Disclaimer: If you see anything you recognize, chances are it isn't mine. The Ben-Zvi/ Benzvi family IS mine. Sorry for any historical inaccuracies…let me know and I'll fix them.
Capítulo 2: La tienda
"Maya?"
Maya opened one eye, saw her mother's worried face next to her, and promptly pulled the cotton blanket over her head.
"M'ija, wake up."
"No."
"Maya. It's noon already, and the books won't sell themselves. Levantate, ahora." Rachel pulled the blanket gently back from her daughter's face.
Maya, forced awake by the sunlight streaming in through the window next to her bed, sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes. She reached for the brush on the windowsill and automatically brushed her knotted curly hair and plaited it while her mother puttered around the room looking for a place to sit. This was not an easy feat, considering that the only furniture in the room was the small bed, a footrest that served dually as a chair, a small chest of drawers, and the piles of books, which could have functioned as chairs but for that Maya refused to let anyone's backside touch the books, out of respect. Eventually, Rachel chose the footstool, even though she was far too tall for the seat to be comfortable.
Maya, hair braided, got out of bed and pulled the small curtain away from the window. Already people were waiting in front of the shop for the Benzvis to return from their lunch break.
"Ima, why didn't you wake me sooner? How did you and Abba manage this morning?" Maya asked. She walked to the chest of drawers and opened the top drawer, selecting a light pink blouse and grey skirt.
Rachel shrugged. "Eh, there were fewer people this morning. Besides, your Abba was worried about you."
"Why?" asked Maya, fastening the buttons on the blouse.
"Well, after last week when you came back late and smelling like tequila, we let you sleep in and left you alone. But you've been very quiet and not at all like your normal self. Yusuf says he misses joking with you about fairy tales." Rachel smiled, remembering how her daughter's friend looked when she told him that Maya wasn't speaking or seeing anyone. The son of the weaver's face had held an expression akin to that of a dog falling out of a window, and hadn't come by the bookseller's for a few days.
Maya sighed. "I'm fine, Ima. I just haven't felt like talking for a few days. I'm sorry for worrying you and Abba, but I'm fine, I promise." She straightened her skirt and walked out of the room.
Behind her, Rachel's voice called out, "Oh, and there was a man asking for you this morning." Maya turned and walked right into her mother, and they both fell down.
"Sorry." Rachel waved her off.
"It's nothing."
Maya walked down the hall to the kitchen, where she found a cup of tea and some bread and cheese on a plate waiting on the table. She sat, realizing how hungry she was. She waited for Rachel to come and join her, and then started to eat. While eating, she remembered that the past week had gone by very quickly, and that she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten a good meal by her own choice. Maya had returned home from Rick's disheveled in hair and clothing, lightheaded, and stinking of alcohol. She had fallen asleep and awoken the next morning to irritated parents, who had thoroughly interrogated Maya about her activities the previous night. When they realized she had only gotten drunk and had not transgressed besides, they forgave her and she returned to her usual schedule of work and sleep, with occasional food and time with her parents. But though she worked hard and tried to behave as normal, Maya had though frequently of Sam, even though she doubted he would think of her ever, and even though she believed that his kind behavior that night at Rick's had been only customer service. Maya hadn't wasted her time fawning over him, but instead had spent much time in her room reading, which worried her parents, as the free reign over the city that had been so important to her was suddenly lower on her priorities. Maya didn't want to chance meeting him if she went out, afraid that she would say something stupid and childish. She had grown quieter, not because she missed Sam, but because she was tired after staying up late to read.
When she was finished, Maya pushed the plate away. "Ima, you said someone asked for me?" she asked.
Rachel frowned. She didn't want Maya to start mooning over someone like the women who came to the shop to buy romance novels, but she had to admit, he had been handsome, and a gentleman. "He came by the store at around ten, and asked if a girl named Maya with curly hair lived here. I asked why, and he said he had something of yours, but he needed to hand it to you himself, to make sure you got it. So I told him you were out, and that you might be back later in the day."
