staring at us in a blur, until I got a stitch and we stumbled to a stop in an alleyway, pressed to a rickety iron gate that flaked rust into my hair as I leaned against it and heaved.
“We can’t stay here,” Johnny gasped. “We’re still too close to the airport.”
“I’m good,” I said, but it came out as a croak and I immediately retched again. “Holy shit. What just happened? Where are we?”
“Casablanca is the best I can do. Otherwise, no idea. I’ll check my map when we stop for real.” She took a breath that wheezed in her lungs like a toy whistle, and pushed something warm into my fingers. “Hold this still.”
“What am I—”
“Sunglasses. Grabbed ’em from one of the cops while we were heading out. We can’t keep running with cuffs on. Hold ’em real tight, just like that.”
She reversed, like backing up to a trailer hitch; I felt her break the arms off, then pop the lenses out of the frames and use my grip to bend and eventually break the cheap rims. My stomach twisted and gurgled, and for a moment I wondered whether it was going to be projectile puking or just a bout of explosive diarrhea right there in the neat, blue-painted alleyway. I pressed my face to the iron gate, a tiny bit cooler than the blast furnace of the day, and willed my insides to shut up.
“Where did you learn how to pick a handcuff lock?” I said.
“It’s not that hard. Most of them are just a single tab, and if you push on it hard enough, it... ah.”
I felt mine go free, and as I turned to thank her I leaned over and puked into the corner again. Nothing came up but a few mouthfuls of water; I guessed it was in reverse order of the things I’d eaten. My nose burned and stung. But I’d put water in both our bags on the plane, and I fumbled at my bag zips while she cursed, muttered, and eventually got her own cuffs off.
“There. Always easier on someone else’s. Finish that and let’s go.”
I put the empty bottle back in my bag, and though I didn’t feel any less pukey or lightheaded, I did feel as if I could move now. I followed her out of the alleyway at a fast walk.
Outside the alley, it was chaos and sun and dust—cars honking, bike couriers zipping past, people with actual donkeys or mules screaming “Balak! Balak!” everyone on the narrow sidewalk shoving and pushing between us. I reached automatically for Johnny’s hand, as if she were one of the kids, but checked myself and instead followed her as close as I could. Sweat sprang out all over my face, trickling down my neck and soaking my hair.
In the moment of relative safety I craned my head to try to take it all in, wishing I had sunglasses or a hat—it was so bright it just seemed like a spangled kaleidoscope of car windows, men in suits, tiny booths hawking electronics, sunglasses, clothing, CDs, food, tiles, everyone gabbling around me in languages I didn’t know, plus blessedly recognizable if not actually comprehensible French and English. People bumped and buffeted me apparently without even noticing. I had been picturing... I don’t even know what. Some mud-brick city from Raiders of the Lost Ark? Flowing white robes? Tintin books, for absolute sure.
Not so many trees or plants everywhere, or of so many kinds. Not so many fountains, covered in glossy tile. Lots of men with their cheeks ridged with scars, parallel lines high and fierce on their dark skin, mainly older men. A lot of Western clothes, more than I had pictured, interspersed with the loose robes: university t-shirts, Disney, Looney Tunes, over blue jeans or Gap khakis like Johnny’s. Older cars, newer cars, hundreds or thousands of little motorbikes, barely dirtbikes. Tons of sidewalk cafes with no regard for the rest of the sidewalk, forcing us to step into the street, widely umbrellaed in blue or black. Silver daggers gleamed on the occasional hip. Everything smelled of sweat, onions, herbs. Bicycles everywhere. Most of their solar panels were the old kind Johnny had first invented, black and iridescent, like the feathers of a starling. Everywhere the roofs of buildings looked like dark wings.
Johnny paused at a stall, negotiated briefly with the bearded man there in French, who kept staring suspiciously at me, and came away with two black-and-white checkered scarves with fringe around