Chapter 7 Chapter VII

Hilary hoped not to go wandering around the old city of Fes with that obnoxious Miss Hetherington.Fortunately, Mrs. Baker invited Miss Hetherington to go for a drive.Miss Hetherington, who happened to be short of money, readily agreed as soon as she heard that Mrs. Baker would pay for the fare.After inquiring at the service desk, Hillary hired a tour guide and set off to visit the old city of Fes. They left the balcony of the hotel and walked down the garden, step by step.To a huge door in the wall.The tour guide took out a large key and slowly opened the door, and motioned for Hillary to go through.

Like entering another world, she is surrounded by the ancient walls of Fez.The narrow, winding streets; the high walls; from time to time she glanced out the door at this or that courtyard, and the whole city was full of laden donkeys, laden men, children, and hooded men. Veiled or unveiled woman, Hilary got an inside look at the secret life of this Moorish city.Roaming through the narrow streets, she simply forgot about everything else.What was the mission of her trip, the past tragedies in her life, and even herself.She just listened and saw, as if living and roaming in a dream world.Her only annoyance was the guide's rambunctious chatter and urging her into stores she didn't particularly like to go into.

"Look, ma'am, this man has a lot of nice things, very cheap, really antique, real Moorish. He also has robes and silks. Don't you like these little rosaries?" Easterners are everywhere selling goods to Westerners, but this did not spoil the feeling of beauty in Hillary's heart.Soon she was confused about where she was and in what direction she was going.In this walled town she did not know whether she was going south or north, nor whether she was again in the same street she had just walked.She is exhausted.The tour guide made one last suggestion, which was obviously part of the agenda.

"I'll take you to that very nice house, very nice. It belongs to my friends. You'll have mint tea there, and they'll show you many nice things." Hilary knew it was what Mrs. Calvin Baker called the proverbial adventure.Still, she was willing to see, or be taken to see, what was suggested to her.She said to herself that tomorrow she would come to the old city by herself and take a good look around, so as not to be nagged by the tour guide.So she followed the guide through the gate, up a winding path, and almost climbed outside the city walls.At last they arrived at a beautiful house surrounded by gardens, built in the native style.

She was invited to sit down at a small table in the large room with a bird's-eye view of the city, and was immediately served some mint tea.For someone like Hilary who doesn't like sugar in her tea, drinking such mint tea is a bit uncomfortable.However, she didn't regard this cup of mint tea as tea, but as a new type of lemonade, and she drank it in big gulps.They also showed her some rugs, beads, and curtains, and she was also very pleased.She also bought a small item or two out of politeness.Then the indefatigable guide said: "Now I have prepared a car, and I will take you out for a drive. Play for an hour, see the beautiful scenery, and the countryside, and then go back to the hotel." He added very cautiously and tactfully: "This The girl will take you to a very delicate bathroom first."

The girl who served the tea stood beside them and immediately smiled and said cautiously in English: "Madam, please. Our bathroom is quite exquisite, just like the one in the Ritz Hotel, or in New York or Chicago." Hilary smiled and followed her.Although the bathroom is not as refined as mentioned, at least there is running water and a washbasin, but the mirror is cracked.Hilary was startled to see her face shrunk into disarray.She washed her hands and wiped them off with her own handkerchief, for the towels did not look very pleasant.She is ready to go out. But the bathroom door seemed to be jammed, and she couldn't get it open by twisting the handle in vain.It must have been locked or plugged in from the outside, she thought.She was furious.What does it mean to lock her in?Then, noticing another door in another corner, she went to it and twisted the handle, and it swung open, and she went out.

She found herself in a small oriental room, light filtering through a high crack in the wall.Monsieur Henri Laurier, the little French man she had met on the train, was sitting on a low divan smoking a cigarette. He did not rise to greet her, but simply said: "Good afternoon, Mrs Betterton." His voice changed a little. Hilary froze for a moment, a little panicked.It turned out to be like this!She regained her composure. "What you expected is happening before your eyes. You should act and speak according to what you estimate 'she' will say and act." She stepped forward and said enthusiastically:

"Any news for me? Can you help me?" He nodded, and then said reproachfully: "Ma'am, I found you a little slow on the train. Probably you are too fond of talking about the weather." "Talking about the weather?" She stared at him, a little puzzled. What did he say about the weather on the train?cold?fog?Snow? "Snow," that's what Olive Betterton had whispered to her dying mother, when she had read a little verse—what was it? Snow, snow.so much snow, You step on a pile and slip. Hilary stammered and repeated. "Exactly! Why didn't you answer immediately as ordered?"

