Tremor (21 page)

‘You misunderstand them. As my wife you'd go anywhere. Anyway you're not marrying them.'

‘I do not think I could ever take Ann's place. Although she has left her home –
and
you – it is her house. You must realize how much she made it her own. The rugs, the ornaments, the vases, the pictures. Every time I am in the house I see her – as I know you must.'

‘So you would have me live alone for the rest of my life – or marry someone else.'

‘That is something only you can decide.'

‘Would it help,' he asked, ‘if I moved house, if we went to live in some quite different part of the county? We might try Rhode Island. Maybe near Providence.'

He saw her hesitate and knew that she was not convinced.

‘Don't answer now,' he said, knowing well enough that she had answered but that she had not explained. Unless the explanation was the one that he feared most of all, that she had no real, genuine feeling for him.

The three French ladies had heard even less of the earth tremor than the Americans, for they were in their car and Laura was driving, and that meant that ordinary noises, vibration and rattles were totally overborne by the noise she made. No one has ever driven a car as noisily as she did. She crashed the gears, she revved the engine to racing limits, she slipped the clutch, she lurched and braked and talked at the top of her voice all the time.

‘
Tiens
, that
crétin
has left his car where there is no room for me – ah! just past – did I touch it? No matter, shut your mouth, Vicky – no one will know. Sacred name of a little blue man, why do they not observe the rules of the road!
Merde
, that cursed donkey – ha, ha, ha, that gave him a shock, I'll lay a curse; had he been a nick slower we would have left him with no arse! – where the hell is second gear? Do we turn right, Vicky,
do we turn right? –
Well, I've done it now – we'll see where this avenue leads –
quelle pisser!
The man does not look where he is walking! Ah, I have gone back to first – a million curses on these gears; Françoise, bestir yourself, I am not here to drive you about in your sleep!
Sot! Bétise! Babouin!
I have forgotten, where are we going?'

‘To the port,' said Vicky.

‘
Helas!
Then we are going the wrong way.' Without regard to other traffic Laura made a sharp U-turn. Something rattled and fell off in the road, probably a casualty of the early scrape, but none of the ladies bothered to look behind to see what they had lost. They rejoined the main avenue at a breakneck speed and zoomed off towards the port.

Eventually, with a jerk and a jolt Laura brought her car to a stop nine inches from a fruit stall. They all piled out and began to prowl and wobble around the market, which was in essence more a point of assembly for all sorts of early season delicacies about to be crated and shipped to Europe.

It seemed that some event had disturbed the stallholders, for they stood in groups talking and glancing anxiously about as if waiting for something more to happen. Laura, Vicky and Françoise, having been insulated from the tremor by reason of being in the car, strutted around unaffected, buying an orange here, a banana there, until they reached a kiosk serving mint tea and sweetmeats and caramel cakes and roast chestnuts and fried eels.

Thy sat down gratefully, as the cobbles had been trying their high heels, but the proprietor informed them that there was no alcohol to be obtained in his shop. Disgruntled, they sipped strong black coffee and listened to the monotonous wail of the radio.

Back in the car, Laura drove suicidally up to the Kasbah on the hill, but there was no alcohol here either, only narrow cobbled streets, dark alleyways arched over by houses with trailing creepers, old men sitting knees up against walls, the radios again blaring Arab music, pottery shops with open fronts, gaudy scarf shops, dyers, wood carvers, blind beggars, mangy cats, the smell of the tanners and the smell of goat.

‘
Alors!
Let's go back,' Françoise said. ‘I'm thirsty.'

‘And hungry,' said Vicky.

Laura turned the car noisily to head down the hill, and they lurched and slithered over the loose surface while the port and the town of Agadir and the great expanse of beach swung in front of the windscreen.

Halfway to the bottom there was a fork in the road, and Laura, whose sense of direction was not of the best, bumped off to the left. Vicky at once told her she had gone wrong, but Laura said: ‘
Tiens
, what matter? All the roads lead down.'

In fact they did not all lead down in quite the same way, and after half a minute they rounded a bend into a quarry which was full of camels.

