The Way Things Seem

by Mackey Chandler

  "Breakfast? I get here almost too late for the lunch crowd! You must be one of those scoundrels who sleep half the day away!" she protested, but it was good natured.

  "Indeed, I'm the very sort mothers warn their children about," he confirmed. "I'll see you another day," David promised, and broke off, heading back to the hotel.

  He spent the afternoon reading most of the paperback, dozed briefly once, and went outside when the tables on the veranda were in the late day shade. When he ordered coffee it was brewed European style instead of the local thick spiced version, but it was good so he didn't say anything. Maybe he'd find a local place for the traditional form. Someplace he could enjoy watching it being made.

  He finished the paperback, had a local dish rice dish for supper in the hotel again, and was tired at bedtime. That was good. He was adjusting. He left the drapes open after he turned the lights out. There wasn't enough light to keep him awake and he'd wake up with the sun hopefully.

  * * *

  The sun wasn't up, but the bright sky before dawn woke him. It was more steel gray than blue, and cloudless. He woke feeling rested and sure he was adjusted now to the local time. It was early, but he decided a walk before it started to heat up would be nice. Breakfast was a nice idea too, but not urgent yet. It might even be too early for it at the hotel. He dressed in his lighter pants, didn't shower, putting that off until after his walk and breakfast.

  When he passed the dining room they were just setting up, he was too early. He'd come back if nothing local could be found. He wanted to go off a different direction than the market where he'd found the older lady selling stuffed bread.

  When he went out the door, there was an older man standing straight ahead, quite unusually motionless and carefully off the hotel property. He was old enough to have gray in his hair, but had darker skin than David, the sort that stayed agelessly smooth until a person was very old. He was by no means delicate or frail although he didn’t seem to carry much fat on his frame. He had a good hand’s breadth of height on David.

  As soon as David stepped out the man started for him and when he turned to his right the fellow altered course to intercept. He just stopped and turned back toward him, waiting for the fellow since he refused to be avoided. He didn’t appear hostile or armed, and he was older. Locally that meant a great deal so it would be best to show him respect.

  The doorman started to intervene, but David held a cupped hand toward him waist high, palm down, and made a cautioning motion. He stopped, but looked skeptical and didn't return to the entry.

  "Sabākḥ David," the older gentleman said, touching his breast and giving a bow that was barely more than a nod.

  "Oh, are you the fellow Juste promised to send?" David asked, assuming from the greeting he should use Arabic. It was the second morning, but he'd kind of forgotten about the arrangement he’d made with the customs agent.

  "Not at all," the old man said, in English, amused. "I am rather sent to instruct you, as your father desired. You have rested from your journey. Are you not ready by now?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact I feel great, not lagged at all, but how could you possibly know about my father or what he required of me?" he asked, quite confused.

  "Well, I suppose I should get all mystical about it, or say a little birdie told me in your cultural idiom, but actually your father's lawyers were instructed to call my family. We keep a family phone," he said, displaying a cheap cell phone in his hand. "I have not heard from your father in years. If I could not be found, or was dead, then you'd have had to find a guide on your own. In some ways that might have been the better lesson for you, but less chance you'd succeed perhaps."

  "You've actually met my father?" David asked. This was interesting. He could see why Crenshaw hadn’t said he’d be contacted in front of Mark, but he’d had opportunity to tell David later.

  "He walked the hills with me, some years ago. I am Bouh, but you may just call me Uncle."

  "What do I need to bring with me? I should check out of my hotel. I'm traveling light. I have one other change of clothes and my phone."

  "Leave the phone," Bouh said, "it can only bring trouble where we are going. It won't even work far from the city where we'll go. I shall certainly stop and leave this one at my nephew's house. Your clothing also is a trouble magnet. We'll get you some things that don't catch the eye of robbers, or worse, police."

  "Might I leave my things at your nephew's place?" David asked.

  "Certainly, he's a fine young fellow, though distressingly modern. He'll do just about any favor for a friend of the family, if it's in his power."

  "Come on inside then. It won't take but a few minutes to settle my bill and grab my bag from my room," David told him.

  "They would be uncomfortable for me to enter their business," Bouh assured David. He made a gesture to indicate his dress. He wore the loose white cotton robe of the nomadic people and a little vest over it. The bottom edge was dusty with soil, as were his feet in well worn sandals. "It is not an uncomfortable day, I'll wait here in the square," he insisted.

  "Should I call a taxi to go to your nephew's place?" David asked.

  "No, we have some stops to make and it's within walking distance," Uncle assured him.

  When he settled his bill and came out carrying his soft sided bag, Uncle was sitting waiting across the street on a bench. It struck David how unusual it was to see someone relaxed, just waiting patiently with no phone or book or newspaper.

  David sat down beside him. "What shall I pay you for my instruction? Would you like some sort of advance while we are close to the banks here?"

  "I'm not terribly concerned about that." It seemed to amuse Uncle. "Where I spend most of my time few people have any cash money. You extend hospitality and trade in kind. Having cash is an invitation to being robbed. For some reason those who would rob you seem to feel it's obligatory to offer you violence too, even if you don't resist."

