Your Friday, My Sunday

The three hours in Jeddah had been sufficient to obtain some information for Mr Choi and the return journey began much as the day had begun. Abdul Rahman performed his Asr prayers at 3.28pm, in the car park of the National Hospital in Jeddah. Ellis felt it a moving occasion as Abdul Rahman connected with his soul and felt disinclined to watch, so simply looked towards the Corniche and coastline, watching the waves and the offshore wind, and the beauty of this place. Abdul Rahman praying and Ellis watching some natural beauty. Difficult to acknowledge their differences when so much united them. The return journey began to leave Jeddah behind them as the roadside hoardings announced goodbye and farewell and why not try this particular brand of washing powder when you get home. In the graphic a not-unattractive woman was showing it was possible to have a pretty face and clean laundry. Ellis said so, and wished he hadn’t as soon as the words left his lips. He could not unsay them. ‘Pretty face.’ ‘You can’t say that about a woman. She belongs to somebody. You can’t say that!’ ‘So according to you I can’t make any comment about any woman, even if her face is on a hoarding on some dusty highway out of Jeddah and her face is only there to sell washing powder?’ ‘You can’t say that. That’s a woman.’ ‘I know. I saw. But why’re you getting so wound up about it. I simply said she had a pretty face not that I wanted to shag her.’ ‘But that’s what you want, I bet.’ ‘Oh for Christ’s sake.’ ‘See, you start swearing. Just like those others, bet you wanna fuck that woman!’ The pinging started again. ‘Actually. No. May I withdraw my first comment about the pretty face? Please?’ Abdul Rahman paused to reset something on the dashboard on the air conditioning system. ‘No you bloody well can’t. I know you want to spend your time shagging and fucking and doing everything and you see a woman on a hoarding and you want to shag her as well. I hear you and that bloody American Anderson and that guy Klitowski always talking about shagging and getting women and drinking alcohol and having parties and, and, and…….’ ‘Want to know what I think Abdul Rahman?’ ‘Not really.’ ‘Well, I’m going to tell you anyway ‘cos I’m just about up to here with all this stuff about sex and how we are all so immoral. I like to think that even with all our faults, we, that is you and me and all the rest of the crew are a troublesome lot but we need to work together and get along. After all, life will be over before we’ve had any fun.’ ‘Goddam, Ellis, what’s the matter with you? That’s all your life so it is, fun and booze and shagging and smoking and screwing.’ ‘You ever been to UK, Abdul Rahman?’ The Saudi’s stomach tightened in a knot. A small one to begin with. ‘Yeh. I went to London.’ ‘Where in London?’ ‘Oxford.’ ‘That’s a fucking long way from London.’ Abdul Rahman said nothing just pretended to check the temperature gauge and how much fuel was left for the remainder of the day. ‘OK, so you went to Oxford, to learn English or what?’ ‘Yeh. English.’ ‘They did a good job. You’re English is brilliant.’ ‘Thank you.’ ‘What else?’ ‘What else, what d’you mean what else?’ ‘I mean you must have done something else when you were in Oxford, apart from studying English.’ ‘No.’ ‘Christ. I know you wouldn’t have visited any cathedrals or stuff. Come on man, what did you get up to?’ The Saudi grasped the steering wheel tightly and held his silence and drove on, the sun lowering through the back window, glaring in the rear-view mirrors. ‘When I was in UK I saw all these pictures and these advertisements, is that the right word, advertisements?’ ‘Yup.’ ‘And they show these women and they got short skirts and knickers and brassieres and you see their tits and you see them looking and waiting for it and they all deserve to be fucked, Raped.’ ‘What?’ Ellis exploded, ‘why should they be fucked and raped?’ ‘They’re asking for it. That’s how.’ ‘Why are they asking for it? It needs the man to do the fucking and the raping.’ ‘She deserves all she gets if she dresses like that.’ ‘Why shouldn’t she dress like that?’ ‘Because, she’ll get raped.’ ‘Who by?’ ‘A man who shouldn’t have to see these things.’ ‘So you reckon if the man can’t control himself it’s the girl’s fault?’ Abdul Rahman suddenly remembered Wheatley, the phone box, the public toilets and the traffic policeman. Would Ellis know? Surely, surely not, please God. ‘You know what Abdul Rahman, this whole thing sucks.’ ‘Sucks?’ ‘Yeh. Let’s put it this way. The way you see it is that a woman should not be on display because a man might react in the wrong way. That is, he would rape her, which essentially means he can’t control himself. Am I right?’ ‘No!!’ ‘Ok, so what makes you blame the woman for appearing in her delights and you not take a bit of responsibility for yourself?’ ‘She shouldn’t be like that.’ ‘Like what?’ ‘In a condition like that.’ ‘I think, you are so uptight about women and young boys and goats and sisters and chaperones and girlfriends and traffic lights and London and the West and sexually transmitted diseases and all the things you can’t get here, you want to blame the women, simply because you can’t control yourself.’ Wheatley. Abdul Rahman braked harshly and pulled the car onto the hard shoulder, darkened by nightfall. ‘Get out.’ He snarled. ‘OK.’ The Arab smelt angry as he tipped his Christian guest out onto a highway somewhere far from Riyadh and drove off at full speed, full of his own virtue and angry with his own hypocrisy. And Choi wondered at how Ellis had hitched a ride on a chicken truck at past midnight and still arrived at the office on time the following morning, with a smile for his colleagues and a look of disdain towards the young Saudi.