The Phantom of the Red City

Dear Cap,

I am in Marrakesh. There is a phantom here, Cap. She has been following me since the moment I checked into the hotel this afternoon. I am supposed to fly out in four hours. I don’t believe I will be leaving quite yet. What is it about the Red City that keeps its visitors? I’ll tell ya, this time around it isn’t the enchantment of the snake-charmers holding me captive; it is the memories.

Amy and I returned here in the early fall of ’88 to celebrate ten wonderful years. I have been back since then without her. But this time something is different. She is haunting me. In my search for her, I am finding her everywhere.

I checked into Hotel Central around three and I decided I would rest up so I could have one last great night in Djemaa el Fna square. Amy and I stayed here 21 years ago, and it’s is like the place hasn’t changed a bit. When I was lying in bed it was like she was beside me. Her scent was there with me. She drifted me into a dreamless sleep, which as you know isn’t common these days. I woke up saying her name, and for a moment, thinking I was back in the magic of 1988. I checked the date on the newspaper to make sure.

The sun finally set and I walked the short distance to the square. I was making my way to the snail pits to start my dinner with an escargot appetizer when I swear I saw her. She was crouched down, giving a young snake-charmer a dirham and taking his picture. I ran to her and knelt beside her and gazed into her eyes.

“Oui?” The young French student puzzled.

I didn’t even say sorry. I just got the hell out of there. The mademoiselle must have thought I was a crackpot. I bought a Marquis off a young boy and burned it down to regain my nerves. I breathed in the smoke, and said my usual: “G-d damn that’s good” and a phrase came to mind that brought my evening to a state of tranquility. “Embrace it.”

I went and ordered escargot and gave the man five dirham. It was 1988 again and she was begging me to try her snails…

“You’ve been in and out of Morocco for the past 10 years and you’ve never tried them? Come on Daniel. Just try one!”

“Amy, get that thing away from me! I have my cigarette and you have your slimy insect. We’re even.”

“Actually, I have my slimy gastropod.”

“Well, in that case…”

The peppery broth and the memory of Amy’s wit filled me with warmth. She was always daring me to come out of my shell and embrace my surroundings. And while my surroundings on this night probably would not be defined as “reality” by most, it was undoubtedly her whispering in my ear for me to embrace it. To embrace every last second of it.

The night went on and I went between ’88 and the present sharing a chicken tajine, a stroll around the square, some local acrobatic acts, and finally a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. I paid the vendor twenty dirham. He looked a little dumbfounded; he had only asked for ten. She looked incredible. I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in, she whispered Essaouira, and then she was gone.

One foot here and another there,
Danny Lambson

PS- I will leave for Essaouira in the morning. -D-