"You don't know, I've been sick. The plane crashed, I was hospitalized with a concussion, which severely affected my memory. The previous things are clear enough, but there are terrible gaps in between, there are huge gaps." She held up. Hands to touch his head.She found it easy to continue speaking in her original accent. "You don't know, how dreadful. I always thought I was forgetting important things—some really important things. The more I try to remember, the more I can't." "Yes," said Laurier, "it's unfortunate that the plane crashed." He said in a dry, methodical tone. "The question ahead is whether you have the energy and courage to continue your journey."

"Of course I have to continue my journey." Hilary shouted, "My husband..." She couldn't go on. He smiled, but not pleasantly, as if furtively. "I know," he said, "your husband is waiting for you." Hillary's words were more staccato. "You have no idea," she said, "how I have passed the months since he was gone." "Do you think the British authorities have reached a positive conclusion as to whether you know of his whereabouts?" Hilary spread her hands and said, a little frantically, "How would I know—how can I tell? But they seem satisfied."

"Nevertheless..." He suddenly stopped talking. "I think," Hilary said, "that I've probably been followed all the way here. I can't name a single person, but I feel like I've been watched since I left England." "Naturally," said Laurier very calmly, "we expected it." "I think I should warn you." "My dear Mrs. Betterton, we are not children, and we know what we are doing." "Sorry," Hilary said deferentially, "I don't know anything." "It doesn't matter if you don't know anything, as long as you obey orders and follow directions." "I will obey orders and obey orders." Hilary said softly. "There is no doubt that you have been closely watched in England since your husband left. You have been informed, however, have you not?" "Yes." Hilary said. "Now," declared Laurier solemnly, "I have instructions for you, Madame." "please." "You're going on from here to Marrakech the day after tomorrow. That's in line with your plans, and your booked air tickets and hotel rooms." "yes." "When you get there, you will receive a telegram from England. I don't know what the contents of the telegram are. It seems that you should prepare to return to England immediately." "Going back to England immediately?" "Listen, I'm not done yet. You're booking a plane ticket out of Casablanca the next day." "And if there's no bookings—what if they're all sold out?" "It won't be all sold out. Everything is arranged. Now, do you understand the instructions given to you?" "I see." "Then, go back to where the guide is waiting for you. You have been too long in the ladies' room. By the way, you had sex with the American woman and the English woman at the Palais Jimet Hotel. Have you made friends yet?" "Yes, is there something wrong? It's inevitable." "There is nothing wrong with it. It is very good for our plans. It will be all the better if you can persuade one of them to accompany you to Marrakech. Good-bye, Madame." "Goodbye, sir." "Seeing you again," Mr. Laurier said to her with a dull interest, "is unlikely." Hilary went back to the ladies' room.This time, she found that the other door was unlocked.A few minutes later, she met the guide again in the tea room. "I've got a very nice little car waiting outside, and I'm going to take you for a ride." The tour is proceeding as planned. "So you're going to Marrakech to-morrow," said Miss Hetherington. "You haven't been in Fez very long, have you? First to Marrakech, then to Fez, and then back to Casablanca." , isn't it much more convenient?" "It's probably a lot more convenient," Hillary said, "but it's so hard to book a room, it's so crowded." "But there aren't many English people," said Miss Hetherington rather melancholy, "it's dreadful to hardly meet any of my own compatriots at the moment." She looked around contemptuously and continued, "They're all French. " Hillary smiled.Morocco was a French colony and had little to do with Miss Hetherington.The problem is that no matter where the hotel is, she thinks British tourists are privileged. "It's all French and Germans and Armenians and Greeks," said Mrs. Calvin Baker, giggling. "That little old man who's pissed must be a Greek." "I was told he was Greek," Hillary said. "Looks like an important person," said Mrs. Baker. "You see the waiter running around him." "They look down on the English now," said Miss Hetherington with a heavy heart. "Often put us in those rooms where the sun never shines--the rooms where servants and servants used to live." "Well, since I've been in Morocco, I can't find anything wrong with my room," said Mrs. Calvin Baker. "I always get a comfortable room with a bathroom." "You're an American," said Miss Hethering, with a hint of malice in her voice, sarcastically, and rattling her knitting needles as she spoke. "Hope I can convince you two to come with me to Marrakech." Hilary said, "I couldn't be happier to meet you here and chat with you." Hilary added, "Really. Alone Traveling