I

Zafira was dancing. Dancing and laughing. Laughing and dancing. The coloured lights spun around her head in an incessant and rapturous vortex. The intense perfume of rose petals that submerged the heavy carpet upon which her feet were moving frantically dulled the senses. The persistent sound of the tambourines accompanied the exhilarating beat of her heart. Her head was thrown back making her long black hair fly in the air saturated by the opium fumes. Her young, agile hands were moving her multi coloured gown up and down her slender ankles with the touch of a provocative woman. Zafira’s dancing was incited by the hand clapping of the people surrounding her who followed her movements through the rhythm of a dance improvised for the pleasure of men. A sudden light pain on the sole of her foot made her jump.

“Zafira, sleepy head! Come on, hurry up. What are you waiting for? It’s time to start your work.”

Zafira sprung up and sat on the thin straw mattress that was her bed. “Zaira! You hurt me!”

Zaira went on laughing and hitting Zafira’s foot with the pointed end of her slipper that was hard and upturned like the insolent moustache of a well-groomed Sheik. “Lazybones, always sleeping, always dreaming. You have to earn your bread like all of us. If you don’t hurry up and start sweeping I will beat you under your feet again with a little stick.”

Zafira sprung to her feet and grabbed the rudimentary broom that was made of lengths of straw held together around a short crooked stick with some iron wire. “Forget the stick, look how well I am sweeping!”

“Well done! Threats always work!” Zaira, swinging her fat hips up and down, hurried away while adjusting the heavy black shawl around her head. It was the beginning of another day. Just one more day like all the others.

Zafira, keeping her head bowed, continued to sweep the floor with quick movements until with the corner of her eye she saw the heavy figure of Zaira disappear behind one of the columns that adorned the perimeter of the gre