They came round quickly, missing the rump of one and the nose of another by a nostril's breadth. Vicky gave a squeal of delight, Françoise one of apprehension as she thought they were about to have a smash. In fact Laura, driving like Fangio, swept and swirled among the tall brown animals and only had a slight accident when she was through the worst and out the other side. Her foot slipped off the brake and they thumped into a six-foot-high wall of camel dung which four boys had been compressing into bricks for use as fuel.

They were immediately surrounded by faces, some of them grinning, some curious, some wrathful, some with heavy nostrils breathing and snuffling, big liquid expressionless eyes and slow champing jaws. All forms of nature seemed to be instantly interested in the little cream car stuffed with women.

Laura got her window wound down and became instantly involved in an argument with two of the boys, which would have been more satisfactory if Laura had known Arabic or the boys French. Eventually a tall, bearded, distinguished-looking man with a wall eye intervened and communication was established.

This was the camel market, he explained, swirling his cream jellaba; this was held in Agadir on the fourth Monday in every month. Did they want to buy a camel? If so, he had two excellent beasts hardly yet grown – a four- and a five-year-old. He was in charge of the sale, he said, and would be honoured personally to conduct such distinguished ladies round the camels and enable them to pick the best beast and to obtain the best bargain. All three ladies said they did not want to buy a damned camel, but Vicky seemed halfhearted in her refusal, so the tall man and two other friends at once transferred their attention to her. She incautiously lowered her window, and at once was closely engaged.

A particularly large camel put its head against Françoise's window and rubbed it noisily.

‘Oh, look!' screamed Françoise, with a crow of laughter. ‘It's blowing bubbles!'

The man with the wall eye said: ‘ Nay, nay, Mrs, that is a big man camel and he shows he wishes woman camel; dangerous, he bite, whey-oh! take him away, Ibrahim … Allow me, madame. Pray alight and I will personally escort you.'

To the shouted imprecations of the other two, Vicky allowed herself to be helped out, when Mustafa, as he was called, swept away the boys who were dancing around, first on one leg, then on the other, out of sheer interest, and escorted her away from the broken wall of dung towards two smaller camels tethered to a post. One of them, looking round with a reproachful eye, suddenly let out a dismal howl that had half the camp trumpeting in response. When the noise had died down Vicky had disappeared among a white-shouldered crowd of men.

‘
Mon Dieu
,' said Laura, banging her fist on the steering-wheel. ‘She'll be raped!'

This seemed greatly to amuse Françoise in the back. She tittered and tittered and tittered and tittered. Eventually between splutters she said: ‘ Charge 'em all extra if they're more than half an hour.'

Laura whirred the self-starter, but the engine did not fire. She glowered at the scene. ‘Might be a lot of schoolboys after their first, eh? You remember I had that place opposite the technical college? No, you weren't there: you were still at the Rue de Courcey. Charging extra for over the half-hour,
mon Dieu
! It was half-price for the students! Holy Mary, they were a lively, eager lot. All pretending to be eighteen, borrowing the same identity card over and over. In and out, it doesn't take long when they're that age. Bang, bang and they've finished.'

Mustafa said: ‘Now these two splendid beasts come of the finest Hageen stock, just suitable for a lady. Look at their slender legs, their sinewy frames. This one is my
prime
possession, Esu, just four years old. Admire him. Examine him. Look, put your hand on his muzzle, he is as tame as a bird. See his beautiful tender eyes.'

Considering this was the animal which had created all the racket, Vicky was cautious about approaching him too closely, but she was edged forward while Mustafa continued his sales talk.

Laura, having had no satisfaction from the starter button, tried the horn instead.

‘Where're you going?' she demanded suddenly, as Françoise opened her door.

‘Can't stand that noise!' said Françoise. ‘ Gives me the wobblies. I'll go find Vicky.'

To their surprise, at that moment the crowd of grinning men parted and Vicky appeared, unraped and unruffled, followed by Mustafa and Esu. Mustafa, having reluctantly named a price, was now following Vicky with an amended quotation.

‘Can't do,' Vicky said, spreading her hands. ‘ Go by plane, understand? Can't get camel on plane. It would stick in the door.'

