's bedroom. As he looked around his dread increased. The bed was unmade, and the photograph of her parents and sister, the one she kept on her bedside table, was gone. He opened the drawer of the bedside table. Her address book was also gone. He turned to the jewelry box on the dressing table, hardly daring to open it. He lifted the lid—the necklace which her parents had sent her was not there, nor were her other necklaces, but the brooch he himself had given her lay, alone and dismal, in the bottom of the box.

In a daze, he somehow got back to the living room and sat down heavily on the sofa. Magali and the boys were gone! They were gone! Where? How? Had she finally found a way to leave the country? Where could she be?

No-one can leave the city without a police permit, he reminded himself, and a married woman needs her husband's permission in writing as the first step to obtaining a permit. She can't be far. And she can't leave the country without a passport, and her passport is in the safe at my office.

He picked up the phone again and rang up their closest friends, Mahmed and Gail.

"No, she isn't here," Gail replied to his shakily-voiced question, "and as far as I know she hasn't gone to the hospital. But then she wouldn't necessarily think of ringing me if one of the boys got hurt or something like that."

"Let me speak to Mahmed," Salim said.

Gail passed the receiver to her husband. "It's Salim," she said, "He wants to know if Magali and the boys are here."

"What is the matter?" Mahmed asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Do you know where Magali is? Where the boys are?" Salim's voice was somewhat panicky now.

"We haven't seen them since Tuesday, when you all had dinner here," Mahmed said.

"They've left," Salim said, "They're gone."

"What do you mean, 'They're gone'?" Mahmed asked.

"They weren't home when I got back, and they've obviously not been here since early this morning. Isaac's teddy bear is gone. Her jewelry's gone. Aram's fire engine is gone. They didn't go to school."

"How do you know they didn't go to school?"

"Their uniforms are still hanging up in their bedroom."

"There might have been an accident..." Mahmed suggested slowly.

"They've left," Salim answered dully, and hung up.

Mahmed looked at his wife. "He seems to think Magali's left him."

Gail blinked, but she said nothing.

o o o o o

Two hours had gone past since Salim had returned home from work. He had phoned several other people in the hope of finding someone who knew where his wife was, but he had drawn a blank everywhere. He wondered if he should call the police.

No, he decided, one doesn't involve the police in family problems except as a very last resort. He did not want to alert his relatives yet, either. None of their friends had heard from or seen Magali.

As he sat on the sofa pondering the situation, the telephone rang. Did someone have news of his wife and sons?

It was Magali.

"Where are you?" he cried.

"Somewhere," she replied calmly, "and I've got the boys with me. You can't do anything about it."

"Come home right now!" he shouted, his emotions a mixture of relief, anger, and fear, "You shouldn't have gone! Come home right now!"

"We're never going back there," Magali said, "and you can't follow us because you don't know where we're going or how."

"Why did you phone, then?"

"To warn you. If you go to the police they will be told about the money you brought into the country without declaring it."

Salim was so startled by her threat that he was speechless, and as he stood there unable to respond she hung up. He stared dumbly at the receiver for a moment, then replaced it on the phone and continued to stare at the phone itself for quite some time, not knowing what to think.

Finally he sat down on the sofa again, his head in his hands. Magali was gone! This couldn't be real—surely it was a nightmare from which he would wake up any moment. He'd been so pleased to see her at last apparently settling down to life in his country. She had been taking pains to be a good wife and to keep the house clean and welcoming. She had started studying the language in earnest, with a lady tutor who came to their home three times a week. She had even started accompanying him to worship. They had not quarrelled for many weeks. They had been making love several times a week. Only last night she had cooked him his favourite meal and told him how proud she was of his success at work.

Had it all been an act? But if so, why?

And then it struck him. It had all been calculated to make him relax his guard, to make him feel that at last they would have a normal life and he needn't keep an eye on her all the time...

Magali had betrayed him. She had done everything to make him trust her and he had trusted her. He had thought she had once more become the wife and friend she had been back in England. She had encouraged him to think it—even this morning as she had kissed him before he had left for the office. Magali had betrayed him.

His thoughts reeled. Anger at the humiliation of it, and hatred towards the traitor, vied for top place in his heart with grief at his loss and longing for the wife and sons he loved. He sat there in the living room for a long time, more alone than he'd ever been.

o o o o o

When Magali had met Salim for the first time, at an end-of-semester dinner for International students in London, she had been drawn by his bright smile, his dark handsomeness, and his sense of fun. He was in England on a full scholarship to do post-graduate studies in physiology and pharmacy.

