The Saffron Gate (8 page)

^{Elizabeth Pandy dismissed my question with a wave of her hand. 'Marrakesh? Don't be silly. I'm sure there's nothing to see there. Come, now,' she demanded, 'do have a drink. Marcus, order Miss O'Shea a whisky sour. Isn't it lovely being away from the tedium of Prohibition back home? All that silly clandestine behaviour. So tiresome.'}

^{There seemed no alternative without appearing horribly rude to Miss — or was it Mrs? — Pandy. As I manoeuvred myself into the chair, she glanced down. 'Have you turned your ankle on the terrible streets here? I noticed you limping heavily.'}

^{'No,' I said. 'No, I haven't. It's . . .' I stopped, unsure of how to continue.}

^{'Well, never mind, sit down and take a load off. And look, here's your drink.'}

^{Elizabeth Pandy introduced me to the men and one woman, although the only name I remembered was Marcus. His hair was slicked back with shining oil, and was an artificial shade of dark red. All of them, including Elizabeth, were in various stages of intoxication, and it appeared, from their casualness with each other, that this was not an unusual circumstance..}

^{One of the men asked me which room I'd been given, and the other woman — wearing a short pleated skirt and striped jersey, her hair in the same style as Elizabeth's — interrupted him, asking in a demanding voice how long I was planning on staying, but I had no time to answer before the conversation swung away from me. A glass was set in front of me; upon trying it I decided it was more pleasurable than the Campari, and occasionally took a very small sip.}

^{The talk and laughter grew louder, and after a while it took on the quality of quacking, punctuated by animal roars. My temples throbbed and finally, when my glass was empty, I stood to leave.}

^{The alcohol had gone to my head; I wasn't used to it, and for a moment I felt as though l were back on the sea, swaying the slightest and bracing my legs.}

^{Elizabeth grabbed my wrist. 'Don't go. We haven't learned anything about you yet. Always good to have new blood from home,' she said, her mouth opening in a soundless laugh, and I thought of the excitable yawning of some large African beast.}

^{I sat down again, partly because of Elizabeth's tugging on my wrist, and partly because I feared I might topple over.}

^{'Well?' she demanded. 'What has brought you to Tangier? Nobody comes to Tangier without a story.' Again, the open mouth. A string of saliva stretched between her eyetooth and a bottom tooth. The others laughed as well, too loud, too loud.}

^{'Story?' I repeated, sudden panic coming over me as all their eyes turned in my direction.}

^{'Yes, yes,' Marcus encouraged. 'What's your story, then, Mrs O'Malley?'}

^{'It's O'Shea. And Miss. Miss O'Shea,' I told him.}

^{He barely appeared to notice the correction. 'Come, then. What brings you to Tangier?'}

^{I looked at him, and then back at Elizabeth. The other faces receded into pale ovals and inverted triangles. 'I'm going to Marrakesh.'}

^{'I've told you, my dear, it's nonsense. No point going way down there. Stay up here; Tangier is rather mongrel at the moment, but it certainly has its intrigue. Or at least go to Casablanca,' Elizabeth said. 'Now Marrakesh, well, it's such an outpost. Nothing of interest, I'm sure,' she said again. 'Although who was it — Matisse, I believe — who worked there some years back? And there are a few odd artist types — painters and writers and so on — who seem to find inspiration away from civilisation. But on the whole, Tangier has much more to offer in terms of entertainment. There are all sorts — as well as being into all types of things —'}

^{Here she was interrupted by someone's coy murmur: 'What with it being so ungoverned.'}

^{The others joined in, a rumbling chorus of agreement.}

^{'No. I must. I'm . . .' I stopped. In the momentary silence Marcus snapped his fingers, and a boy with a tray appeared. Marcus whispered into his ear. 'I'm looking for someone. In Marrakesh,' I said, unnecessarily.}

^{'Ah. I see,' Elizabeth said, her eyebrows arching. 'Gone off and left you, has he? Perhaps he's a spy. Is he a spy, Miss O'Shea? The country is awash with them, you know. Spies and touts. Everybody looking for someone or something.'}

^{I stood so suddenly, pushing back my chair in one swift movement, that it caught the passing waiter in the hip. He uttered a small, surprised yelp, but kept going.}

^{'No. No. He's not a spy. Nor a . . .'}

^{'A tout, darling. You know, the endless pedlars who won't leave you alone. The Tangerines are quite forceful. Everyone wants something from you,' she repeated. 'We must be quite firm.'}

^{'Yes,' I said. 'Well. Thank you. For the drink,' I added, and then left the lounge, feeling that all eyes were on my limp, surely more pronounced by the unfamiliar sensation of the alcohol swirling in my empty stomach.}

^{I lay on my bed in the shadowed coolness, my head still pounding from the whisky, annoyed by the idiotic way I must have come across to Elizabeth Pandy and her friends. I didn't know how to share the easy camaraderie they possessed, nor how to make small talk so openly.}

^{I remembered standing on the deck of the ship that had taken me from New York to Marseilles such a short while ago, and the similar feeling that had come over me.}

