The Saffron Gate (23 page)

^{Mustapha jumped out of the car and opened my door, bowing low and sweeping his arm towards the building as if suddenly he had acquired new-found manners.' Hôtel de la Palmeraie, madame,' he said, and, as I stepped out of the car, Aziz hauled out my cases and set them on the ground. The man in red and gold hurried over, and took them, bowing to me as well.}

^{'Bienvenue,
madame,' he said. 'Welcome to Hôtel de la Palmeraie,' and carried my cases up the steps and inside the hotel.}

^{I opened my bag and took out the decided-upon payment, as well as a number of extra francs. I put them into Mustapha's hand, and then took out additional francs and gave them to Aziz, who was standing beside the open passenger door. 'Thank you, Aziz. I appreciate your help,' I told him, and he bowed his head.}

^{'De rien,
madame, you're welcome, it's nothing. Goodbye, madame.'}

^{As he turned to get into the passenger seat beside Mustapha, who was giving the gas pedal little taps so that the running engine made a rhythm, I was hit with the reality that I would be alone again, in a strange city.}

^{It was similar to arriving in Marseilles, and in Tangier, except that in those cities I knew I was there for only a brief time, only long enough to arrange my voyage to the final city. This one, Marrakesh.}

^{'Will you stay in Marrakesh tonight?' I asked, not knowing why it would make a difference. I would be here, at this grand hotel in the French Quarter, while they would stay elsewhere, perhaps in the old city.}

^{'No, madame. We drive again. Maybe we are home, at Settat, in morning. I think from this way road is not broken.'}

^{'You're going to drive all night?'}

^{'Yes, madame,' Aziz said, getting into the car and closing the door. 'Goodbye, madame,' he said, for the second time.}

^{I stepped back from the car. 'All right. Well, yes, then. Goodbye, Aziz, goodbye, Mustapha,' I said. 'Thank you. Have a safe journey home.'}

^{'Inshallah,'
both men murmured, and I turned from the car, slapping my skirt to remove the worst of the dust, and attempting to tuck my wind-blown hair back into its pins. When I looked up, meaning to wave to the departing men, the car was already at the end of the drive. I raised my hand, but at that moment the car turned into the busy avenue, and I lost sight of it.}

^{The concierge — a short man, his smile a sly glint due to a gold front tooth — watched me as I approached the front desk. His eyes travelled from my hair down my dress to my shoes.}

^{'Welcome, madame,' he said, although his voice wasn't particularly welcoming. 'You wish to stay with us?'}

^{'Yes. Please.'}

^{He turned the registration book, pushing it across the wide, gleaming counter. 'Certainly, madame, certainly. If you would sign here,' he said, handing me a pen with a flourish. As he watched me write my name, he corrected himself, his eyebrows rising slightly. 'Ah. Mademoiselle. It is . . . Osh . . . I'm sorry. What is the name?'}

^{'O'Shea,' I said. 'Mademoiselle O'Shea.'}

^{'You have taken the train?'}

^{'No. I was driven from Tangier.'}

^{He nodded, his eyebrows lifting even higher. 'A difficult journey, I am sure,' he said, his eyes going to my hair. I was suddenly aware of how filthy I was. I had worn the same clothing for the last two days, sleeping in it overnight in the
bled,
and having no place to wash. I was fully aware of the effects of the wind on my hair.}

^'Yes.'

^{'And how long will you stay with us, mademoiselle?',}

^{I looked down at my signature, seeing, on the printed page, the cost of the hotel per night. It was far beyond my means. And yet I had no idea where else to stay. 'I . . . . I don't know' I told him.}

^{His face gave away nothing. 'As you wish, mademoiselle, as you wish. You are welcome at Hôtel de la Palmeraie for any duration. I am Monsieur Henri. Please call upon me for whatever you may need. Our aim, at the hotel, is that our guests not want for anything. May I reserve you a table for dinner? It is served until nine o'clock.'}

^{Did I want to eat dinner? Was I hungry? Did I propose to rush out into the streets and blindly begin my search? I didn't know what I was feeling. I opened my mouth to say
I don't know
again, and then realised I needed to eat, to sleep. To keep up my strength. 'Thank you, yes,' I said. 'I will have dinner.'}

^{'Seven o'clock? Eight? What is your preferred time?'}

^{He waited, the pen poised over another book.}

^{'I . . . seven o'clock,' I said.}

^{He wrote, nodding. 'And now, I'm sure you would like to go to your room, to relax and refresh yourself after your arduous voyage.'}

^{'Yes,' I said again.}

^{"He lifted his hand, snapping his fingers with a series of loud clicks, and immediately a wiry boy in the same uniform as the man who had opened the front doors for me ran over and picked up my cases.}

^{I followed the boy through the rich, thick carpets of the lobby, feeling strange and even more displaced than at any time since I left Albany over a month ago.}

^{My room was sumptuous, with walls of burled wood panels and oil paintings of mountains and Moroccan vistas in thick gilt frames. The bed's white coverlet was scattered with a pattern of rose petals. I picked one up, feeling its satin thickness between my fingers, then brought it to my nose.}