‘Ah, madame,
you
do not understand. He can be shipped. He can go to Marseilles and you could meet him there …'

A bearded face, untoothed but smiling, appeared at Laura's window.

‘Can no start? Eh? Car broke down? Eh? You want push? A hundred dirhams. Eh?'

Laura hesitated. It was a lot to ask for a push, but she needed a drink. And to get that little fool Vicky out of trouble …

‘
Ca va
,' she said, and began to fumble in her handbag.

‘
Et moi, mad'moiselle. Et moi!
' More voices and more beseeching hands.

‘It will take three of us,' said the toothless one. ‘I and my two boys. They shall come at a special rate. Specially for you. Thirty dirhams each! Eh, what? That is all.'

‘Rubbish!' Laura snarled. ‘
Canaille!
One hundred dirhams is more than you deserve. Come along. Fifty now, and fifty when we start.
Vicky!
' she screamed. ‘Get into the damned car!
Merde!
When will you learn?'

‘I cannot buy it,' Vicky was saying. ‘It is too dear. Yes, I know you will amend the price. You cannot amend it enough for me—'

‘I swear on my mother's grave,' Mustafa said. ‘Never will you have so splendid a chance again. Esu is a model beast, mild, well-bred, gentle, all that you could wish. Come now, make me an offer …'

Complicated negotiations on the other side of the car were near completion. Laura was prepared to pay sixty dirhams down, with another fifty-dirham note held delicately between finger and thumb by Françoise just out of reach of the grasping fingers. As soon as the car started she swore she would hand it over.

Laura reached over and opened the off-side front door. ‘Come in, you little piece of dog shit, when will you ever learn to control your stupidity!'

Vicky gave Mustafa a fifty-dirham note which she had in her jacket pocket. ‘That's all,' she cooed, ‘that's all. Lovely camel, lovely camel, yes, yes. Maybe one day I'll come back.' She slid into the car. ‘
Adieu, adieu, adieu!
'

Mustafa's hand, clutching the note, was holding the door open, but the efforts of the toothless one and his two sons just then propelled the car forward with a jerk and he had to let go. The door slammed, the car engine fired, the car bucked into first gear, and Laura had the presence of mind to declutch. The engine roared. With tremendous presence of mind she found reverse gear, and the car lurched away from the pile of dung. Arabs scattered wildly. Françoise was about to pull her hand back, but Laura screamed at her: ‘ Give it them! Give it them!'

Then, lurching and jerking like an over-burdened mule, the little Renault began to thread its way through all the congregation of camels; once again Laura proved her mastery over fate by avoiding collision or assassination, and the car gathered speed towards what looked like, and in fact proved to be, the exit road.

They slithered and rattled down it towards Agadir.

‘
Alors!
' said Françoise.

‘
Tiens!
' said Vicky breathlessly.

‘
Merde!
' said Laura.

Among those who felt the earth tremor M. and Mme Thibault showed the greatest alarm.

One of their suitcases had been carelessly replaced on the top of the wardrobe when they were changing yesterday to go out to lunch, and this toppled over and crumped by the dressing table to add to the general rattle and commotion.

Estrella flew to the window as the vibration stopped. She stared out over the gardens to the sultry sea. Nothing apparently had changed. Two small tramp steamers smoked gently at the entrance to the port. One or two people in the deck-chairs were sitting up looking around as if they had been disturbed. A waiter at the poolside picked up an overturned glass.

‘
Mon Dieu
,' said Thibault behind her. ‘ What next? That is worse than a thunderstorm!'

‘Of course it is worse than a thunderstorm!' she cried. ‘ What next indeed! This, this is more than I am prepared to stand! We shall leave at once!'

He picked up the suitcase and put it on the bed. ‘Leave for where? We have made the reservation here for two weeks! No doubt they would release us, but we cannot just take up our bags and leave. This is Morocco, not France.'

‘It is quite intolerable,' she exclaimed. ‘ From the moment we came here it has been frustration, annoyance, insult – what insult! – and now danger!'

Thibault said pettishly: ‘If one comes to Africa one runs an additional risk of – inconvenience. The climate is clearly unsettled. I—'