The Saffron Gate (2 page)

^{'You're not alone feeling ill in these conditions,' he said. I grew aware of the moans around me, the cries of children, and realised that many of the passengers were experiencing the effects of the violently rocking ship.}

^{'Now. You were asking about the train,' he said. 'You're correct: there is a train that goes into Marrakesh. The tracks were just laid the last few years — but it's unreliable at the best of times. Besides, it doesn't run from Tangier. You'll have to first get to either Fez or Rabat, and board it from either one of those cities. I don't recommend going to Fez. It's far inland and quite out of the way; Rabat is a safer bet. Even so, you'll have to hire a car and driver to get you there. Why don't you stay in Rabat, if you want to leave Tangier and see Morocco?'}

^{'No. It must be Marrakesh. I must go to Marrakesh,' I repeated, trying to lick my lips. My mouth was so dry; suddenly I was incredibly thirsty.}

^{'To be honest, I really wouldn't count on the train from Rabat to Marrakesh, Miss O'Shea. Unreliable, as I've said: the rails are always shifting, or are blocked by camels or those infernal nomads. Best to hire a car and drive all the way there, really. Then again, the damn trails that pass for roads — well, the French are proud of them, but in places they're as isolated and bone-rattling as anything you might imagine.'}

^{I blinked, sitting straighter and trying to keep up with so many details. And all of them negative.}

^{'You'll surely run into problems even on the roads, and be forced to take the old routes, simply tracks in the sand made for camels and donkeys and not much else. Now look,' he said, 'as I keep saying, there are other cities closer to Tangier. And you should stay nearer the sea, for the cooling winds. It's coming on full summer in Morocco; terrible heat. If you're insistent on leaving Tangier, as I said, stay in Rabat. Or even go on to Casablanca. It's much more civilised than—'}

^{'Thank you for the information,' I told him. He was trying to help, but he couldn't possibly understand my urgency in reaching Marrakesh.}

^{'Think nothing of it. But really, Miss O'Shea, Marrakesh. I take it you have family there. Or at least friends. Nobody goes to Marrakesh unless they've someone there. And they're all French, you know. You do have someone there?'}

^{'Yes,' I said, hoping I sounded confident, when I didn't know whether I spoke the truth or not. The answer would only be revealed when I arrived in Marrakesh. Suddenly I didn't want to hear anything more, or answer any more questions. Instead of making me sure that I could and would do this thing — travel across the expanse of North Africa on my own — the conversation was filling me with even more uncertainty and dread. 'Please, don't feel you have to sit with me any longer. I'm fine, really. And thank you again,' I said, attempting a smile.}

^{'All right then,' he said, standing. Did I see relief in his face? How must I appear to him — so alone, so uninformed, so . . . desperate? Did I appear desperate?}

^{As he left, I noticed a Spanish family with three small children sitting across from me. The children's eyes were huge and dark, their narrow faces solemn as they studied me. The smallest one — a girl — held up a tiny doll, as if to show it to me.}

^{I was overcome with an unidentifiable ache, and told myself it was caused by thirst and worry.}

^{The levanter grew worse, and because of the roughness of the sea I couldn't tell whether we had turned back, as the American had suggested we might, or were still going ahead. The ferry forced its way through the waves blown up by the wind, and we rose and fell with a rolling regularity that made me feel even more ill than I had previously. Others did as well; some hurried out to the deck, where I assumed they hung over the railing to be sick, and with no warning, the little Spanish girl leaned forward and emptied her stomach on the floor. Her mother wiped the child's mouth with her hand and then pulled her on to her lap, stroking her hair. The smell in the room grew worse, and the heat increased. I ran my sleeve across my face, grateful now that I had eaten nothing all day. If only I had thought to bring a flask of water, like most of the other travellers. Everyone was now still, bodies rising and falling with the ship, and, in contrast to the earlier cacophony of voices when we left Spain, silent. Even the youngest of the children were quiet, apart from the whimpering of the little girl in her mother's arms.}

^{Again I thought of the ship capsizing. And again I realised what a position I'd put myself into, with little thought for safety.}

^{When a particularly deep roll of the ship tipped me on to the empty chair beside me, knocking my elbow on the hard seat and wrenching my hip, I involuntarily cried out, as did others. And yet still no one spoke; they simply righted themselves and sat, silent as before. I put my hand over my mouth, swallowing and swallowing to keep down the burning bile that rose up my throat and then slid back, echoing the swelling of the waves. I closed my eyes and tried to draw deep, calming breaths, tried to ignore the howling of the wind as it whistled around the deck windows, tried to not breathe in the smell from the reeking puddle on the floor.}

^{And then, so slowly that I wasn't at first aware of it, the heaving of the ship grew less severe. I sat straighter, no longer able to see the sea rising and falling through the windows. The floor beneath my feet was once more solid and familiar, and my stomach settled.}

