‘Oh!’ she gasped, raising her hand to her mouth in alarm and turning a little pink in the process. ‘I am so sorry,’ she apologised. ‘I will phone maintenance immediately. Someone will come and change the battery. If you go back to your room and wait he will be with you in five minutes.’
I took the key wallet and nodded that I understood but instead turned in the direction of the dining room. I hurried along and spied Keith sitting at the table contemplating the wine list. I wondered how long he had been waiting for me but knowing how long it usually took him to decide on a bottle of wine I supposed it did not matter. I explained my problem, adding that I would be along to eat as soon as the door had been fixed. He seemed unperturbed.
I returned to wait outside my room. I paced about a little in frustration that it would happen tonight, just when everyone had agreed to eat early in order to go out and sample the night life. I hated having to be the cause of delays. I muttered curses against the women on the reception, who had blithely recharged up a succession of cards, instead of realising there was a greater problem than just an idiot tourist (who had no idea that key entry pads on hotel doors were battery operated).
As I loitered suspiciously in the corridor, the room service youth who had earlier tried to be helpful re-appeared. He smiled at me.
‘Just waiting for a man to come and fix it,’ I explained, suddenly feeling guilty and suspicious for no reason. And just as I said that, a man in dirty grey overalls carrying a tool box appeared.
The youth smiled at me again, seemingly assured that I was not trying to break into someone else’s room and went on his way. The workman, using some sort of electrical device connected to the door with little leads, opened it and ushered me in. Then, whilst I set about looking for my camera, he unscrewed the door swipe unit, took it apart and extricated the batteries. From his tool box he took a fresh pack of batteries and inserted them. Then using his little electrical box thing, he checked the charge and replaced the swipe unit on the door. He tested the plastic cards and handed them to me. It had only taken him a few minutes but it had felt like ages. I imagined that Keith would have eaten his dinner and be on his dessert by now.
We left the room together and he closed the door firmly behind us with a thud. I thanked the workman with as big a smile as I could muster and, as he walked away, I quickly tried to open it again, just to check that I could whilst he was still within shouting distance.
I held my breath as I inserted the card and swiped. The green light came on first time of asking. I closed the door again and quickly tried the second card. Again, it was successful. I put the cards in the wallet in my bag, put my hands together and raising my eyes to the ceiling muttered a little prayer in thanks, then turned on my heels and made for the dining room. As I made my way yet again across the courtyard I wondered if the man standing guard by the pool had been keeping count.
By this time I was ravenous. I rushed in full of apologies and excuses, and stopped mid tracks. Keith was sitting at the table still nibbling at his starter. As I took my seat he poured me out a glass of wine.
‘All fixed?’
I nodded. I took a gulp of wine, coughed, then added, ‘I thought you must have nearly finished eating my now.’
He waved that suggestion away. ‘No,” he said. ‘Of course I waited for you,’ and he made me feel guilty.
I decided to have soup for my starter, the deciding factor being that there was no-one in that particular queue. Besides it was yellow lentil soup and I had developed a fondness for that whilst on holiday in Turkey.
I began to feel a little foolish over my panic. The maintenance service had been quick and efficient once the fault had been identified, and although we had discussed an earlier than usual eating time, as it turned out by the time that Larry and Diane had finished their pre-dinner drinks in the bar, and Phil and Ann had had their pre-dinner drinks in their room, the time was only marginally earlier than usual, and I need not have worried that everyone would have finished eating before I had even started. Only Keith had turned up to eat early (and Carole and Gordon who always ate early anyway and in any case, were not venturing out with us to sample the nightlife, so they did not count).
We were a small group, Keith and I, Larry and Diane, Phil and Ann, Hugh and Nancy, who set off to sample the Friday nightlife of Marrakesh - more specifically the various attractions on offer in the Djemaa el-Fna; a large open space by day (where the suspect snake charmer had awaited his victims) converted into an hodge podge of open-air food stalls, musicians and other entertainers by night.
We had tried to convince Karen that the delights supposedly on offer might distract her from worrying about her husband but she elected to stay behind in the hotel and try and contact him in the hospital. We left Bob nursing a bottle of Casablanca beer in the bar, although he had sidled up to me when Keith had been in the toilet and suggested that if I would like to accompany him he would show me a good time, an offer I did not even need to consider before I declined it, moving swiftly to Keith’s side when he emerged from the gents, as if we had been apart for several months instead of several minutes. As ever, Gordon and Carole had disappeared to their room immediately after they had finished eating.
We had been assured that we would have no trouble locating the area; the way to the square was pretty straightforward from the hotel, which was situated quite centrally on a large main road. We just left the hotel grounds, turned left and basically followed everyone else who would be going into town on a Friday night. And sure enough all the traffic, be it vehicular, motorcycles or pedestrian, was all in one direction: towards Djemaa el-Fna.