"So, who was he? What did he look like?" Maya's voice didn't betray her nerves. Sam, please may it have been Sam…
"About as tall as your Abba, but about thirty or so. Dark skin, Moorish, probably. Dark eyes, and a kind smile." Rachel said.
Sam. It has to be, Maya thought, breathing a sigh of relief. Out loud she said, "Oh. He doesn't sound familiar, but I guess I'll have to talk to him later and see what he wants." Which was true. Maya didn't recall anything of hers that he could have to return to her. Pushing the chair out, she stood up and carried her plate over to the sink and rinsed it with the bucket of water next to it. Rachel came up next to her and put her arms around Maya's waist.
"Ah, now I know something is wrong. You don't even make noise while rinsing your dish." Rachel hugged her daughter. "Don't worry, I won't ask. But go, it's already half-past, and your Abba has to open up the shop again." She gently pushed Maya towards the door, realizing that even though her child was almost twenty, Maya still needed a mother.
Maya walked to the room adjoined to the house, which served as the bookshop. Zvi was already there, waiting for her.
"So, Mayaleh, we will open the shop," he said with a smile. Unlocking the door to the shop, he let Maya slip inside to open the windows as she always did. He stepped inside, and, noticing that a few books had fallen, stooped to pick them up. He felt a pain in his lower back, so he stood up again slowly. Noticing, Maya came from around the counter and silently took the books from him and put them back. She then helped him up. Smiling a little, Zvi said, "Eh, so I'm a little tired, what can I say. I can still run this shop!" Wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, he walked towards the money box and unlocked it. Maya walked over, and gave him a hug.
"Thank you for not waking me, Abba, but I'm sorry you and Ima had to do all of the work yourselves," she said.
"What, so once in a while I can't give my daughter some time to relax and sleep, after she works so hard? Don't worry about it. We weren't too busy anyway." Zvi hugged her back.
The two heard a creaking noise, and looked towards the door, where five customers had just entered. Grinning at each other, father and daughter went to work.
Three Hours Later
"That is 5 dirham, sir. Have a good afternoon." Maya wiped her forehead. It was still quite hot, even in the late afternoon. It was ridiculous, really, that the heat permeated the entire room, even the shade. It had been a fairly slow day, comparatively, and in between serving customers Maya had been reading Hugo's Notre-Dame de Paris. How boring the endless descriptions of architecture were, the numerous flying buttresses, arches, gargoyles enumerated repeatedly nearly prompted Maya to put the book back on the shelf for sale. But the story of the half-formed man, Quasimodo, and his association with both the Christian and the heathen sides of the law, had intrigued her just enough that she continued reading. But not enough that she could forget about Sam's impending visit for a time, until she looked outside and noticed the sun very slowly starting to set.
The bells over the door tinkled, but Maya didn't look up, as she would not until a customer approached, and then she would see them out of the corner of her eye first. Maya sighed, and felt for a bookmarker. The fictional plight of a man from over four centuries prior was not of interest to her when her mind was so clearly centered on the present day. She glanced at the clock on the wall. 3:30, she thought. Where in Hashem's name could he be? If, she reminded herself, it was even him. It could be someone else; Moors were quite a common sight in the souk, but not in her family's shop. But not with a strange accent…no matter. It didn't matter. He was just some man. It wasn't important. The war would be over and everyone would leave before they could become acquaintances.
A shape shifted on Maya's left, sparking her attention, and she looked up. And up. A tall, dark man with a familiar face peered down at her, unsmiling. Flustered, Maya jumped up, upsetting the book, and made a valiant attempt to straighten her hair and skirt. "Can I help you?"
A/N: CLIFFHANGER!! HAHAHAHA!! The dirham is the Moroccan currency. At the moment the exchange rate is 8.4 dirhams per 1 US dollar. You do the math for the rate for a book in the 1940s, when the entire world is in a state of economic despair, and tell me if I'm right. You want translations, you let me know, ¿vale?