^{As relief came over me, one of the Spaniards from the deck opened the door and shouted, 'Tangier.
Ya llegamos!'
and a low rumble of relief went up. I assumed he meant that he had spotted the city, or that we were approaching it. So we had managed to outrun the levanter, leaving the winds to continue churning through the centre of the strait. I closed my eyes in thankfulness, and when I opened them again, some of the children had rushed to the windows. The babble of languages started as a murmur, rising in pitch as what felt like, a mild euphoria went through the stifling room. And then everyone stood, stretching and moving about, chattering as they gathered children and packages. The family across from me left, the mother carrying the little girl, who still clutched her doll. I stood as well, but immediately felt light-headed and nauseous again, whether a lingering result of the rocking of the vessel, or my thirst and lack of food that day, or from my recent illness.}

^{I sat down.}

^{'Miss O'Shea? Pity you didn't get out to the deck to watch our arrival. Quite magnificent, with the sun . . . Oh. But you're still feeling under the weather, I see,' the American said, frowning, and I knew my face must be damp and pallid. 'Can I help you find—'}

^{I shook my head. 'No, no,' I said, interrupting him. Although his offer to help me was tempting, I was embarrassed by my weakness. 'I'll just rest another moment, and then I'll be all right. Thank you so much; you've been very kind. But please, go on your way. I insist.'}

^{'Very well,' he said. 'But watch out for the touts. Lots of them hanging around the docks. Take
un petit taxi,
or, if there are none, a cart. And pay half of what they demand. Half. They'll give you a story about their ten hungry children, their ailing mother, but stay strong. Pay no more than half,' he repeated.}

^{I nodded, now wishing he'd leave so I could again shut my eyes to stop the spinning.}

^{'Goodbye, then, Miss O'Shea. I wish you luck. You'll need it, if you do truly go on to Marrakesh on your own.' His footsteps were slow and heavy as he walked away.}

^{After a few more moments, hearing only muted shouting from outside the boat, I shakily stood in the empty salon. Then I went out to the deck, into warm sunshine. As soon as I stepped through the door my head cleared; the air was fresh, smelling of the sea and also something else, something tangy, perhaps citrus. It was a clean scent. I breathed deeply, feeling stronger with each intake of breath, and looked at what I could see of Tangier.}

^{It was indeed magnificent, as the American had said. There was the sense of an amphitheatre, white houses rising up from the dock amidst a sea of palms. Minarets stood high above, the sun gleaming on their towers. There was a foreign beauty, unlike the teeming and industrial docks of New York or Marseilles. I stood, gazing at the gently swaying fronds of the palms. And then, drawing my eyes from the city, I looked at the people moving about the docks. It was only men — where were the women? — and I thought, for one odd moment, that there were monks everywhere . . . yet how could this be? Was not Tangier a city of Muslims? In the next instant I realised my mistake: it was simply the hooded robes the men wore. What were they called? The name escaped me. But I assumed they had the hoods up against the hot sun, or perhaps because it was the custom. The hoods extended on either side beyond their faces.}

^{For an inexplicable reason, such a simple thing as these hooded robes that rendered their wearers faceless filled me with a sudden ominous sensation.}

^{I was a stranger here, with no one to welcome me.}

^{I made my way down the gangplank, holding the thick, hairy rope along the side.}

^{There were no guards, no border inspection. I knew Tangier was a free port, an open zone called an international protectorate, and there were no restrictions on who might enter or leave.}

^{As I reached the bottom of the gangplank I spied my luggage, wet from sitting on the ship's deck, the identifying chalk markings now blurred and smudged. My two heavy cases sat alone; I was the last passenger to leave the ferry. As I went to them, wondering how I would find the strength to lift them, a small dark man with a filthy white turban arranged like a tangled nest on his head came towards me, leading a shaggy grey donkey attached to a cart. He spoke to me, but I shook my head at the unknown language. Then he spoke in French, asking me where I wished to go.}

^{'Hotel Continental,
s'il vous plaît,'
I told him, because I knew no other name, and he nodded once, putting out his hand, palm up, as he quoted me a price in French sous.}

^{I thought of the portly American's warning words:
North Africa is a place where one must keep one's wits about one at all times.
What if this man, nodding so quickly, had no intention of taking me to the hotel? What if he were to take me to some hidden spot and leave me, driving away with my money and my bags?}

^{Or worse.}

^{The enormity of what I had done — travelling here, with no one to call upon should I need assistance — came over me again.}

^{I looked at the man, and then at the milling crowds of other men. Some of them looked at me openly, and others hurried by, heads down. What choice did I have?}

^{I licked my lips and named half the price the small man had asked for. He slapped his chest, frowning, shaking his head, speaking again in the unknown language, and then named another price in French, halfway between his first offer and mine. He didn't meet my eyes, and I didn't know whether this was because he was shy or shifty. Again I thought of the risk of putting my faith in him, and again argued with myself. I was almost woozy with the heat, and knew I couldn't carry my own luggage more than a few steps at a time. I reached into my bag and pulled out the coins. As I placed them on the man's palm I saw, with a small start of surprise, that there was a fine line of dirt under my fingernails.}

^{It appeared that this dark continent had become a part of me from my very first footsteps on its soil.}

^{The man lifted my two bags into the open back of the cart with amazing ease. He gestured to the seat beside him, and I climbed up. As he lightly slapped the reins against the donkey's back and the cart rolled forward with a jerk, I took another deep breath.}

^{'Hotel Continental,' the man said, as if confirming where we were going.}