turning over twice. ‘Hideous kinky,’ I muttered and I felt for the rash on my arm to remind myself of left and right so I could begin a marching song with my feet. ‘Left, left.’ I scratched my arm. ‘Left my wife and five fat children. Right, right.’ There was no rash on my right arm. ‘Right in the middle of the kitchen floor.’ Bea stopped short ahead of me and I marched on into her. Her breath came in gasps through her nose and she put out her hand to hold me back.
Through the darkness between two buildings a man was reeling. He was bent over, staggering backwards and away from a figure that glimmered like steel and, as the man who was an old man thudded against a wall, his attacker lunged forward and struck him hard. His head cracked against the stone and he fell forward. As he fell his babouche slipped and. twisted through the air, and then for no reason I knew it was the Fool. It was the Fool and I had never thought before what an old and fragile man he was. Through the darkness that was no longer dim but clear and fine like silk I could see the strength of the other man, I saw his shoulders flex under his light djellaba and a swift, brown leg pull back. Bea gripped my arm and forced me on along the street. I wanted to run screaming into the fight and save the Fool and take him home, but as we dragged ourselves away, I saw his raised and clinging hand flutter to the ground and the beating of his limp and broken body rang in my ears. Bea let go of my hand and I raced after her up the staircase to the second landing. There was no one home. Bea lit a candle. A note lay just inside the door. ‘Luna’s baby has arrived. Be back later. Mum.’
Bea tore the note into tiny pieces and scattered them over the floor. Then she lay down on her bed. I went over to check on Mary, Mary-Rose and Rosemary. I remade their beds and smoothed their clothes and regretted that their hair was made of wool so that it frayed and frizzled if I brushed it.
I didn’t say anything to anyone about the fight. I waited for Bea to mention it, or for someone to notice that the Fool no longer danced with the Gnaoua in the afternoons, or silently escorted us at night. Nothing was said. Occasionally I looked at Bea to see if she was running over those events like I was, the sound effects living their own life behind her eyes, but she gave nothing away.
It was raining a warm rain that slanted down in showers when Mum agreed to go along with Bilal’s plan. Moulay Idriss had visited us in our room and it seemed there was no time to waste. First Bilal went to check his letter with Abu Kier. Abu Kier was a man who was concerned with his spirit, Mum said. People understood about Abu Kier. He sat in the market in his tattered djellaba and they gave him food and money. Abu Kier gave his blessing to Bilal’s letter.
Now Mum was in a hurry. She draped my burnous over my shoulders and buttoned its one cloth button at my neck. My burnous was camel-coloured. Bea’s was made from darker, thicker wool like the coat of a donkey, and Mum’s was white. We stood in the street with our hoods around our ears while Mum kept the letter under her cloak to stop it from getting wet. Bilal wasn’t coming with us. When I asked him why, he explained that it wasn’t part of the plan.
Bea and I followed Mum towards the Djemaa £1 Fna. She held us each by the hand and walked fast, heading for the shops that surrounded the square. We passed Khadija, Zara and Saida talking to the waterman, but Bea pretended not to see that it was them and, as I turned to call out, Mum tugged my hand to keep me from falling behind.
We stopped by a shop that sold carpets. The sun struckout from behind a cloud and splintered through the rain in a dazzling shower of gold. She held the letter out infront of her so that the carpet merchant would know why we were there and wouldn’t try and sell us any carpets. He took the letter.