Day 10

Brian was almost in a panic. He could not remember a time when he felt so anxious, not even in Afghanistan. He wasn’t exactly scared. But he felt hemmed in, lacking in options, unsure of the best course to take.  After nearly knocking the bookseller over, he started to run. He almost faced-planted himself a couple of time because his stride was too long for djellaba. So he slowed to a jog.  As he tried to think, “what if” questions bounced around his head like a ping pong ball at a Chinese table tennis tournament. He started to run again and nearly ran directly into a street cart selling brouchette.

M’excusez

It’s nothing. You’re going the wrong way!

What? How do you know?

You’re from a country where believing in God is optional, or worse. In this country everyone believes in God. The Muslims call him Allah, the Christians Almighty God, the Jews Yaweh. But we all believe.

How do you know I’m going the wrong way?

You must slow down, accept the situation for what it is. Then you can hear God and choose your next steps.

What?

Brian just could not connect what he was hearing with anything going on inside of him. The man spoke in such a confident tone as if he really knew what Brian had been going through.  He felt a connection. As if uncle Ben or his dad where trying to get him to slow down and pay attention.  But the fact that he didn’t know the man really made it hard to do the math. He must calm himself down. One technique that had helped him in the past, when he started to feel overwhelmed, was to stand straight, feet shoulder width apart and take 2 deep breaths. Then he would mentally list the events that led to right now in a very methodical, sequential, dispassionate way.

What do you mean I’m going the wrong way? How do you know?

Brian asked for some brochette and mint tea. Paid the man and asked again.  How do you know?

How is the chicken?

Brian took a bight. Delicious. He was about to ask again but was cut short by the man.

Take another bight and a sip of tea.

Brian obeyed and sighed after the drink of tea.  He looked at the man waiting to hear.

The direction your heading is towards Marrakesh. You need to go to Tangier.

Why?

So you can catch a ferry to Europe and reclaim your treasure.

Now Brian was really spooked. What treasure?

The man shook his head and sighed.

You must live in a spiritual dessert and yet your ears are not thirsty for the voice of wisdom.  I don’t know what your treasure is or why you must go to Europe. But I know that is your right path.

He offered Brian another brochette and some almond milk.  Brian started to pay him, but the man waved him off.

You need this to strengthen you for your trip to Tangier.  Go.  Sit in the shade over there. Understand your situation. Plan your trip to Tangier and be at peace.  And may your enemies think you’re going to Marrakesh.

Brian walked to the shade, sat down and started to eat and think. He reviewed the timeline of the last few days. Then he incorporated the vendors comments. Why would I go to Tangiers Why not just catch a plane? It would be the fastest way to get to Nice so he could get the journals from his friend.  Why did he say “may your enemies think your going to Marrakesh”?  That implies that he has enemies. If he does have enemies then it would be best if they didn’t know where he was going. A foreigner in trouble would rush to the airport. Ahh. That’s why he must go to Tangiers.  He could follow the coast of North Africa and go to Algiers or Tunis but he really did not want to Island hop across the Mediterranean. Each border crossing and check point was another place he could be recognized and stopped. If for any reason the police figured out there was a third man and placed him there, perhaps by  the words of the little girl.  On top of that, he would blend in more easily in Spain.

Execution time. He found a place to change and returned to a more European look.  He walked to the book store and found the old man.

Bonjour

Salut

I’m looking for something to read on a trip. I would like to learn how to write in Arabic so I can read street signs.

Very good. I have something that may help you.  Where are you going?

I’m taking the train to Marrakesh. I hear it is a beautiful and very spiritual place.

Indeed it is. One of my nephew’s moved there.  Here, I think this will help. Please don’t be insulted. These are books we use to train young children to write. Even though you are an adult they will help you learn the basics.

I am not insulted. I appreciate your help.

Have you been here before?

Yes, I came here last week and bought a history of Napoleon.

Brian paid the man. Before leaving he asked for directions to the train station and left.  By not revealing his destination directly, he forced the bookseller to take some initiative. Hopefully, it would better lock it in his mind.  When Brian was there the first time he was clean shaven.  So the shop keeper may not recognize him. But if he did, then he wanted to inject confusion in the hopes that he would reveal only the information Brian wanted him to.

As the old man watched Brian walk away, he marveled at the feeling that he had met him before. He cast the thought aside and attributed it to deja vu.  Just another stranger buying books.  As we walked toward the back of the shop he happened to look down a particular aisle.  He suddenly realized. “I haven’t had a biography of Napoleon in years.”  The man who left is the same man who spent so much time in this aisle.

