Tom Foran Clark

The train pulled out of Fez in the afternoon, creaking as it left the station, clattering as it picked up speed, and creaking and clattering at every stop and start -- in Sidi Harazem, Oued Amlil, Abjelil, and in Sidi Abdallah de Rhiata. They did not stop at tiny Lake Inaouene, tucked away in the folds of hills. They rolled through olive orchards, Eucalyptus stands, and fields of red poppies. The sunny skies began darkening ominously just prior to a total blackout in high thrusting mountains, when the train suddenly plunged deep into a tunnel. They emerged, under drizzly silvery skies, in Taza.

From the train station, Emery walked in the rain up now familiar streets to Taza-Haut, passing through the jenane gardens to the Kethouna house, where cousin Selim, grinning out from under a bright orange ski-cap, welcomed Emery. Then Hafida ran in, all smiles, and bowed to him regally. Emery placed his hands together oriental-style, as if in prayer, bowing to Hafida. She led him to the neighboring chamber, where her mother, Zaleda, sat on sheepskins rocking a pig’s gut, now a bag, the skin processed like a leather hide, hanging from ropes strapped to rungs on ladders on two side of the room. The gut held milk. Zaleda was pushing and pulling the bag vigorously, churning the milk to cream, then butter.

Hafida went out and returned with a lantern. Abdallah arrived, all smiles, throwing his arms around Emery. Zaleda ordered him to take over the work of churning. She and Hafida left the room to go prepare the evening meal. Zaleda, Hafida, Abdallah, Selim, and Emery shared bread and saffron yellow cous-cous with vegetables. As they were finishing up, Kadur arrived in a stormy mood -- as ever.

Outside, in darkness now, rain was falling. Kadur was drenched -- and bitterly angry. Zaleda stood and gestured to Hafida that she should quickly fetch the metal tub of water for sour Kadur to wash his hands in. After he had washed up, Zaleda took the bowl and left the chamber, followed by Hafida, Abdallah, and Selim. Crossing his legs, Kadur sat down before the bowl and scooped in the remaining semolina and bread. "So, you are visiting Marrakech?" Kadur inquired between mouthfuls.

"Oui," Emery said.

"Fez?"

"Oui."

"Are these not regal?"

"Very.

"To compare with Paris?"

"Oui."

"Lying Americaine," Kadur snapped, sneering at Emery. "Paris is grander. I am giving to Algeria all of Western Sahara, Marrakech, and Fez together, if it is meaning I be living in Paris."

"All are beautiful, I’m sure. Each is unique."

"The Western Sahara? A killing zone. Fez is filthy place -- you know it is. Marrakech? Insane place. Paris? -- the city of lights. Is no way to be comparing these."

"Each is unique," Emery offered again.

"You will be returning to Paris?"

"Oui."

"I will not. Who is the luckier, my friend, moi or vous?"

"The one who is happier."

"I am not happy. I am not free," Kadur groaned. "My mother prefers I am being a slave, not a free man. She is living from ancient, dead traditions. Morocco is waking up, but it is waking too slowly. My mother is afraid of the future. I am not afraid of the future."

"I think it is so everywhere."

"It is so in America?

"I think it is so everywhere. You must trust in the sacredness of woman -- the eternal feminine -- human and divine."

"The eternal feminine -- my mother? That is bullshit," Kadur spewed. "She is squeezing air from me. Sometimes I am not able to be breathing. I am not free."

Kadur spoke nearly another hour in this furious and woeful way of these things. His accusations were as terrible and heart wrenching as his pleas.

Hafida came to get the empty bowl, glanced into Emery's eyes for reassurance that he was doing all right, enduring Kadur’s latest temper tantrum, then she went out again. Abdallah and Selim quietly entered the room, careful to sneak along the walls, readying the mats and blankets for the night.

Whispering now, Kadur pleaded for Emery's help. He wanted that Emery should turn his passport over to him. "It is only very small matter to you. I am holding the passport and taking you to the Americaine Embassy for duplicate. You stay here, with family Kethouna, until it is ready. Long after you are leaving Maroc, I am having my ticket to Paris, Lucerne, Berlin, Copenhagen!"

