with each waking breath. He had long ignored the wobbly, cracked teeth in his mouth and even the sour decaying odor that added to his overall pungency, but he could no longer ignore the pain. He needed to see a dentist, and for that, he needed money.
This house, one of the last on his route, was a final chance. His intention was to sell, and to do so he should speak to someone in a position to make a decision. Mired in desperation and pain, he reached up and rang the bell, remaining on the ground.
Jarred from her tea and reverie, the woman rushed to the door to mute the ringing that threatened her children’s sleep. She pulled her robe close and affixed a scarf from the coat rack low on her forehead before opening the door. Her gaze fell upon the man, clearly eager for an audience.
Out of cultural modesty, but mostly a desire to make this exchange brief, the woman stood behind the door and peeked out just enough to speak, “Yes, may I help you?”
Taking in the occupant of the house, the withering salesman shifted and stood up straighter. He put one foot up on the first step and placed his arms across his drenched chest in a stance strikingly different from his initial presentation. He tossed a nod of his head, then with one hand, shooed the woman in the direction he thought she should move, his pamphlets extending his reach and emphasis.
“Go get your Madame or Sir,” he said, then shot a whistle through his teeth to hurry her along.
For an increment of time shorter than a second, she paused. She was familiar with such slights, though not always as punctuated with the salesman’s desperate posturing. Such instances were reoccurring, especially while living in parts of the world that automatically relegated her dark complexion to servitude.
From deep within the collective soul of her blackness and her woman-ness, she conjured a chuckle and delivered it to the salesman with a shake of her head.
“I AM the Madame. Now, get off of my step.”
She closed the door. She listened for a moment, then quite relieved, realized the intrusion had not awakened her children. Through the closed door, she could hear the futile efforts of the salesman stuttering to correct his error.
“Madame! Madame! I am so sorry! Please…”
However, it did not matter. His miscalculation had surely cost him an easy sale and immediate financial and physical relief, but the woman could not be bothered. She released her robe, loosened her scarf and returned to her spot on the sofa; her tea was still hot.
She knew not how often such an offense had happened to her in her nine years abroad, nor did she know when another would again. But, what she did know, what she was certain of, was that she would write this particular instance into her story.
She opened her laptop. Her reverie continued.
Terms:
Kadama: Housekeeper / nanny
Abaya: Outer garment or robe worn by many Muslim women
Oud: scented incense that is burned in GCC countries
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