As we walked the contradiction that seems so much a part of this country was apparent; part Arab, part French, part African, part continental Europe, part traditional, part modern. The young men in their designer blue jeans, leather jackets and dark glasses happily walked out with their sweethearts, modestly dressed young women covered from head to toe in stylish gowns complete with headdresses. It seemed the perfect example of one rule for the young men of this place and another for the young women; the men could embrace the twenty first century and its modern fashions whereas the female of the species wore the same types of clothing their mothers and their grandmothers had worn. A little more modish perhaps but the same style, keeping everything covered. In appearance it was a little like a Teddy boy or rocker from the 50’s or 60’s walking out with a Victorian miss with her ankle length skirt, high necked collar and hat to protect her head from the sun (or disguise the fact that she had not had time to wash her hair).
As we grew closer to our destination it became obvious that it was the focal point of just about everyone’s Friday entertainment; in an “all roads lead to Rome” manner people converged on the area from all directions, and the nearer to our objective, the thicker the throng. Whilst youths comprised the bulk of the crowd people of all ages were dispersed among the masses, from babes in arms to those more elderly needing the support of sticks and each other, as they caroused and cavorted, and whilst the majority of the smiling faces we saw appeared to belong to the locals there was also a smattering of tourists like ourselves.
I was a little alarmed, as we approached the large open space, to see a woman with a couple of young children lying apparently asleep in the middle of the pavement, whether due to being exhausted or homeless or from the after effects of illicit substances it was unclear, however even in the gathering dark of the evening no-one tripped over them but passed by as if it was a normal sight to see at approximately nine thirty on a Friday evening.
We decided to split up into smaller groups in order to experience this cultural spectacle and meet back in about an hour. In the gloom Diane had sidled closer to Keith and suggested we divide into two groups of four but Larry firmly took hold of her arm and escorted her off muttering, ‘Leave the youngsters alone’ at least that was what it sounded like but he might have said ‘youngster’ singular. Even in the twilight I caught Nancy’s eye and saw she wa
s grinning.
I allowed Keith to take my arm – for security reasons due to the huge numbers of people milling about – and we set off to investigate. The centre of the area had been transformed into a massive eatery with open air stalls, many complete with long benches to provide seating, and with the obligatory barker to extol their wares and urge us to eat; the same as in any restaurant in any tourist area, each convinced that their food was the best, their prices reasonable, come, sit, eat, drink. The night air was alive with the noise of the crowd, the sizzle of cooking meat, the smells from exotic spices, the flash of the kitchen flames and bright neon lights illuminating the stalls.
In the end it seemed prudent not to walk too close; we had already eaten and it became tiring forever waving away their entreaties with a smile and, ‘No, thank you, we’ve already eaten.’
In the darkening evening gloom whilst we wandered casually about, just the two of us away from our fellow travellers, I decided to take the opportunity to ask Keith some serious questions. Karen might have set my mind at rest over his monetary situation; Keith was not spending huge amounts of money on himself or other people, his withdrawal limit with his bank was lower than mine. But there was something else that had been bothering me that I needed to ask him. I decided not to beat about the bush but ask him straight out, ‘Have Diane or Larry asked you to do anything for them?’ I decided perhaps that was a bit vague so I specified: ‘Carry something for them?’
‘Carry something for them?’ he repeated, tensing; his stride faltering slightly. ‘Oh, you mean Diane’s fossil sculpture thing she bought in the shop?’ I felt his body relax as he picked up his pace again. ‘No, that’s being shipped to them.’
I racked my brains as to how to phrase my enquiries without offending him, after all he was an adult and I had no claim on him other than the fact that I considered us to be friends but I did feel responsible for him being on this trip, so I asked again, ‘No, I mean, when the three of you are chatting in the bar for example, have they ever asked you to carry something on the plane for them when we go home?’
‘Why on earth would they do that?’ Keith asked, mystified.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I thought frantically for a reason that would not sound too fanciful. ‘Your suitcase when we arrived did not seem that full – perhaps they have bought too many souvenirs and are worried about excess weight and asked whether you would mind taking something for them?’ I held my breath and awaited his reply.
‘No,’ he said, simply. We walked in silence for a few steps and then he added ‘Colin wants a puppy for Christmas but I don’t think it is a good idea. Larry was giving me some suggestions as to how I could let him down easily. We discussed some alternative, lower maintenance pets.’
I might have guessed that Colin would be at the bottom of it. I smiled as I remember how he had taken a liking to my beetroot plants and given them names. I wondered what his reaction had been when Keith had cooked his namesake. And now he had progressed onto proper pets.
So, as we walked around the periphery of the open space, Keith relayed his conversations with Larry; that cats are better pets for children as they don’t need taking for walks; rabbits look cuddly but can bite; hamsters and guinea pigs make fine pets but their cages need cleaning out on a regular basis; likewise, fish are not the easy option many people suppose them to be as their tanks also need regular cleaning plus there are filters to sort out as well.
‘So, what have you decided on?’ I asked, knowing well that whatever pet is decided on Colin’s mum will eventually decide it should live with Keith.
‘A stick insect.’
I burst out laughing. Then I realised Keith that was being serious.
‘They have many ideal features,’ he stated and he proceeded to list them. ‘They make no noise, they are vegetarian, so inexpensive to feed, although their cages do need to be kept humid. And also, they don’t actually live that long.’ I stared at him as best as I was able in the dark at this callous remark. ‘Just in case Colin grows bored with it,’ he explained. ‘No need to try and rehouse.’