  "Well, I didn't bring any goats with me," David joked. "Surely there is something I can do for your nephew if not you. You said he is close, so he has to deal with a cash economy here in the city. What did my father pay you?"

  "First, he showed some aptitude, so he was a repository of my training. I'm sorry he did not survive me," Uncle said, "but I am much more confident you will. He paid me no money, but several years after he went home I had a niece who required medical attention. Much more than the local doctors could offer. He arranged for her to go to Switzerland and be treated. That is the only call I ever made upon his debt."

  "So you would be content with a big - I owe you one?" David asked.

  "Yes, if you feel a favor is owed, when we are done," Uncle said.

  "I have no problem with that," David agreed. He offered a hand, and Uncle took it in both hands rather than shake it and then touched his heart after.

  "There is a small market this way, Uncle said gesturing with his chin. “Let us go there and we shall make a start on clothing you differently.”

  "Yes, I've been there. There is a pleasant lady at that market who sells lunch daily. Have you eaten?" David inquired.

  "Not for some time. We can visit your lady if you wish. You will have to buy however. I have no money with me."

  David just nodded acceptance. Money wasn't a concern to either of them, him because he had plenty, Uncle because he had none.

  When they got to the market Uncle led him from along the edge deeper into the narrowest aisles between the stalls where no vehicle could go.

  "Here," Uncle decided, turning in a doorway. “Do you speak Amharic?” Uncle asked him first.

  “Not very well,” David admitted. “I speak fair Arabic and better French, but just a few words of this and that in other languages, but I can order just about anything a restaurant might have in German.”

  That amused Uncle. “I will speak Arabic for you, since the shopkeeper will likely have the use of it.”

  The shopkeep didn't look thrilled by Uncles presence. Indeed he tri
ed to ignore Uncle and greet David. David refused to correct him and allowed Uncle to do so by staying silent and allowing Uncle to address the merchant. After a brief puzzled look flashed over his face he finally twigged to the fact that David was with the old man and a fake smile quickly covered up for his lack of apprehension.

  "How may I serve you today?" he asked, but David noted he made none of the customary gestures, or expressing the respect Uncle's age made customary.

  "We can find someone with better manners," David said to Uncle, embarrassed at this slight.

  "Don't concern yourself with it," Uncle told him, seemingly indifferent. "You don't have to invite an ass to coffee to let it bear your load on its back."

  The shopkeeper was so shocked this dusty old fellow would speak that way he was silent. Uncle plunged on and gave him orders.

  "The young man requires some cheap clothing in which he can work and not worry about soiling it. He must pass for local and I don't mean a well-to-do local on the way to a party. Dress him like the second cook in a neighborhood restaurant going out to do his own shopping because he lives alone and has no help. A macawiss and shirt will do fine. He'll be wearing them from here," Uncle informed him. "And also, sell us some cheap used shoes."

  "Are you selling his old things," the merchant asked, inspecting the European clothing and fine shoes.

  "No, he still has need of them. You may bundle them up for us to carry," Uncle instructed.

  David was clumsy with the wrap, though he’d worn a sarong before. Uncle refused a very bright one and picked a busy pattern in tans and grey with some green dashes.

  "You picked this to blend in didn't you?" David asked.

  "Blend with what?" Uncle asked, but he had an amused look not entirely hidden.

  "It's like camo clothing," David said. "A hundred meters away out in the dry country side it would be near invisible."

  "Well, I didn't expect your father would have stupid sons," was all the answer he got.

  The t-shirt he got was a couple sizes too big and had once been white. It was grey now and had the very faded logo of a long defunct airline. The shoes were older athletic shoes with new laces instead of the originals. Worn but not shapeless. Uncle made sure they fit well with far more care than the clothing.

  When Uncle was satisfied with his appearance he asked the storekeeper the cost. He didn't argue with the man at all, but the look of disgust on his face was an indictment. However, he just said, "Pay the man," to David.

  "But of course for you," the man said as if Uncle hadn't spoken, "thirty two thousand francs." That was almost half the original number he'd mentioned. David paid him.

  Chapter 4

  The merchant put David’s shoes and clothes in a yellow plastic shopping bag that was wrinkled and much used. For some reason Uncle told him to keep them separate and not open his soft sided luggage until they had some privacy. It said 'Yoder's Amish Fudge Shack' on the sack. David deeply doubted that fudge was a big local item. The Amish, well David didn't expect many of them either, but didn't doubt they could acclimate here if they could contrive to abide in Pennsylvania.

  Uncle led him out of the clothing shop and back into the open market where vendors sold off a folding table or a tarp on the ground. He was greeted by several sellers like they might know him. David was impressed nobody pressed him or called out to him. The guttersnipes who tried to survey his pockets on his first market visit were absent now. He wasn't sure if that was from his change of clothing or out of respect for being with Uncle.

  "I don't think the lunch lady is here today," David said, disappointed. "She was in front of the place selling buckets and plastic stuff."

  "The venders often leave when they've sold whatever they brought," Bouh said with a shrug. "My nephew will feed us if we don't buy something here."

