Later that evening, after a stroll through the oasis to admire the flora, Ibis and Yemkin chose an outdoor table for their dinner. As they had noted in the morning, things had changed for the better, allowing hotel guests to consume food prior to sunset. Because they were the first – nay only — dinner guests, the couple was greeted eagerly by Turmeric, the waiter, who brought them just one ala carte menu to share.
“I’m ordering a salad,” declared Ibis. “I just don’t care anymore. We haven’t been sick from eating tomatoes on hamburgers, so surely our tummies are adjusted.”
“And shall I,” agreed Yemkin. “Shall we also split a pizza?”
“So long as it doesn’t have eels – I mean, anchovies,” Ibis responded. “Really, dear, I think we should take this seriously. I have quite an anxious feeling about that gentleman.”
“Darling, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Yemkin reassured his beautiful wife. “Come now, eat your salad.”
Just as heavy wet drops began to plummet from the gray sky and splatter on their table, Turmeric presented each with a salad. The “mixed greens” Ibis had been longing for were artfully arranged on her plate: shredded green peppers, snippets of cucumber, red slices of plump tomato, half a hard-boiled egg, corn from a can, large pearls of boiled potatoes and –
“Oh! Oh, oh! What is that? That’s not an eel, is it?” Ibis practically shrieked as she spied four small, silvery strips arranged like compass points atop her mixed greens and other things. Beneath these was a scoop of flaked tuna.
“Well, well,” chuckled Yemkin. “I do believe it’s an anchovy. Give it a try, darling. I think you’ll like it.”
Convinced the foreign objects were truly not eels, Ibis began to eat. Appreciating how tangy and salty the anchovies tasted –contrasting delightfully with both cucumber and tomatoes– she devoured it quickly. In fact, so engrossed was she in her food that she was unaware of the dark, beady eyes surreptitiously surveilling the couple. Fleshy cheeks and craggy eyebrows framed his spectacles, and his feet remained shoeless. He was dressed in a shabby black T-shirt and sweat pants, all in need of a wash.
“Dear me,” mumbled Yemkin, patting his pants pockets. “I’ve left my money clip in the room. I’ll just pop up there now and retrieve it.” He pushed back his chair.
“Now?” gasped Ibis. “You’re in the middle of our pizza. Surely you can get it afterwards, my love?”
Refusing to be deferred, Yemkin hurriedly left the restaurant. The beady-eyed man in black also snuck toward the lobby, his bare feet slapping against tile floors. Ibis just happened to catch their reflection in the restaurant’s massive windows as the two entered the same elevator and the door slid shut.
To a fly-on-the-wall observer, connecting the dots would be the stuff of intrigue. Who was that strange man? Was he stalking Yemkin? Did Yemkin really leave his money upstairs, or was this a clandestine meeting for nefarious purposes? Why had Yemkin insisted they vacation in Morocco in the first place? And, if that man could afford a Mercedes, why on earth was he shoeless?
The more Ibis pondered, the more she recalled further complexities of their stay. Tour vans equipped with seatbelts, yet none of them long enough to buckle around a waist. Escalators that never moved, forcing patrons to walk from floor to floor. Wait staff seemingly outnumbering hotel guests. Maids who collected dirty towels first thing in the morning, leaving none for drying hands. Shop owners who spoke French to all foreigners, even those who spoke only English to them. “You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me Lucille” sung by an entertainer who spoke no English at all. Firefighters who allowed a hillside to burn during a heat wave. Ice cream coolers with no ice cream in them. Servers who removed their own tips from diners’ change. Lifeguards who wore earbuds on duty. A language that conjugated its nouns and adjectives along with its verbs. All this — and Yemkin getting into an elevator with a beady-eyed, shoeless man in desperate need of a haircut.
“Let’s explore the medina tomorrow,” announced Yemkin abruptly, returning to his wife.
“All right,” Ibis replied. “But first, tell me what’s going on, Yemkin. Immediately. I insist.”
I’m intrigued and invested in the story of Ibis and Yemkin!
That salad looks good‼️