Harriet and Helga have agreed to spend more time with each other after Harriet outs herself to Helga, but because Helga's husband has been spying on her for his masters, Harriet suggests they exchange private information about each other. Helga is hesitant at first but she is anxious to please her new found friend and is angry that the Nazis have been spying on her. Thus, she is only too willing to don the disguise Harriet brings around for their first date but she becomes alarmed when Harriet tells her where they are going on their date.
FORBIDDEN TERRITORY
Helmut left for work at 8:30 for a nine o'clock start. It was a routine he had stuck to and Helga could set a watch to it. He kissed his wife on the cheek and closed the door behind him, leaving her with just the maid and a housekeeper. Sometimes she could actually feel relief when he left, most of the times she felt lonely and ill at ease, but this morning she felt a new emotion, excitement. In an hour and a half she would meet Harriet and as yet she didn't know what her Anglo-American friend would show her.
What to wear today? She stood in front of the wardrobe and stared at the outfits as she tried to decide what to wear. There had been no hints. Would they be indoors or outdoors? The ten o'clock appointment suggested the former but she was still dithering and eventually she chose a white dress with a buttoned bodice and a peach-coloured jacket. She was still applying makeup however when the doorbell rang and the housekeeper hurried to answer it. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door and the maid entered.
"Mrs Harriet Michaels is here to see you."
"Oh, send her in," she replied.
The maid eyed her doubtfully but then shrugged and withdrew to fetch Harriet. By the time she entered the room, Helga was almost ready to meet her new friend. Harriet was wearing a pale beige blouse with a wide collar and a dark tan skirt with matching jacket. She ran an approving eye over Helga's outfit and perched on the edge of the bed.
"You look beautiful."
"Thank you," Helga looked at her in the mirror, "where are we going?"
"You will find out soon," she perched on the bed, "but you will have to wear a disguise."
"A disguise?" Helga stared at her in the mirror, "why?"
The answer came soon enough as she sat in the passenger seat of Harriet's car. The burqa was black and even the eye slit had netting over it. Harriet took out some brown foundation to cover the part of her face that could be seen, as well as her hands.
"To disguise your nationality and identity," Harriet told her, "put it over your dress and I will tell them you are a deaf mute. We are going to the Ben Ezra synagogue in Old Cairo."
"A synagogue?" Helga swallowed. "Why?"
"To show you something you have never seen and I need to speak with a man there who is helping me with a story I am writing. The disguise is important in case you are recognised by your own people or someone working for them. Last night you took a step into the unknown and today the journey continues."
"Then let us go forward," Helga blew out a cloud of smoke, "you surprised me."
"That was my intention," Harriet started the car.
"Is that always your intention?"
Harriet merely smiled at that as she accelerated and Helga felt something she'd not felt in a long time, the thrill of anticipation. It was forbidden, her husband would be outraged if he knew his wife was setting foot in a synagogue, let alone in the company of a self-confessed lesbian.
***
The Ben Ezra Synagogue was the oldest synagogue in Cairo. For centuries it had been the repository for Jewish texts, both religious and political but they had recently been moved by wealthy Jews. Harriet's concern however was not the texts, she was there to meet an old Jew by the name of Jacob and he had information on the activities of the Irgun.
"There has been a split in the Zionist leadership," he told her, "there are those who favour continued collaboration with the British government and those who want to continue the fight for a Jewish state. The Irgun are the ones responsible for the recent bombings in Palestine."
"Are there any more meetings planned with Eichmann?"
"Adolf Eichmann?" Jacob rolled his eyes, "it was a foolish attempt to side with the Nazi regime, the Zionists were convinced they could make a deal with the new Germany but it fell through because more Jews in Palestine might lead to an independent Jewish state, which is contrary to the ideals of the Nazi party."
There was more information to come. The White Paper issued by the British government under Chamberlain had severely limited Jewish immigration to Palestine and it had angered Ben Gurion and his peers. The Zionist dream of an independent Jewish state looked as if it had been kicked into the weeds for now. Thus, the Irgun had stepped into the breach with a determination to rid the land of British and Arab residents. It looked as if the stage was set for an uprising but Jacob assured her that the current unease in Britain over Germany's intentions might put the rebellion on hold for now but that was only a temporary situation.
