SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE

Chapter 2: Between grudges and interests

The office was silent, but the air was charged. Too charged. You could have cut the tension with a knife. The walls, painted sandy beige, were covered with frames: travel photos, diplomas, business souvenirs. On the low cabinet, an open Koran gleamed in the overhead light.

Sheikh Amadou Sow, Sarata's father, was slowly turning the branches of his rosary, without looking at the man sitting opposite him. He didn't want to see him. Not really. Not after everything his father had gone through because of his father.

- I thought you'd never set foot in this house again," he said at last, without looking up.

Sitting up straight in his big black boubou with silver embroidery, Moustapha Fall didn't c***k a smile. Instead, he simply replied in a calm but dry tone:

- And yet, here I am. Looks like fate is mocking us, Cheikh.

A silence. Long. Almost insolent.

The old dispute hung over the room like a familiar ghost. A forty-year-old story. A betrayal. A dishonest contract. One grandfather ruined, the other enriched. Since then, the two families had spoken only with caution... or irony.

- Do you want to come back to that?" asked Cheikh Sow, his gaze finally raised. Do you want to talk about what your father did to mine?

- No, I haven't. I've come for the future, not to dwell on the dead.

- Your future, or ours?

Moustapha Fall rested his elbow on the armrest, then crossed his fingers. His gold watch clicked gently against his wedding ring.

- Time has failed to reconcile us. Perhaps our children will do it for us.

Sheikh frowned. He hadn't yet decided whether to laugh or take offense.

- You mean... marry Sarata to your son? To your famous Abdoul Kabir, known throughout Dakar for his... excesses?

- My son is a man. Free. Rich. And above all, not the kind to hide. That's more than most people can say.

Sheikh gave a short, dry laugh.

- And Sarata is pious. Discreet. Respected. She doesn't strut around clubs. She doesn't change wives every week.

The words were harsh. They fell like stones on the mahogany table. But Moustapha Fall didn't flinch. On the contrary, he moistened his lips, then leaned forward slightly.

- That's just it. That's why they need each other.

Sheikh stared at him, without answering. Then the other continued, more slowly:

- Your daughter is a pearl. My wife has been telling me that for years. She's educated, dignified. She's upright.

- And your son?

- He's got a name. The network. The Power. The business sense. They're opposites, yes. But together, they'd form a powerful alliance. A dynasty.

The word floated in the air, heavy with meaning. Cheikh Sow got up and took a few steps to the window. The mango trees in the garden were gently swaying in the evening breeze.

He didn't want to marry Sarata like negotiating a contract. But the man in front of him wasn't just a rival. He was also a bridge. A possibility.

- What's in it for you, Moustapha?" he asked, without turning around.

- Peace. Stability. And a reliable partner for my port project. You have land there. I've got the funds. Together, we can open up a market that nobody has touched yet.

Sheikh turned around, slowly. The idea was tempting. Very tempting.

- Are you going to tell the kids?

- Not yet. Not until it's all locked up. This kind of union isn't made in the name of love. It's built over time. With strategy.

There was another silence. Then Cheikh returned to his chair. He sat down. Slowly. Heavily.

He knew he'd just said goodbye to his reticence.

- We do it the old-fashioned way," he says. We talk to the mothers. Let the elders announce. We prepare slowly.

- Inch'Allah," concludes Moustapha, placing his hand on his heart.

And without further ado, he stood up, saluted briefly, and left the room.

Behind him, Cheikh Sow gazed longingly at the rosary between his fingers. He prayed. Long and hard. Not for his daughter to fall in love. No. But for God to protect her... from whatever this alliance might bring.