"I can’t," Emery apologized.

"Why is this, you can’t?"

"I can’t give you my passport. I have resolved to give it to no one, under any circumstances, ever."

"But it is just piece of paper."

"With my picture and name on it."

"Is just picture and name!" Kadur spat out. "Is not the person! Is ticket -- that is all. You must be helping me! I am not able to be breathing in Maroc!"

"I can’t," Emery said again.

"Can’t, can’t, can’t!" Kadur cried out in anguish, pushing past the blanket hanging in the doorway -- there was no door to slam.

Abdallah awoke Emery in the morning, serving coffee, bread, butter, and honey. Kadur was up already, too. So soon as Emery finished eating, Kadur approached him all smiles, inviting Emery to join him for a hike -- to further explore the gorges, canyons, caves, and falls of Taza.

Caught up in this changed mood, encouraged by signs of a truce and friendship offered -- also seeing gestures from Hafida and Zaleda signaling yes, go forth, it is good -- Emery set out with Kadur into the mountains. The two went by way of Taza-Haut to harsh terrain, gray and dusty, interspersed with patches of lush moss, weeping rock, and waterfalls. Kadur then led him deep into natural grottoes, caverns, tunnels.

Amid strong winds, they went to the tops of cliffs -- to soar. "Hold out your arms like this," Kadur called to Emery, demonstrating. For a moment, Emery felt certain Kadur would spring forward, and take flight. Of course, he would have plunged a long distance to a bloody end, but there was magic in the air. Defiant Kadur now looked so light, unconstrained, -- free. He was radiant with joy. Emery put his arms out.

"Whooo-hoooooooo!" Kadur sang. Emery spun around in a circle. Kadur did likewise. Then they went down from there. "You are very bold," Kadur congratulated Emery when they came to a safe ledge.

"You are very cray-zee!" Emery congratulated him. Kadur loved this, laughing so hard he shook. He slapped Emery on the shoulder like the two were the best of friends, going back a long ways. They went back down to the Medina and the jenane.

Back at the Kethouna house for lunch, over spicy tomato soup, bread, and butter, Abdallah cautiously brought up a matter pressing on his heart. "Monsieur Richard," he began politely, easing into the proposition he’d cooked up. "You will be taking your bicycle with you to Spain?"

"No, that is not certain," Emery said. "It is possible I will leave it behind, here in Taza."

"You will be leaving it in Taza? This is certain?"

"No -- not certain."

"C’est possible, you are saying, Oui?"

"Oui. C’est possible."

"I have spoken with mother, Zaleda," Abdallah divulged. "We can offer you two-hundred-fifty dirham."

"Two-hundred would be fine," I said.

"Two-hundred and one passport," Kadur mumbled, chewing bread dipped in soup.

"Two-hundred," Emery repeated. "This would please me very much."

Laughing, clapping his hands jubilantly, Abdallah ran to fetch cash he had already set aside for this occasion. He paid Emery, retrieved the bike, and rode around in circles in the courtyard, singing. After the meal, furtively, Emery sought out Zaleda and pressed the money into her hands.

Emery stayed in Taza three more days, enjoying the good company and generous hospitality. Kadur took him to still more grottoes, caves, canyons, hilltops, and falls. Two more times they visited the highest peaks and "flew." Every afternoon, they went to the Medina, where Kadur introduced Emery to his many acquaintances, comrades, and girlfriends.

What lingered most later, in Emery's recollections of that day, was the sweetness and compassion of Hafida; the giddiness of her friend Habiba; the care-worn, weathered, loving face of the mother, Zaleda -- how she worried about her eldest son, Kadur. Him Emery would later see, in his mind's eye, holding his arms out to fly -- surly Kadur, who could as easily have pushed Emery off a precipice or ditched him in a grotto as befriend him. And he'd see Selim -- gentle, joyful Selim. But Abdallah was the one who would haunt him -- Abdallah, the most lighthearted of the Kethounas, the merry boy who just had to have Emery's bike -- Abdallah, who was more than happy the day Emery left, him shakily riding the bike in circles around Kadur, Selim, and Emery all the way to the bus depot.