Salim, too, had been quite taken by the young woman who was half-French and half-English ("Which half is the French half?" he'd asked with a grin). It wasn't only that she had lovely, long, blond hair, shining green eyes, and a trim figure—she was also quiet and gentle, though she had very firm ideas about things. She had been studying for her Master's in English Literature.

They had begun to see more of each other after that evening, and it hadn't been very long before Salim had decided this was the woman he wanted for his wife. When he'd suggested marriage to her one evening, Magali had liked the idea, but he'd had to warn her that a year later he would be returning to his country, at least for a visit. That was when his studies would be over and his student visa would expire. A year had seemed like a long time then, and Magali had assured him she would like nothing better than to visit his country.

They were married in a quiet civil ceremony, for Salim's religious mentors frowned on the whole relationship and Magali's parents, over in France, would never consent to her marrying someone from such a different culture. Thus they presented both parties with a fait accompli and ten months later underlined the fact of their marriage by producing twin boys.

When Isaac and Aram were two months old, Salim was granted a two-year extension of both his scholarship and his student visa, for new developments in his field made it necessary that he do further studies before returning to his homeland. Thus the boys were just over two years old, and sporting that irresistible beauty owned by small children of mixed race, when Salim embarked with his family on the long flight back to his country.

The arrival at the airport just outside the capital city was a complete shock to Magali. Despite having known for three years that she would be coming to this place she had never got around to finding out much about it. In her mind it had been vaguely romantic, a picture she had formed from a slight acquaintance with the Arabian Nights, stories of Lawrence of Arabia, and exotic restaurants. She had imagined marble palaces and beautiful gardens, oil wells and luxury cars competing with oases and camel trains, holy men everywhere, hordes of servants to do one's bidding (for Salim had told her more than once that his family was wealthy), and other equally fantastic things.

Well, the airport's main arrivals hall was actually decorated with marble pillars, but the similarity to her dreams ended there. What did meet her eyes and ears, accustomed as they were to the clean, efficient, and organised world of Gatwick and Heathrow, was a scene that made her want to turn and run back into the plane and leave with it on its return flight to London.

The place was filthy—that was the only word she could think of to describe it. There was litter everywhere and the hall was packed with people who all seemed to be yelling at the tops of their voices. They jostled and pushed each other as well as Magali and her family. There seemed to be beggars everywhere, all reaching out for alms and all apparently ignored by everyone else.

Magali was terrified that she might lose her boys in the throng, and she made them sit on top of the suitcases on the trolley she was pushing. Salim was walking a little ahead of them, their passports clenched in one hand, looking this way and that in the hope of spotting his relatives who had assured him they would meet him at the airport.

All of a sudden Salim was surrounded by a small mob of men accompanied by several women dressed from head to toe in long robes and veils. They fell on him with screams and yells of delight, embracing him and all talking at the same time in loud voices. To Magali it looked as if her husband were being violently attacked and she stopped the trolley and wondered if she should call for help. Her fear was not allayed when the mob suddenly turned towards her and flew down onto Isaac and Aram, who shrieked in terror as they were carried away.

"Salim!" she screamed, pulling helplessly at this and that person to try and get them to release her frightened children.

"It's all right," Salim laughed as he came over to her, "These are my relatives—my brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins. They've come to greet us. The boys will be all right."

"But they're terrified!"

"Nothing a few sweets and hugs won't cure, you'll see. They love children."

The mob gradually led them out of the building and to the carpark where somehow, and in an amazingly short time, suitcases, bags, and people were firmly packed into three incredibly old American sedans. Magali found herself squashed between two mysterious but noisy robe-clad figures of whom only the eyes were visible. She had no idea where Salim or the boys were.

As the car set off, she suddenly realised that, apart from being pushed into the car with the others, she had been completely ignored by Salim's relatives.

o o o o o

The horror that had engulfed Magali on arrival in her husband's hometown only increased as they reached his family's home. The cars disgorged their occupants like champagne corks. Magali was so overwhelmed by the trip in a carful of what she was sure were bodies that hadn't been washed for weeks that she could hardly find the strength to slide out. At last Salim came looking for her. "Come on, they're all waiting for us," he said impatiently.