So that covered his conversations chatting with Larry. But what about those with Larry’s wife? We walked on in silence for a few steps and then, as if reading my mind, he said, ‘Diane just likes to talk about herself, her house. I just listen to be polite as no-one else does.’
In the darkness I allowed a huge grin to spread across my face. Of course, Diane would talk about herself! What had I been worried about? She wanted an audience not a younger lover and things had just got a little distorted. And of course, my amiable friend would oblige. I felt guilty at allowing jealousy to threaten our friendship.
Amicably we gravitated towards a musical section of the crowd where some youngsters were chanting and dancing, and stood for a while on the periphery watching. However, there were few non-indigenous people in this area and after noticing the youths were all male I began to feel a little conspicuous, as if we were intruding on some sort of local celebration that was not part of a tourist attraction. As more and more youths congregated and the crowd closed in around us, I became aware that we were no longer on the edge of the group but had been swallowed up within it. With neither Keith nor I being particularly tall I began to feel slightly claustrophobic, with a tightness in my chest making it hard to breath.
Someone joined the group with a pair of bongos, then a second and a third until we seemed to be hemmed in by a throbbing, pulsating wall of sound. As the chanting grew louder and more raucous and the dancing a little more wild and erratic in time with the ferocious musical beat I pulled at Keith’s arm to urge him to move on. My heart was thumping furiously in my chest and not purely in sync with the drumming.
We had previously been warned to be careful in large crowds, particularly of pickpockets and had therefore left our money safely locked up back at the hotel, however this was a large crowd that I did not want to get caught up in the midst of for more than purely materialistic reasons.
A man appeared on Keith’s other side and leaned in towards him, his hands cupped together apparently offering something. Keith at first smiled and shook his head. Then, when that did not seem to deter the man, who had taken a step closer, Keith put a hand out towards him palm up in a “no” gesture, frowning in consternation and then, with a firm arm around my waist, he quickly strode away so that I almost had to break into a trot to keep up with him.
When he judged that we were at a safe distance from the gathering, with its almost primitive African sound still echoing behind us Keith slowed his pace and turned around to get his bearings, frantically looking in all directions.
Night falls swiftly in Morocco and in the absence of any street lamps the darkness around us was palpable. Even the glow from the fires in the food stalls seemed in the distance. It appeared that in our wonderings we had gravitated far away from our arranged assembly spot; in one corner of the square a bar overlooks the throng and we had agreed to meet the others below this hostelry. Keith still looked perturbed and most unlike his usual genial self as with a curt, ‘This way’ he led me forward towards a faint glimmering of neon lights marking the bar and a relatively safe haven.
Still those hawking their wares tried to tempt us; a woman selling henna tattoos grabbed my hand, squirting some liquid on it to demonstrate her craft, before I quickly snatched it away and wiped at it thoroughly with a tissue in an effort to remove all the residue. We increased our pace towards the meeting place, suddenly keen to be gone from here and back in the safety of our hotel. I did not want to experience this foreign culture anymore; I wanted cosy, familiar Friday nights in front of a television screen.
However, there was no comfort to be had back in my hotel room; I realised at once that someone had been in and riffled through my belongings.
Chapter Sixteen – Saturday Night- The Man in Black
Keith had instantly poured scorn on my claims of an intruder in my room as pure imagination. He was, unusually for him, in a foul mood. He had been
quiet and withdrawn when we met up with the others. Only Nancy and Hugh had seemed to enjoy their Friday night experience; Larry and Diane had moaned about the fumes and smoke emanating from all the food stalls, Phil and Anne had complained about the noise and smell and the high price of the drinks. During our walk back to the hotel I had only managed to prise a handful of words out of Keith; in answer to my query as to what the man had been trying to interest him in he had replied tersely, ‘What do you think!’
Hence, when we had arrived back at our rooms he was in no mood to allay my fears. Perhaps room service had been in with fresh towels or to check the mini-bar? Perhaps I had left my room in a rush, he suggested, following all the disruption of the electronic door failure and had moved things myself without realising. In a fit of pique, he had turned on his heel and stormed off to his own room.
Even untidy people know when their belongings have been moved; items are replaced by habit; even on holiday clothes are laid out a certain way, brushes and combs positioned just so in front of the mirror; spare shoes placed in a pair by the side of the bed. When I had returned last night one of my stout walking shoes appeared to have been kicked to one side. The clothes that I had intended to wear the following day were no longer laid out across the bed but were slightly crumpled.
Now having breakfasted and getting ready for our last day of sightseeing I could not find my hair scrunchy, which I normally store wrapped around the handle of my hairbrush. Disgruntled, I resigned myself to wearing my hair loose, thus ending up with a hot and sweaty neck, and prepared to join the rest of the group in the foyer.
I received no sympathy from Keith who was still out of sorts. Whilst I had eaten with Hugh and Nancy earlier I had been surprised to see Keith sitting and chatting with Bob. He ambled over and commented, ‘You look a little hot and flustered; why didn’t you tie your hair back this morning?’
Thirteen in the Medina Page 23
