The Exile Kiss Read Free

as her I began to feel awkward myself. "Then I'll leave you. I wish you a good morning."
"May your day be pleasant, husband."
I went to the door and turned to look at her again before I left. She seemed so sad and alone. "Allah bring you peace," I murmured. Then I closed the door behind me.
I had enough time to get back to the smaller dining room near Friedlander Bey's office, where we had break-fast whenever he wanted to discuss business matters with me. He was already seated in his place when I arrived. The two taciturn giants, Habib and Labib, stood behind him, one on either side. They still eyed me suspiciously, as if even after all this time, I might still draw a naked blade and leap for Papa's throat.
"Good morning, my nephew," said Friedlander Bey solemnly. "How is your health?"
"I thank God every hour," I replied. I seated myself across the table from him and began helping myself from the breakfast platters.
Papa was wearing a pale blue long-sleeved shirt and brown woolen trousers, with a red felt tarboosh on his head. He hadn't shaved in two or three days, and his face was covered with gray stubble. He'd been hospitalized recently, and he'd lost a lot of weight. His cheeks were sunken and his hands trembled. Still, the sharpness of his mind hadn't been affected.
"Do you have someone in mind to help you with our datalink project, my darling?" he asked me, cutting short the pleasantries and getting right to business.
"I believe so, O Shaykh. My friend, Jacques Devaux."
"The Moroccan boy? The Christian?"
"Yes," I said, "although I'm not sure that I completely trust him."
Papa nodded. "It's good that you think so. It's not wise to trust any man until he's been tested. We will talk about this more after I hear the estimates from the datalink companies."
"Yes, O Shaykh."
I watched him carefully pare an apple with a silver knife. "You were told of the gathering this evening, my nephew?" he said.
We'd been invited to a reception at the palace of Shaykh Mahali, the amir of the city. "I'm startled to learn that I've come to the prince's attention," I said.
Papa gave me a brief smile. "There is more to it than joy over your recent marriage. The amir has said that he cannot permit a feud to exist between myself and Shaykh Reda Abu Adil."
"Ah, I see. And tonight's celebration will be the amir's attempt to reconcile you?"
"His futile attempt to reconcile us." Friedlander Bey frowned at the apple, then stabbed it fiercely with the knife and put it aside. "There will be no peace between Shaykh Reda and myself. That is quite simply impossible. But I can see that the amir is in a difficult position: when kings do battle, it is the peasants who die."
I smiled. "Are you saying that you and Shaykh Reda are the kings in this case, and the prince of the city is the peasant?"
"He certainly cannot match our power, can he? His influence extends over the city, while we control entire nations."
I sat back in my chair and gazed at him. "Do you expect another attack tonight, my grandfather?"
Friedlander Bey rubbed his upper lip thoughtfully. "No," he said slowly, "not tonight, while we're under the protection of the prince. Shaykh Reda is certainly not that foolish. But soon, my nephew. Very soon."
"I'll be on my guard," I said, standing and taking my leave of the old man. The last thing in the world I wanted to hear was that we were being drawn into another in-trigue.
During the afternoon I received a delegation from Cappadocia, which wanted Friedlander Bey's help in de-claring independence from Anatolia and setting up a peo-ple's republic. Most people thought that Papa and Abu Adil made their fortunes by peddling vice, but that was not entirely true. It was a fact that they were responsible for almost all the illicit activities in the city, but that ex-isted primarily as employment for their countless rela-tives, friends, and associates.
The true source of Papa's wealth was in keeping track of the ever-shifting national lineup in our part of the