The Sheltering Sky - Bowles, Paul [41]
They engaged three smelly rooms, all giving onto a small court whose walls were bright blue. in the center of the court was a dead fig tree with masses of barbed wire looped from its branches. As Kit peered from the window a hungry-looking cat with a tiny head and huge ears walked carefully across the court. She sat down on the great brass bed, which, besides the jackal skin on the floor by it, was the only furnishing in the room. She could scarcely blame Tunner for having refused at first even to look at the rooms. But as Port said, one always ends by getting used to anything, and although at the moment Tunner was inclined to be a little unpleasant about it, by night he would probably have grown accustomed to the whole gamut of incredible odors.
At lunch they sat in a bare, well-like room without windows, where the temptation was to whisper, since the spoken word was attended by distorting echoes. The only light came from the door into the main patio. Port clicked the switch of the overhead electric bulb: nothing happened. The barefoot waitress giggled. “No light,” she said, setting their soup on the table.
“All right,” said Tunner, “we’ll eat in the patio.”
The waitress rushed out of the room and returned with Mohammed, who frowned but set about helping them move the table and chairs out under the arcade.
“Thank heavens they’re Arabs, and not French,” said Kit. “Otherwise it would have been against the rules to eat out here.”
“If they were French we could eat inside,” said Tunner.
They lighted cigarettes in the hope of counteracting some of the stench that occasionally was wafted toward them from the basin. The babies were gone; their screams came from an inner room now.
Tunner stopped eating his soup and stared at it. Then he pushed his chair back and threw his napkin onto the table. “Well, by God in heaven, this may be the only hotel in town, but I can find better food than this in the market. Look at the soup! It’s full of corpses.”
Port examined his bowl. “They’ve weevils. They must have been in the noodles.”
“Well, they’re in the soup now. It’s thick with ‘em. You all can eat here at Carrion Towers if you like. I’m going to dig up a native restaurant.”
“So long,” said Port. Tunner went out.
He returned an hour later, less belligerent and slightly crest-fallen. Port and Kit were still in the patio, sitting over coffee and waving away flies.
“How was it? Did you find anything?” they asked.
“The food? Damned good.” He sat down. “But I can’t get any information on how to get out of this place.”
Port, whose opinion of his friend’s mastery of the French language had never been high, said: “Oh.” A few minutes later he got up and went out into the town to collect by himself whatever bits of knowledge he could relating to the transportation facilities of the region. The heat was oppressive, and he had not eaten well. In spite of these things he whistled as he walked along under the deserted arcades, because the idea of getting rid of Tunner made him unaccountably lively. Already he was noticing the flies less.
Late in the afternoon a large automobile drew up in front of the hotel entrance. It was the Lyles’ Mercedes.
“Of all the utterly idiotic things to have done! To try to find some lost village no one ever heard of!” Mrs. Lyle was saying. “You nearly made me miss tea. I suppose you’d have thought that amusing. Now drive away these wretched brats and come in here. Mosh! Mosh!” she cried, suddenly charging at a group of native youngsters who had approached the car. “Mosh! Imshi!” She raised her handbag in a menacing gesture; the bewildered children slowly backed away from her.
“I must find the right term to get rid of them with here,” said Eric, jumping out and slamming the door. “It’s no use saying you’ll get the police. They don’t know what that is.”
“What nonsense! Police, indeed! Never threaten natives with the local authorities. Remember, we don’t recognize French sovereignty here.”
“Oh, that’s in the Rif, Mother, and it’s Spanish sovereignty.”
“Eric! Will you be quiet? Don’t you think I know what Madame Gautier told me? What do you mean?