For the sake of speed Brian took a taxi to the train station. He tried to stand out a little with a big smile and a little flirting with the ticket agent.  He used Arabic when he bought the ticket to Marrakesh.  He found the right track. Went to the bathroom and changed. He tore up the ticket, flushed it down the toilet and left.  He left the train station through a different door. Morocco has a law against hiding your face so he used his turban to only partially obscure his face. He kept his head down and walked slowly and more hunched like a much older man.  He walked a block away from the train station then hailed a taxi and went to the bus station.

At the bus station, his mission was to get on a bus to Tangier and blend in as well as possible.  He requested his ticket, in French, and found a corner to hide in. He bought a news paper and held it up to hide him. After a while he used the paper to cover his face while pretending to take a nap.  There were a couple of tense moments.  The police came around twice. He saw the blue turbanned security guards come in but they seemed to focus on pale skinned Europeans. They walked right in front of him and didn’t even glance at him.

He bought a few brochettes and some flat bread and drank more mint tea. He wasn’t really hungry but he knew he may not get a chance to eat soon. It was finally time to leave. Sometimes the bus won’t leave if there are notenough passengers. He climbed on board and went as close to the rear of the bus as he could get. He did not want a window seat so no one could spot him from the street. He picked an aisle seat next a skinny old man.  He covered his face with his tuareg and pretended to sleep.  The bus was just about to leave when one more passenger boarded. A woman in a full black burka climbed aboard.  Normally, he would not have really noticed, there were so many women dressed just like her. The more strict Muslim woman covered themselves head to toe. The more moderates, show their face but cover everything else. What he noticed is the way she sort of pirouetted on to the bus and into her seat. It was more graceful and energetic than he had seen any other behave on this trip. Most of them seemed to lumber along like Jawas under the weight of their black robes in the desert heat. She moved with grace.  Data point noted.  He closed his eyes, breathed deep and repeated the event cataloging practice he had done twice this day.

Meanwhile, Amina was in a confused state of elation and despair. In despair because she did not have enough information to find the foreigner.  The information she had indicated that the man was heading to Marrakesh. She could not go there.  The time had come for her to escape with or without the journals; with or without man. She could no longer bear the shame nor risk Hasan’s wrath. She was sure he was very suspicious. She fooled Fatimah into waiting with her travel bag at the airport.  She went to the bar, and convinced a young woman who had admired her stylish robe to swap her v-neck shirt and jeans for the robe.  They swapped in the bathroom. Amina came out with her hair tied back in an American style pony tale and her Audrey Hepburn glasses on. While in the bathroom, she used the alcohol to scrub off any perfume or makeup she had on. The college aged girl was just a little bit larger than she was, which gave her room to stuff her cash and jewels in the spanx and look more or less normal.  She tied one of scarves she brought around her waste to further hide the bumps.  Then she went to the arrival gate and looked for women retrieving their luggage.

Dear lady, please help me. I’m returning home from America. They have lost my luggage. I have no burka, my father will kill me. I would be happy to pay you 50 Euros if you have an extra one.

The woman chastised her for dressing like a common slut. And said she deserved to be beaten by her father.

The next woman gave her a sour look but seemed to teeter-totter on the decision. Her cash minded sister, pulled one out of her bag.

Here! I hate these things. I hope you get to go back soon.  Please take me with you.

Money and burka changed hands, along with many thanks. Amina moved as quickly as she could without attracting attention. She had to keep a vigilant eye open for Fatimah, Katya or any of her husband’s guards.  She hailed a cab. As she opened the door she said just a little loudly that she wanted him to hurry to the train station she had to catch the next train to Marrakesh.   She paid the cab driver and went into the station. She bought a ticket to Marrakesh putting her best Daisy Duke accent to work again.  Then she immediately went to the bathroom and waited to see who entered. After 5 minutes only old women and mothers with children had come in. She changed persona again by removing all makeup and donning the burka. She then went outside and got herself to the bus station.  Finding the man with her journals was a lost cause. Her new immediate goal was to get to the prearranged, lover’s rendezvous.  Boarding should have started 10 minutes ago. At the time she was arriving at the bus station the plane should have been taking off.  As best as she could tell no one had seen her or followed.  She had done all she could think of to do. Now that she was on the bus, she would relax and trust that Allah would show her mercy.