She was already close to tears, and the tone of his voice was like a slap in the face. "I can't," she said.

"What do you mean, you can't?" he exclaimed, "You haven't any choice. Come on." he pulled on her arm and she reluctantly moved towards the car door.

"Where are the boys?" she asked as she eased herself out of the car and got out.

Salim didn't answer but stood there frowning at her.

"What's the matter?" she asked anxiously.

"You'll have to get some decent clothes" he said.

She looked down in astonishment at what she was wearing, a light green cotton dress with short sleeves and buttons down the front and a full skirt. It was one of the dresses he'd always told her he especially liked to see her wearing. "What do you mean?" she asked, "This is one of your favourites!"

"You can't go around dressed like that here," he said with a finality which startled her, "It's indecent. You look like a prostitute, showing off your body like that. I'll ask my sister to take you to get some decent clothing made. She can lend you some of her clothes in the meantime."

He took her arm not too gently. "Come on," he repeated, "They're all waiting." Still holding onto her arm he led her towards the house in front of which the cars had stopped, a sprawling flat-roofed, one-storey, whitewashed concrete building with cast-iron grilles and green wooden shutters at all the windows. He hurried her towards the front entrance whose large, ornately carved, wooden double doors stood wide open to the street. Beyond the doorway she could see the same little mob, still chattering loudly, and their baggage all piled up in a heap in the middle of the room.

Magali was even more frightened now. She still did not know where her children were, and Salim had not told her. Her husband was behaving in a manner which was quite alien to her, too. This was not the loving husband of three years that she knew. Being back in his homeland, with his relatives, seemed to have transformed him instantly into a different person, cold and authoritarian. Not for the first time—nor would it be the last—she longed to be back in London, back in normality.

Once inside the house, Salim let go of his wife's arm and disappeared into another part of the house. Magali stood in the room, not knowing what she should do. The relatives cast disapproving glances at her but otherwise they ignored her. She felt quite unwelcome. It did not cross her mind that they had been waiting for her, as Salim's wife, to greet them. It was a pity that Salim, in his excitement about going home and seeing his family, had neglected to tell her what would be expected of her on arrival there. She did not speak their language and, as far as she could tell, they did not speak English, so she had no way of communicating with them.

o o o o o

It never occurred to Magali, immersed in the despair of her own extreme dose of culture shock, that Salim himself might be attained by the same malady. Within hours of arriving in the country she had determined that she hated his country and all its inhabitants. She came close to hating her own husband for having brought her there and for the unexpected changes in his behaviour. Had she made the effort of preparing herself for coming to this new place things might have been different. But she had not bothered to acquaint herself with his country and its culture beforehand, so now she was suffering their full onslaught unarmed.

Salim, of course, had some idea of what he was coming back to, despite his absence of seven years. Yet he, too, was not completely prepared, for he was not the person he had been when he had left for England, and there had been changes both in his country and in his family during the time he had been away.

What revolted Magali most about her new home was the dirt. Coming from that part of British society that considers cleanliness the next thing to divinity, she was nauseated at every turn by the lack of it surrounding her. Did these people ever wash? It seemed not. She took to carrying a perfumed handkerchief in her sleeve, to sniff at whenever the air became too turgid for her nostrils.

One of the first things she begged Salim to do, and she asked him on their first day, was to make some arrangement for them to have toilet facilities separate from the rest of the family. She couldn't bear to use the one latrine which served all twenty members of the household, for it seemed that no-one ever cleaned it. Salim understood her feelings about this, for he shared them, and he demanded that a separate latrine be built for them off the bedroom that had been assigned to them.

The building of the latrine in three days should have shown Magali that her husband had great power in his family, and should have alerted her to the fact that he now held a position which made great demands on him. However, having been brought up in British efficiency, and being ignorant of the country's lifestyle, she was not aware of the significance of the speed with which her latrine had been built.

Salim announced to the whole household that it was Magali's responsibility to clean their latrine and their room and that no-one else in the household would be allowed into that part of the house as long as they were living there. Even this did not alert Magali to her husband's standing in the family, but she was relieved that there was somewhere in this country where she could escape from it. Increasingly, as the weeks went past, she spent whole days in that room, coming out only at mealtimes. This did not endear her to the relatives, but the only hint of their displeasure that they gave to Salim was to constantly suggest that he find a house for himself and his wife and children to live in. Since he was at work all day—he had taken up a research position at the national university—he had no idea that his wife was isolating herself to that extent.

o o o o o

At last, after six months of living in Salim's sister's house, they moved to a house of their own. That it was one of a row of ten houses and that it had only four rooms didn't worry Magali—it was their own home and she could do as she pleased in it.

