The Slow Train to Marrakech – Part 2: The Riad

The train limped into Marrakech at half past midnight. The station was empty but for sleepy porters and a single taxi. Youssef negotiated, laughing, in rapid Arabic, and they rattled through the dark streets to the edge of the medina.

From there it was a walk. The alleys were narrow, lamp-lit and silent, high clay walls glowing rose in the lantern light. A cat watched from a doorway. Somewhere a fountain splashed. Youssef carried her bag without being asked.

"Here," he said, at a worn wooden door.

Inside was a courtyard like a secret: white arches, blue and green tiles, a tiny fountain, an orange tree heavy with fruit. His sister, in a dressing gown, kissed Hannah's cheeks, gave her mint tea and a bed with cotton sheets, and vanished with a smile.

Neither of them slept. They went up to the roof terrace, where the whole medina lay below them under the stars, minarets pale against the sky, the Atlas Mountains a black line far off.

"This is the best part of the trip," said Hannah, hugging her knees.

"The delay?"

"The delay."

"Then I am glad the train was old."

Her heart was beating fast. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Do you do this often? Rescue strangers?"

"Never," said Youssef. "I rescued myself from a very boring train." He turned to her, and the lamplight softened his face. "I am happy that you were in it."

"May I kiss you?" said Hannah.

"Yes," he said. "And if you say stop, you must eat my sister's tagine for breakfast."

"That is no punishment."

"She makes it with prunes."

She laughed, and kissed him, warm and slow, one hand against his linen shirt. He tasted of mint and orange. His fingers slid into her hair with great gentleness. Overhead, the stars blazed and the call of a night bird floated up from the courtyard.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Hannah. "Very green."

She cancelled the hostel, and the schedule, and stayed a week.

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