^{It had required all my mental and physical strength to remain composed as I waited for the ship to pull away from the dock. I watched the crowd below, mostly waving, smiling, calling out
bon voyage
and
safe journey
to those, like me, sailing abroad. I noticed a few more sombre people in the crowd: a woman with a handkerchief against her mouth, another young man and woman supporting each other as they watched with furrowed brows, a few crying children. But in general the ambience surrounding the dock, and the ship, was one of joy, of holidaying and exciting adventures.}

^{My own sensation, standing on that planked deck, watching the receding faces of the well-wishers, was sheer panic. I had never dreamed that I would step foot on a ship. I had never thought of leaving America. I had never been outside of the state of New York. I was thirty years old, and as anxious as if I were a child on my first day at school.}

^{Panic had given way to sudden fear. The distance between the ship and the dock gaped like an abyss. It was loss I was feeling, loss of all I knew, all that was familiar. But I knew I had to go.}

^{As the ship slowly moved further from the dock, I could still see waving arms and open mouths, but the sound faded. My heartbeat slowed. I grew aware of someone beside me; an elderly woman, her hands, in yellowed, crocheted gloves, gripping the railing.}

^{'Is this your first time at sea?' she asked me, in halting English, and I wondered if all I was feeling was so clearly written on my face.}

^{'Oui,'
I told her, recognising her accent. '
La première fois.'}

^{She smiled, showing large, badly fitting dentures. 'Ah, you speak French, although of course not my French. Paris is my home,' she said. 'Do you go on to Paris from Marseilles?'}

^{I shook my head, but didn't say where I was going. I saw her looking at my ungloved hands, resting on the railing.}

^{'You have family in France?'}

^{Again I shook my head.}

^{'You travel to meet a lover, then?' she asked, with a smile that verged on slyness.}

^{At that I blinked, and my mouth opened, but I was at a loss for words.}

^{She nodded, looking pleased with herself. 'I see it. Yes, you are meeting a lover.'}

^{I stared at her for another moment, and then, surprising myself, said, 'Well, yes. I am travelling to . . . to find someone.'}

^{The woman nodded, studying me. Her eyes lingered on my cheek, then dropped down my body. That morning while brushing my hair with trembling hands in front of the mirror, I saw that my face had an unfamiliar hollowness.}

^{'Ah.
La grande passion.
Of course, my dear. A woman always must follow the undeniable. I myself have experienced a number of grand passions.’}

^{Now her smile was roguish — her head tilted and her chin tucked down. In spite of the powder caught in the creases of the deep wrinkles around her eyes, and the thinness of her lips pulled back over the dentures, I knew she would have, when much younger, possessed an attraction to men. And yes, certainly she would have inspired passion in them.}

^{Surely she could see I was not such a woman.}

^{I smiled politely at her and excused myself, going to my cabin, not waiting to see America — my home — growing ever smaller in the distance. I had stayed in my tiny cabin for most of that week of sailing, not feeling well enough to eat much or even walk about the deck, not wanting to have to talk to anyone, afraid that if I ran into the old woman she would pressure me for answers. I had no answers, only questions.}

^{I had trays of plain food brought to my cabin, and spent my time alternately trying to sleep or read. I had little success with either; I was too distraught to sleep deeply or concentrate on the printed page.}

^{I felt a deep sense of relief when we docked at Marseilles. I had made a promise that once I was across the Atlantic there could be no turning back. To have come this far spoke of determination, I told myself. I would not use the word desperation.}

^{But now, in Tangier, I didn't want to think of Marseilles, or anything that had happened before then. I couldn't.}

^{I rose swiftly, pressing my fingers to my temples for a moment. I drank a glass of the bottled water on the dressing table, and then, despite the boy's earlier warning, went out into the hallway, looking for the stairs to the roof. I wanted to see Tangier from above; my vision of it, feeling ill and disoriented as we went through the narrow streets from the docks, had been as if I observed this new world through a long tunnel. I may well have had the same blinkered view as the donkey who pulled the cart, unable to see left or right, only straight ahead.}

^{I found the stairs at the end of the hall, behind a closed door with a simple latch. They were steep, with no handrail. Such steps usually presented difficulty for me, but still I set off up them, thankful the passageway was so narrow that I could help pull myself along by planting my hands firmly on each side of me. There was a strong smell of sewage wafting from somewhere, but when I reached the top and stepped up into blinding light, the darkness and odour were washed away, and I could smell the sea.}

^{The climb had left me panting, and I had to lean over, my hands on my knees. But when I straightened, what I saw threatened to again take away my breath. On one side of me the sea tilted away, glinting in the sun, and on the other I saw mountains. The glorious Rif mountains, the setting sun staining them a blood red.}

^{Standing alone in the sweet breeze, Tangier encircled me, the buildings blinding white in the late afternoon sun. Unfamiliar feathery and broad-leafed trees, as well as palms, stood in variegated shades of green. There was a clarity to the scene in the play of light that made me think of the most brilliant of paintings — the colours were not blue and red and yellow and green, but cerulean, indigo, they were vermilion and crimson, amber and saffron, celadon and olive and lime.}