The Saffron Gate (49 page)

^{I had no idea if I could produce any of the images with even the slightest sense of authenticity. But I had to try.}

^{I went back to the art shop I had often passed and purchased watercolours and paper and an easel and brushes of various sizes. The purchases took more of my hoarded bills and coins, and yet I felt the need to paint so strongly that I knew I must.}

^{I came back to the hotel and set up the easel near the window, and spent the rest of the day experimenting. The brushes felt so right in my hand. My strokes were sure and strong.}

^{When I realised the light was failing, and my neck and shoulders were stiff, I stopped, studying what I had done.}

^{I thought of the watercolours in the lobby of the grand Hôtel de la Palmeraie, comparing mine to them.}

^{A thought came to me. Preposterous, perhaps.}

^{TWENTY SEVEN}

^{A
few days later, as
I tried to capture the look of a Moroccan woman on paper, I stopped, going to the mirror. I tied one of my white linen handkerchiefs around the bottom of my face. With a
haik
draped over me and only my dark eyes and eyebrows visible, I would be indistinguishable from the other women in the souks.}

^{Although D'jemma el Fna and some of the markets were, by now, more familiar, I was still uncomfortable going into the medina. The few times I ventured in I cringed at being stared at, at being set upon by small bands of demanding children, at being shouted at by all the vendors to buy their wares, at being surreptitiously touched.}

^{I went out, stopping to look at the expensive silk kaftans in the windows in the French Quarter, and then went into the medina and found a souk selling them for a fraction of the price. I fingered the simplest of the kaftans, and finally bought one, after a great deal of bargaining. It was calico, small red flowers on a yellow background. I bought a long, wide piece of coarse white fabric — the
haik —
and a veil. I took it all back to my room at the hotel and put it on.}

^{I stared at myself for a long time, then took it off and finished my painting. The next day, dressed as a Moroccan woman, I left the hotel and went to D'jemma el Fna, walking slowly through the square, looking around me. I had always hurried through, making sure I didn't meet the eyes of any of the men, making sure I didn't attract attention. This time was so different. I had become invisible. And with the invisibility came a freedom. Nobody looked at me — not French men or women, not Moroccan men or women. I could move about as I chose. I could watch and listen. It was so much easier to learn things, to understand, when one didn't have to be aware of oneself.}

^{I saw Mohammed with the little monkey crouched on his shoulder; he didn't glance at me. I stopped to watch the snake-charmers, seeing that when the sun was at its brightest, the snakes reacted in the liveliest fashion. I saw children swarming a European couple trying to escape as I once had. One of the smaller boys in the little group reminded me of Badou, and I was overcome with a rush of wanting to see him again. I hoped that when Etienne returned I would have the chance; when Manon saw that Etienne welcomed me, she would have no choice but to accept me. She might not like it, but she would have to accept it.}

^{At the end of my first week in the small hotel, I took two of my watercolours and, putting on my green silk, went back to Hôtel de la Palmeraie. When Monsieur Henri saw me approach the desk, his features tightened.}

^{'Bonjour
, monsieur,' I said. 'How are you?'}

^{'Fine. Fine, mademoiselle. How can I help you?' He glanced to see if I had my suitcases.}

^{'I wish to discuss something.'}

^{'You don't wish to stay with us?'}

^{'No,' I said, smiling, trying not to show my nervousness. This moment was so important. 'No, I will not be staying here again.' I took out the watercolours. 'But I have completed these recently, and wondered if you would be interested in placing them with the others, to be sold on commission.'}

^{He studied them, then looked up at me. 'You say you have done these, mademoiselle?'}

^{I nodded. 'Do you not agree they would fit with the others you have displayed?' I repeated, the same tight smile on my face, willing myself to appear businesslike, and not show too much hope. Not to let him see my desperation. If I was to stay on in Marrakesh, waiting for Etienne to
return, I needed money. This was my only option.}

^{He didn't say no, but he tilted his head to one side. 'Of course it is not my decision. We have a buyer for the goods — the artwork and jewellery — sold in the hotel.'}

^{'I'm sure you could use your influence,' I said. 'A man such as yourself, with such good taste.' I swallowed.}

^{He liked the compliment, his face loosening, and then he actually smiled. 'I'll see what I can do,' he said. 'We've sold a number recently, and perhaps a new artist would be of interest.'}

^{My relief was so great that it took me a moment to answer. Nothing was certain, but at least he hadn't rejected them. 'Fine,' I said. 'Yes, fine. I'll leave them with you, and come back in a few days to find out if the hotel wishes to take them. I have more, as well,' I said. I had completed two more, with another started only that morning.}

^{'Thank you, mademoiselle,' Monsieur Henri said, bowing slightly, and I raised my chin and smiled at him, an open, thankful smile.}