Helga kept her silence through the conversation although it was hard to play the part of a deaf mute and not respond to clinking spoons against tea cups and the occasional disturbances when visitors came to see Jacob. It was the forced silence that prompted her rush of questions the moment she was able to discard her disguise.
"Why are you asking about Herr Eichmann? Why are you asking about the Irgun? Who are you really working for? Why did you take me there in the first place?"
"I am writing a story on the Irgun and Haganah, and Eichmann and his superior Herr Hagen are an important part of the story," she extinguished the cigarette.
"But as to who I am really working for?" Harriet's eyes shifted.
"I am working for the New York Times but there are those at the British embassy who wish to use me for their own purposes but that would compromise me. I am my own woman, owned by no man or woman for that matter. As to why I took you there in the first place?" Harriet's eyes shifted as she changed gear.
"I wanted to see how you would react. Your husband is an ardent Nazi, you seem to be almost living in his shadow but this morning you stepped out of his shadow and into forbidden territory. You did very well as a deaf mute by the way, I thought that you would jump when someone knocked over a stool but you didn't move a muscle."
"I was trying hard," she conceded, "and it was interesting."
She stared straight ahead.
"Where are we going now?"
"For coffee," she smirked, "and to smoke the hashish, it helps me to think and we still have one more thing to do."
"What?"
"An exchange of information," she flicked ash into the ashtray, "I'll tell you something about me that no one else knows and you will do the same," she pulled a wry grin.
"Have you ever smoked hashish?"
"Never," she winced.
"You do not have to smoke it, but it helps to relax you."
"What if someone sees us?"
"It is a risk we shall take, unless you would prefer some other place?"
"I am ready for it," Helga eventually replied, "but first I must take off this make up, my face is so brown I could pass for an Arab."
"That was the intention," Harriet remarked, "there is a powder room where we are going, you can wash your face there."
"Good," Helga stared straight ahead.
Harriet seemed to know the city like the back of her hand, negotiating the crowded streets with all the intuitive dexterity of a local resident. It was so unlike travelling with Helmut, who had his set route to and from the embassy. They passed through several neighbourhoods before finally reaching an area he had warned her about. You could sense it in the atmosphere, the Westerners here looked different to those in other neighbourhoods. There was almost an air of flamboyant rebellion, the heady sounds of jazz bands could be heard as they passed certain clubs and cafés. Finally Harriet pulled up not far from what looked to be just another café and she registered the French sounding name and recalled Harriet's comment a couple of weeks previously of her favourite café being owned by a Frenchman.
Except in this case the café was owned by a woman who greeted Harriet with a wave and a nod. Danielle looked to be in her late thirties or early forties.
"The usual," Harriet slipped her some money.
"Enjoy yourself," Danielle gave Helga the once over as if trying to place her.
"My friend needs to use the powder room, she has been in disguise."
"Ah, but of course," Danielle's eyes softened,
"Danielle is like me," Harriet explained a few minutes later as Helga washed the brown pigment from her face, "she and I were involved for a few weeks."
"She will be jealous?"
"Danielle?" Harriet turned to the door as it opened, two women came into the room, "I should think not, it is the way she is. This coffee house is a beacon for our kind, she has had several, friends, since then," she glanced at Helga.
Helga's eyes however were on the two women who seemed to be on very intimate terms. The older woman was dressed conservatively in a brown skirt suit and tan blouse. The younger woman was the more fashionable of the two in a white dress with a buttoned bodice and wide, flared skirt. She undid the first few buttons of the blouse and fluffed at the other woman's hair. A moment later she leaned forward to kiss her but her companion stopped her and looked straight at Helga. The body language was unmistakeable and Harriet moved swiftly to come between them. She was aware that the two women kissed and when Helga changed position once again the older woman was playing with the younger woman's hair. The two women left before Helga had finished reapplying her make up and Harriet pulled a wry grimace.
"The older woman is the wife of a British diplomat but I have never seen the younger woman, perhaps she is a typist or someone she knew in Britain."
"She stared at me."
"She was worried perhaps that she could be blackmailed. It is the way of things in our world, there are those who do and say the right things but they are actually working for the other side, seeking to gain information," she moved behind Helga and fluffed at her hair.