^{A bed covered in rose, petals. I could never have imagined such a thing. I went into the attached bathroom, and found a large silver dish filled with more rose petals on the edge of the tub. There were fluffy white towels folded into shapes of flowers and birds, and a pair of slippers of soft white leather, and a white silk robe.}

^{I would quickly have to find a less expensive place. But I couldn't worry about that at this moment; I would stay here the night, and hopefully tomorrow be more clear-headed. I drew a bath, pouring in sweet-smelling oil from one of the containers on a glass shelf over the sink, and then sprinkled the rose petals over the steamy surface. There was mirror everywhere, even surrounding the bathtub.}

^{I lowered myself in and leaned back. My hands and wrists were so much darker than the rest of my body; I turned my head and looked at myself in the mirrored wall beside me. My reflection showed that my face and neck were the same deep colour; my three days of travel in the sun and wind had given my complexion a hue I hardly recognised.}

^{I lay back again, looking at the length of my body. My hipbones jutted out and my knees were knobby.}

^{My abdomen lay flat under the warm, scented water.}

^{After I'd washed my hair I pinned it up, still damp. Then I put on my best dress, the same simple deep green silk printed with tiny white sprigs I had worn when I'd gone to Etienne's office so long ago. It hung to mid-calf and had banjo sleeves. I attempted to shake out the myriad of wrinkles, then took my second pair of shoes from my case: although still ugly, black, with the right sole built up, at least they weren't deeply ingrained with red dust.}

^{I went down to the dimly lit lobby; in the middle was a huge, gently splashing fountain. More rose petals floated on the water. Panels of wood in shades ranging from the palest blond to the deepest mahogany, arranged in a pleasing pattern, covered the walls. They gleamed under the soft glow from the sconces.}

^{'Madame?' A boy, tall and thin, with the first hint of a moustache, appeared at my side. He wore the hotel's red and gold uniform, as well as white cotton gloves. 'You wish the dining room?'}

^{'Yes, please,' I said, and he extended his arm.}

^{I put my hand through the crook of his arm. He started off rather quickly, the natural stride for a tall, long-legged young man, but feeling my slight hesitation, stopped and looked down at my shoes. Then he lowered his head the tiniest bit, as if in apology or understanding, and walked slowly, so that I could keep an even step with him.}

^{At the door, of the dining room he stopped, speaking in a low tone to the maître d', another attractive young man. His hair was slicked back with brilliantine, and he wore a tuxedo with long tails, a burgundy cummerbund, and white gloves.}

^{'Your name, madame?' he asked, and when I told him he nodded once to the boy whose arm I still held.}

^{As soon as I looked into the grand room I knew I was terribly underdressed. The men wore dark suits or tuxedos, while most of the women were in long evening gowns of satin and net, their hair either short and curled, or in elaborate upsweeps, and with exquisite jewels around their necks and wrists.}

^{I stood in the doorway in my creased green silk, my damp hair springing out of its pins
on to my collar and around my ears, feeling dowdy, knowing that everything about my appearance was wrong. But the young man whose arm I held gave me a beautiful smile under his new moustache, saying, 'Come, please, madame,' and his smile gave me the confidence to lift my chin and walk through the room with him. I stared straight ahead at the darkening sky outside the long open windows. Thankfully the boy didn't place me in the middle of the other diners, but led me to a small table set for one beside a window overlooking the gardens. He pulled out my chair for me, and I settled into its wide burgundy velvet seat. The room was filled with quiet laughter and chatter, the clink of silver against porcelain, and the soft strains of a harp from one corner. But in spite of this formal and very constrained atmosphere, from somewhere beyond the garden outside the window I was very aware of a distant, muted roar and the rhythmic pounding of drums.}

^{I sipped the mineral water instantly poured for me, and chose a simple, ratatouille from the extensive menu held in front of me by more gloved hands, and then looked through the window.}

^{In the dusk I could see rows and rows of trees and tall, flowering bushes with paths weaving throughout. At the far end of the garden was a high wall covered with bougain-villea. And beyond the wall, in a vista that resembled one of the oil paintings in my room, were snow-capped mountains: the High Atlas. I heard evening birdsong through the perfumed air.}

^{It was a backdrop of such unbelievable beauty that for that moment I forgot, or perhaps was just distracted from, my purpose in Marrakesh.}

^{I came back to my senses when a server murmured, 'To start, madame.
Bon appétit'
and set a plate of tiny mille-feuille pastries in front of me. I put one of them in my mouth, and tasted something that reminded me of the
pastilla
I had had in Tangier. There was also a vegetable I couldn't recognise. The noise from outside — the distant din, steady and rhythmic, like a thudding heartbeat — grew in frequency. I looked around the dimly lit, fragrant room, but nobody else seemed aware of it.}

^{'Excuse me,' I finally said to the couple at the next table. 'What is that sound?'}

^{The man put down his knife and fork. 'The main square in the medina — the old city of Marrakesh,' he replied, in a British accent. 'D'jemma el Fna. Quite a place,' he said. 'I take it you've just arrived?'}