^{As I walked out of the hotel, I thought of his words,
a new artist,
and walked more briskly, swinging my arms. When an elderly man looked at me, lifting his hat as I passed, I realised I was still smiling.}

^{A few days later I was in the silver souk, looking at a square-cut topaz ring in a delicate silver setting. I had returned to Hôtel de la Palmeraie only that morning, and Monsieur Henri had told me that the man responsible for the decision-making on what the hotel would accept had been pleased with my work. He would take the two. If there was interest shown, he would take more.}

^{I held the ring out at shoulder height, admiring the way the light caught in its facets, trying to think of how I could mix colours to create this hue. As I returned the ring to the stall owner, I heard a familiar voice and turned. It was Falida, a large, threadbare cotton handkerchief draped on her head and a woven basket looped over her shoulder. She held Badou's hand.}

^{My heart leapt. 'Badou,' I called, and he looked around. I realised he didn't recognise me. I let go of the edges of my
haik
and said his name again, and this time he stared for a moment, then dropped Falida's hand and ran to me, throwing his arms around my legs as I'd seen him do with Aszulay. I knelt and enclosed him in my arms. He felt very thin. His hair was too long, hanging over his eyes, and he had to continually toss his head so he could see properly.}

^{'I haven't seen you for a long time, Mademoiselle Sidonie,' he said to me, pulling back and studying me. 'You are a different lady now.'}

^{'I missed you,' I told him.}

^{Falida came to us. She had a dark purple bruise, its edges yellowing, on her cheekbone. My heart went out to her. Although Badou appeared undernourished and dirty, at least there was no evidence that Manon beat him. Not yet, I thought. 'Are you shopping, Falida?' I asked her.}

^{She shook her head, frowning.}

^{'Where are you going?'}

^{She didn't answer, but took Badou's hand.}

^{'Wait,' I said, as they started to walk away, Badou looking over his shoulder at me. I followed them. 'I'll come with you.' They were going in the opposite direction to Sharia Zitoun.}

^{In this city of strangers I was surprised to realise how good it felt to see someone — even these two children — whom I knew.}

^{Falida shrugged one shoulder as if it didn't matter whether I followed them or not. We went down harrow passages I hadn't yet discovered, and then Falida opened an unlocked gate. I had to duck my head to pass under its stone lintel, and when I straightened up, I saw that we were outside the medina. A Moroccan graveyard lay behind a low crumbling wall. Atop the wall was a tattered sign, written in both Arabic and French:
Interdit Aux Non Muslemans.
Forbidden to Non-Muslims. I stopped.}

^{But Falida climbed on the wall, reaching down to pull Badou over. They walked among the scattered mounds. There were no trees, no flowers, no headstones apart from a few tilting, broken tiles at the head and foot of some of the newer graves. Garbage was littered about. It was a bleak and desolate place.}

^{'Wait,' I called again, and scrambled over the wall after them. I didn't like the idea of Badou being taken into such place.}

^{Falida was looking for something, stopping by mounds and peering closely at them. I stayed with them, not understanding what she was doing. Badou said nothing, but tightly clutched the girl's hand.}

^{And then, at one of the shallower graves, she set down her basket and prised Badou's hand from hers, squatting. Badou moved closer to me. Instinctively I reached out from the folds of my
haik,
and Badou gripped my hand, watching Falida as I did.}

^{When I realised what she was doing, I was horrified. This grave had loose soil tossed haphazardly over it, and she was digging in it with both hands. 'Falida,' I said, but she ignored me. As she pulled away more rough earth, I saw the edges of a rotting muslin shroud. I turned Badou so that his face was against me, and pressed my hands on his shoulders.}

^{'Falida,' I said, more sternly, and she stopped digging, looking up at me. 'What are you doing?'}

^{'I fetch for my lady,' she said.}

^{'Fetch what?'}

^{'She needs,' she said.}

^{'What does she need from here?' I asked.}

^{But now Falida stuck her hands down, feeling around. As the soil moved, I saw the shape of a skull, covered in the muslin, wedged into the narrow opening. It was on its side. I swallowed, keeping Badou's face against my
haik.
I wanted to stop Falida, but she moved about gingerly, although with purpose and familiarity, tearing at the aged shroud, which fell apart at her touch. And then, to my shock, she pulled out a bleached, brittle bone. 'Only from old grave,' she said, smiling, holding it up. 'Heat bake bones.' The bone was roundish. She put it in her basket. 'One more,' she said, putting her hands back into the soil.}

^{'Will Aisha-Quandisha get us?' Badou asked, his voice muffled against me. He was trembling. Why had Falida brought him to this terrible place, to watch her grisly behaviour? Had Manon sanctioned this?}

^{'Not if you are good boy,' Falida said, but looked around, her head jerking on her neck, her eyes wide.}

^{I thought the person Badou named might be a watchman for the cemetery. 'Where is he?' I asked Falida.}