is so lonely." "I've been to Marrakech," cried Miss Hetherington. But Mrs. Calvin Baker seemed a little enamored with the idea. "Well, that's a very good idea indeed," she said. "I haven't been to Marrakech for over a month. I'd be glad to stay there a few more days, and I can show you the way, Mrs. Betterton, Lest you be deceived. You will not understand the mystery until you are there and have a good time. I will go to the office now and see if it can be arranged." After she had gone, Miss Hetherington said bitterly: "That's the kind of American woman who goes from place to place and never stays in any place for a while. One day in Egypt, the next in Palestine, and sometimes I really It feels like they don’t even know which country they are in.” She bit her lip suddenly and stopped talking, stood up, carefully packed up the knitting wool, nodded to Hillary, and walked out of the Turkish-style room.Hilary looked at her watch and decided that tonight she would change her clothes before going to dinner as usual.She sat alone in this low, dark room with oriental curtains.The waiter looked in, switched on two lights, and walked away again.Not very bright, dim and pleasant.It is an oriental tranquility.Hillary leaned back on the couch, trying to figure out what to do next. Only yesterday she had been wondering if what she had promised to do was a hoax.However, now——now, she is really going to start doing it.She must be careful, especially cautious, and there must be no mistakes.She was Olive Betterton herself, generally well-educated, not interested in literature and art, not in crooked ways, but obviously left-leaning in her thinking, and a woman who was absolutely loyal to her husband. "I can't make a mistake," Hilary whispered to herself. How strange it must be to sit alone in Morocco!She felt as if she had arrived in a mysterious and fascinating country.The dim lamp beside her!If she took the carved brass handle of the lamp with both hands and wiped it, would the genie come out?She was surprised when she thought of this. Suddenly, she saw Aristides' small, wrinkled face and pointed moustache emerging from the lamp.He nodded courteously, sat down beside her, and said: "Is it permitted, ma'am?" Hillary also responded politely. He opened the cigarette case and handed her a cigarette.She took it.He lit one himself. "Do you like this country, ma'am?" he asked after a moment. "I've only been here for a while," Hilary said. "I find it really fascinating here." "Oh, you've been to the Old Town? Did you like it?" "I think the Old Town is wonderful." "Yes, marvelous. Everything is as it used to be there.—the bustling marketplace, the intrigue at the court, the whispering among the common people, the activity behind the doors, all the mystery and passion of the city, contained in the narrow among the streets and the high walls. Madame, do you know what I think of when I walk through the streets of Fez?" "have no idea." "I think of the Great West Street in London. I think of the tall factory buildings on both sides of the street. I think of the tall buildings lit up by neon lights like daylight. When you drive by the road, you can clearly see The people in it. Nothing hidden, nothing mysterious. Not even a curtain on the windows. They do their work there, for the world to see, if the world wants to see. It's like taking the lid off an ant's nest." "You're saying," said Hilary with interest, "that the contrast interests you." Mr. Aristides nodded his aged tortoiseshell head. "Yes," he said, "everything is open there, whereas in the old streets of Fez nothing is open. Everything is hidden and dark...but..." He leaned forward and pointed There was a tap on the little brass coffee table. "...but the same thing goes on. Cruelty, oppression; lust for power, haggling and bickering." "Do you think human nature is the same everywhere?" Hilary asked. "In any country, whether in the past or in the present, there are always two things facing everything, that is cruelty and kindness! One or the other, often both." He continued in one breath Said, "I was told, ma'am, that something happened to your plane in Casablanca the other day?" "Yes, something happened." "I envy you," said M. Aristides surprisingly. Hilary cast a very surprised look at him.He shook his head again, expressing great confidence. "Yes," he added, "you should be envied. You have experience. I like the experience of a narrow escape. Had that experience and survived—don't you feel that you have never been the same since then, ma'am?" Are there two?" "In a rather unfortunate way," Hilary said. "The concussion gave me a really bad headache and affected my memory." "It was only an inconvenience," said Mr. Aristides, waving his hand; "but you've had a spiritual adventure, haven't you?" "Yes," replied Hilary slowly, "I've had a spiritual adventure." She thought of a glass of Vichy and a small stack of sleeping pills. "I have never had that experience," said Mr. Aristides, in a tone of dissatisfaction. "I have had other experiences, but not this one." He stood up, nodded and said, "Madame, I salute you," and walked away.