Like a wool jellaba in June, heavy, gray clouds draped the city. Temperatures dipped below 100 for the first morning in two weeks, and a slight breeze stirred bamboo stalks and ruffled hibiscus blossoms. Foreign voices hummed in the background as Ibis and Yemkin consumed their scrambled eggs and coffee.
The city was different today. The couple felt it in the brisk step of the waiters, the swift sweeping away of empty plates, the immediate refilling of the olive dish. Gone were the languid smiles. Gone were the bored greetings. Gone was the sense of feigned industriousness one gets when the job is too little and the staff too numerous. Today all were busy. All had purpose.
“It’s a good day to buy a SIM card,” announced Yemkin as he drained the last tepid drops from his coffee mug.
“A walk would be grand,” agreed Ibis. “Just let me freshen up a bit, darling. I’ll meet you in the lobby straightaway.”
As Ibis stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for their floor, Yemkin strode to the lobby couch where the wifi signal was strongest. Glancing towards the revolving glass doors at the front of the hotel, he noted again the presence of a sleek, black Mercedes. On this occasion the driver was absent, but both Yemkin and his wife had glimpsed him on previous occasions.
“All ready,” announced Ibis, returning from her freshening. “You probably don’t need your floppy hat today, do you think? With this cloud cover?”
Yemkin agreed that the hat was extraneous, especially since he had applied a liberal amount of sunscreen just an hour before. The two stepped out of their hotel, consciously looking away from the Mercedes, as if ignoring it was crucial to their well-being.
The streets were uncharacteristically quiet. Crossing three or four intersections without waiting for a barrage of petite taxis, garbage trucks or buses, the two ex-pats strolled on. Rowdy boys climbed the lion statue in the park, pre-teen girls chatted in quiet murmurs, and men wearing flowy, summer djellabas sipped coffee at outdoor cafes.
“Looks like it’s closed for the holiday,” remarked Yemkin as they approached the phone store. “I’ll just check the hours for tomorrow.” As her husband attempted to decipher the French notice taped to the storefront, Ibis smiled. Here and there cafes were slowly coming back to life. Whiffs of coffee and mint tickled her nostrils. A father took a lick of his son’s ice cream cone before handing it to the little boy. The black Mercedes slowed as it drove past her down the nearly empty street.
“I could really go for a cup of strong, black coffee,” announced Yemkin returning from his deciphering. “What’s the matter, dear? You look troubled.”
“It was him again,” shivered Ibis. “I didn’t see his face, but he just drove past me in that black car. Come on, let’s get coffee at that shop down the block from the hotel. It’s on a side street and a bit more out-of-the-way than these.”
A few minutes later found the couple contentedly sipping hot, black coffee; hers with milk and one packet of sugar. Their outside table was beneath an awning, and leafy branches shielded them from the serene street. Suddenly and without warning, the Mercedes driver appeared at their table. He was shoeless and in need of a shave. Quickly and without a word he slipped a torn piece of paper near Yemkin’s glass and vanished.
“Oh, my!” gasped Ibis. “What in the world? What does it say, Yemkin?”
“Well, I’m not entirely sure,” he answered thoughtfully. “It’s in script. I think the most accurate translation would be ‘My hovercraft is full of eels.’”
To be continued…
You are writing a novel while in Morocco?!