«You call a taxi. The telephone is in there». He indicated the little library. «I’ll take care of her». He went out to the entrance lodge and got two of the guards to come in and carry Eunice to the gate, where they laid her on a mat along one of the niches until the cab arrived. He sat in front with the driver and went along as far as Bou Arakía, where he got out and after saying a word through the open window to Hadija, walked off into the dark in the direction of the Zoco de Fuera.
The European guests were not taken back into the European wing; Abdelmalek and Hassan led them directly to the gate on the street, bade them a gracious good-bye, and stepped behind the high portals which were closed and noisily bolted. It was a little like the expulsion from Eden, thought Daisy, and she turned and grinned at the Hollands.
«May I drive you to your hotel?» she offered.
They protested that it was nearby, but Daisy snorted with impatience. She knew she was going to take them home, and she wanted to start. «Get in,» she said gruffly. «It’s a mile at least to the Pension Acacias».
The final good nights were called as the other guests drove off.
«But it’s out of your way,» objected Richard Holland.
«Stuff and nonsense! Get in! How do you know where I’m going? I’ve got to meet Luis more or less in that neighborhood».
«Sh! What’s that?» Mrs. Holland held up a silencing finger. From somewhere in the dark on the other side of the street came a faint chorus of high, piercing mews.
«Oh, God! It’s a family of abandoned kittens,» moaned Daisy. «The Moors are always doing it. When they’re born they simply throw them out in a parcel into the street like garbage».
«The poor things!» cried Mrs. Holland, starting across the pavement toward the sound.
«Come back here!» shouted her husband. «Where do you think you’re going?»
She hesitated. Daisy had got into the car, and sat at the wheel.
«I’m afraid it’s hopeless, darling,» she said to Mrs. Holland.
«Come on!» Holland called. Reluctantly she returned and got in. When she was beside him in the back seat he said: «What did you think you were going to do?»
She sounded vague. «I don’t know. I thought we might take them somewhere and give them some milk». The car started up, skirting the wall for a moment and then turning through a park of high eucalyptus trees.
Dyar, sitting in front with Daisy, and infinitely thankful to be out of the Beidaoui residence, felt pleasantly relaxed. He had been listening to the little scene with detached interest, rather as if it were part of a radio program, and he expected now to hear an objection from Holland based on grounds of practicality. Instead he heard him say: «Why in hell try to keep them alive? They’re going to die anyway, sooner or later».
Dyar turned his head sideways and shouted against the trees going by: «So are you, Holland. But in the meantime you eat, don’t you?»
There was no reply. In the back, unprotected from the wet sea wind, the Hollands were shivering.
XIII
The next morning was cloudy and dark; the inescapable wind was blowing, a gale from the east. Out in the harbor the few freighters moored there rocked crazily above the whitecaps, and the violent waves rolled across the wide beach in a chaos of noise and foam. Dyar got up early and showered. As he dressed he stood in the window, looking out at the agitated bay and the gray hills beyond it, and he realized with a slight shock that not once since he had arrived had he gone to inquire for his mail. It was hard to believe, but the idea simply had not occurred to him. In his mind the break with the past had been that complete and definitive.
At the desk downstairs he inquired the way to the American Legation, and set out along the waterfront on foot, stopping, after ten minutes or so of battling against the wind, at a small café for breakfast. As he sat down at the teetering little table he noticed that his garments were sticky and wet with the salt spray in the air.
He found the Legation without difficulty; it was just inside the native town, through an archway cut in the old ramparts. In the waiting room he was asked by an earnest young man with glasses to sign the visitors’ register, whereupon he was handed one letter. It was from his mother. He wandered a while in the twisting streets, pushing through crowds of small screaming children, and looking vaguely for a place where he could sit down and read his letter. From a maze of inner streets he came out upon the principal thoroughfare for pedestrians, and followed it downhill. Presently he arrived at a large flat terrace edged with concrete seats, overlooking the docks. He sat down, oblivious of the Arabs who looked at him with their eternal insolent curiosity, and, already in that peculiarly unreal state of mind which can be induced in the traveler by the advent of a letter from home, tore open the envelope and pulled out the small, closely written sheets.
Dear Nelson:
I have neglected you shamefully. Since Tuesday for one
reason or another I have put off writing, and here it is
Saturday. Somehow after you left I didn’t have much
«gumption» for a few days! Just sat around and read and
sewed, and did what light housework I could without tiring
myself too much. Also had one of my rip-roaring sick-
headaches which knocked me out for 24 hours. However, I
am fine now, and have been for several days. Let me tell
you it was a terrible moment when they pulled up that
gangplank! Do hope you had no unpleasant experiences
with your cabin mates on the way over. They didn’t
look too good to me. Your father and I both thought
you were in for something, from the looks of them.
We are planning on driving down to Wilmington for Aunt
Ida’s birthday. Your father is quite busy these days and
comes home tired, so I guess one trip will be enough for
this winter. Don’t want him to get sick again.
Tho’t you might be interested in the enclosed clipping.
That Williams girl certainly didn’t lose any time finding a
new fiance, did she? Well, it seems as though practically all
your old friends were married and settled down now.
We were over at the Mott’s (Dr.) last evening after an
early movie. He is in bed with a bad kidney and we have been
several times to see them. Your father had a short visit
upstairs with him, has two male nurses & is a very sick man.
Louise, whom I don’t think you have seen in twenty years,
had come down unexpectedly to see how things were going.
She is a very attractive young woman, two children now.
She is most interested in your doings. Says she once stopped
at Tangier for an afternoon on a Mediterranean Cruise when
she was in college. Didn’t think much of it. She was
reminiscing about the good times you all used to have,
and wondered if I still made the cocoanut macaroons I used
to make. Says she never forgot them and the cookies.
Naturally I had forgotten.
Well, I am getting this in the mail today.
Please take care of your health, just for my sake.
Remember, if you lose that you lose everything. I have been
reading up on Morocco in the Encyclopaedia and I must say it
doesn’t sound so good to me. They seem to have practically
every sort of disease there. If you let yourself get run