From the first she had hated the robe and head-covering she was expected to wear in public, and the long-sleeved floor-length dresses she had to wear in Salim's sister's house. "In my own home I can wander around in a tank top and shorts if I want to," she said to Salim, and one day she actually did this.

He was not amused, and as a result Magali hated the robe—the "tent" as she called it—with increased passion, so much so that she refused to go out if she was required to wear it.

"You have to go out to buy food!" Salim shouted at her when she announced her decision. He was shouting at her a great deal of the time now.

"If you want food you can buy it yourself!" she shouted back, "I'm not wearing that thing!"

So Salim began to go to his sister's house for meals, and he took the boys with him. He told Magali that if she wanted to eat she would have to go and buy food herself.

At this point Magali began to plan her departure. She counted what was left of her traveller's cheques and found she had more than enough for plane tickets to England for herself and the boys. She found her passport, in which her sons were included. She decided she would travel light—taking only her handbag—so as not to arouse suspicion if her neighbours saw her leave. She would even wear the hated robe and veil, at least until she was on the plane.

One Monday morning, as soon as Salim had left for work, she put her plan into action. She told the boys they were going for a drive, and she put on the robe over her clothes. Outside the house she hailed a taxi and directed the driver to take them to the airport. She could have laughed, but refrained, when the driver, realising he was dealing with a foreigner, complimented her on her honouring the customs of his country by not showing off her body as other foreigners did.

At the airport, she thanked the driver, paid him, and taking her boys by the hand, went into the terminal. The noise inside the departures hall was almost unbearable and for a moment she could hardly think. She stared around at all the counters and at last she spotted what she was looking for—the British Airways counter. Confidence returned and she marched towards it.

One bored-looking man in an airline uniform was sitting behind the counter. He watched her approaching without any interest. She walked up to him and announced that she wanted to buy three tickets for the next flight to London that day.

The man now appeared interested, as he was now aware that this was a foreigner. He straightened up. "The next flight is not until Saturday," he said.

Magali belatedly remembered that indeed they had arrived here on a Saturday. She had assumed, however, that there were daily flights to London. It hadn't crossed her mind that the flights might be only weekly.

Well, it couldn't be helped. She would have to wait until Saturday, but least she could buy the tickets now. "Give me three one-way tickets for Saturday's flight to London, then" she said.

"Are you married?" the man asked, eyeing her two boys with raised eyebrows.

"What's that got to do with it?" she asked.

"You must have permission from your husband to travel with your children," he replied.

Magali lied boldly. "I have permission or I wouldn't be here," she said, "Please make out the tickets."

"You must have permission in writing," he said.

For a moment, she could only stare at him. Then she became angry. She pulled out her passport and waved it at him. "I'm a British citizen!" she exclaimed, raising her voice, "and so are my boys! I'm free to travel whenever I want to, especially on my own country's airline! You must sell me those tickets!"

"You must have written permission from your husband," the man insisted with finality, and turned his back on her.

His rudeness, as she saw it, flustered her, and she found herself on the verge of panic. She could not leave with her boys unless she had permission from Salim, yet she knew Salim would never give his permission. She understood that she was allowed to leave if she did not take the boys. But no, there was no way she could leave her boys behind.

Abruptly, she turned away from the counter. She replaced her passport in her bag, took the boys' hands, and pushed her way back outside through the throng. Finding an empty taxi, she climbed in with them and told the driver to take them to the markets which were near her home. There she told him to wait, went in with the boys, and bought a few groceries at random. This done, she returned to the taxi and went home.

When Salim came home that evening he was pleasantly surprised to find that his wife had ventured to the markets for groceries and was in the kitchen cooking the evening meal. He would have suspected nothing had the boys not been playing a game which caught his attention.

"You be the airport man," Isaac's voice said loudly from the boys' room, "I wanna ticket to go on the plane."

"I wanna ticket!" Aram protested, "I wanna go to London!"

"You can get one too," Isaac said, "and Mummy."

"Daddy too?"

"Not Daddy. He doesn't like London. He likes to eat at Auntie Fatima's house."

As the boys had been talking, Salim had quietly approached their door. Now he walked into the room and smiled at them. "You're going to London?" he asked.

"Yes! Yes!" they both replied with glee.

"So how will you get there?" their father asked.

"On the plane," Isaac said, stretching out his arms and running a short distance around the room, "Vroom, vroom, to London!"

"Where's London, Daddy?" Aram asked.

"A long way away, in England," Salim said, "It costs a lot of money to go to London."

"Mummy can buy tickets," Isaac said, and then his eyes went wide and he clapped his hand over his mouth.

Aram stared at him in horror. "Mummy said we mustn't tell," he gasped.

"Never mind," Salim said, keeping his voice as calm as possible, "Anyway, dinner will be ready soon so you'd better put your toys away and wash your hands." He turned and went back to the living room, not sure whether to be angry or afraid.

By the time they sat down to eat, he had come to a decision. He would not tell Magali that he knew what she'd been up to—but he would not let her have another opportunity.

His mind was a tangle of emotions. In many ways he, too, would rather go back to England. He had been appalled at the state of his country, for in the years he had been abroad it seemed to have gone backwards. There were many aspects of life there that he had forgotten. He had remembered the closeness of family ties, the food, the unhurried lifestyle, but he had forgotten the lack of facilities such as supermarkets, public transport, and medical help. Above all he had forgotten the dirt—the constant filth, the unwashed people, the dusty and littered streets, the open drains, the dirty kitchens. Even now, after almost a year back in his homeland, he still found the dirt and the smells almost unbearable. Yes, from here London certainly seemed like Paradise on earth.

On the other hand, when Salim had returned to his native country he had returned as head of his extended family, for both his father and his father's brother had died while he was away. His mother had died when he was a teenager, and his uncle had divorced his aunt several years before that. Salim was the eldest among his brothers and male cousins, thus he was head of his family. It was a position he took seriously and a responsibility he accepted as his lot in life. Even though he hadn't wanted the responsibility, he did not want to dishonour the memory of his father and his uncle by refusing it. Of course this meant he could not leave—his relatives were counting on him. He had to look after them and direct them. He had tried to explain this to Magali, but she could not understand this family loyalty which was so important to him, and she was angry at the relatives for, as she saw it, taking advantage of her husband.

His relatives did not make his job easy, either. He might be the head of the family, but it didn't stop them from criticising his foreign habits or his wife. Some of his own culture had come back to him readily enough, but the British way of doing things was now also a part of him and it was not easy for him to divest himself of it. Still, he endeavoured to please his relatives and to keep the peace among them as best he could.

Now he had a new problem. He had to keep track of his wife's movement. There was only one way to do this—he would enroll the boys in a preschool and he would ask his neighbours to keep an eye on his wife. He would also come home for lunch every day, so she would have to be at home in the middle of the day.

o o o o o

Salim had put his plan into action, but it mustn't have been long before Magali had become aware of what he was doing. Obviously, she had set up her own counter-plan, and it had succeeded. She was gone, and so were his boys. He could not believe it, yet it was true.

The pain caused by her betrayal was acute. Over the last several months Salim had been increasingly delighted by his wife's behaviour and her apparent determination to be a good wife and to make the best of a difficult situation. He had been overjoyed to have a normal family life once more, and a warm home to come back to each evening. Home had become a haven for him, a refuge from the constant bickering and complaining of his extended family. And now it had all come crashing down, and he felt as if he could not go on living.

How could he live without Magali? She was the one person in the world who had meant everything to him. He had thought she felt the same way about him. Why had she done this? Why had she made him think that she loved him when all along she had been hating him? It would have been preferable that she simply kill him, if she hated him so. Why leave him alive? He couldn't live without her.

At some point during that long, sleepless night, he contemplated the option of killing himself, but only briefly. He couldn't do that. Maybe Magali would miss him and come back. Maybe their sons would miss their father so much that she would decide to come back for their sakes. In the early hours of the morning he came to a decision. If there was any possibility at all that his wife might come back to him he couldn't take his own life, he couldn't give up. He would continue to look after his relatives and to go to work, and maybe one day Magali would think better of her actions and come back.

He would wait. He would not lose hope.