  Uncle stopped before an older gentleman squatting on his heels. His bright blue plastic tarp defined his selling area. He sold clothing also, but of a grade distinctly lower than even what David had on. Most of it was stuffed in plastic trash bags. If the pieces laid out flat on display were any indication they had to be sad indeed. The better garments displayed had stains and holes.

  "My man here has to clean out a nasty old cistern. I want some pants and long sleeved shirt to keep it off him. Something we can discard when he is done and no great loss. It would foul the water and make the wash too hard for my wife. She'll poison my coffee and marry my brother," Uncle told the man.

  The man smiled at his levity and produced a blue shirt with a frayed collar and a wine stain down the front. He held it up to David to size it. David was amused to see it was a Brooks Brothers shirt, very fine, some years ago. The pants were a putty gray canvas with holes worn at the knees, vaguely military in cut with very wide belt loops, perhaps from some nations navy. He couldn't imagine that color for land forces.

  Uncle sought a different shirt, getting a green work shirt with an oil company logo embroidered on the pocket, and a pair of sturdy sandals with a sole cut from tire treads on the bottom. Uncle made sure those fit well. The whole cost the equivalent of five dollars.

  As befit his role as hired man, David was handed the new bundle to carry. Being no fancy shop with bags, the pants and sandals were simply rolled up in the shirt, and the sleeves tied it shut to make their own handle.

  David held his tongue until they were well away, then asked Uncle. "Why didn't you go straight to that fellow in the first place?"

  "You would have been far too conspicuous standing there in fine clothing. Such a strange thing would have been the talk of the market before everyone went home. The man would have balked at selling us these things, embarrassed he didn't have anything suitable for you, and he’d never believed my reason for buying them. The upper classes might dress in rags for a costume party but never as badly as reality. People have a sense of class and propriety that is very hard to break from both ends of the scale. It is not possible to change your social tier that many steps all at once. That's also true of many things besides clothing," Uncle said, giving him a sharp look. "Also, the market people are not stupid. Most would conclude it was some sort of disguise, which it is honestly, but too many would conclude it involved crime or political intrigue. We don't need notoriety."

  David thought about it. He was here to learn from Uncle. It was just surprisingly early that he was being instructed, and not exactly the lesson he'd expected.

  * * *

  There was a man selling well worn hand tools and odd bits of hardware. Uncle stopped and looked the offering over with a critical eye. There was a small knife with a leather sheath that wrapped all the way around and was sown with one seam. It reminded David of a filet knife, but when Uncle pulled it out it was a heavier blade, dark grey except for a shiny edge that said it had been sharpened. In fact it had been sharpened so many times it had changed the shape of the blade, but it still had life in it.

  Uncle and the man bickered very briefly and uncle bade him to pay the man. David was surprised when Uncle made clear it was for him to carry.

  Before they left the market Uncle took them aside to a man selling kabobs and David bought them each a skewer and a tart yogurt drink. Uncle seemed much less concerned about a meal than him. The skewer wasn't much, but David decided it would look bad to start complaining about such a trivial thing so soon.

  Uncle's pace didn't seem hurried and yet David found himself wishing for a break. The day was starting to heat up, and he needed to find a bathroom. He wasn't sure what the custom was in the residential area they were in now. It was a relief that Uncle found the same need and demonstrated where to go without his asking.

  When they met a young boy on the street who knew Uncle, David figured they must be close. The boy ran ahead, promising to inform his father. David's first thought was, 'Why didn't you call ahead?', then he remembered the little phone that Uncle carried was the family phone. It was hard to get used to the idea everybody, including children, didn't have phones and tablets. It was
n't even a web connected phone with a decent screen, just voice and text messages. He couldn't remember when he'd last seen one at home.

  They didn't have to knock when they reached the nephew's home. The door was cracked open and swung wide when they approached. All the houses touched with the walls at different heights and angles. The lack of windows gave even fewer clues. It was so unlike western architecture that it was hard to know where the nephew's house ended and the neighbor's started. The boy who'd run ahead was waiting with a young woman. They entered and were led deeper into the house with no introductions. The door shut behind then with a thud that was worthy of a castle, and the rattle of a bar being set. The inside was already noticeably cooler than the advancing day outside.

  They walked down a long hallway, light showing at the far end. That was good because David was near blind coming in from the bright sunlight. There were doors near the bright end but no tables or anything to avoid along the way. They came out in a courtyard, open to the sky but shaded. The young woman washed Uncle's feet and set his sandals aside, but left it to David to remove his own shoes and knock the dust off. He took a rag and wiped his own feet off. He must have picked the right custom and not offended anyone because the young woman and the boy who rejoined them seemed unsurprised.

  They were led to small rooms and informed Uncle's nephew would have dinner with them later. For now the young woman seemed to assume they would welcome a chance to rest. David was tired from walking, but had no desire to nap. He got his second paperback and stretched out on the bed. He was asleep before he could open the book.

  David woke to Uncle firmly shaking his foot by the great toe, firmly held between finger and thumb. Nobody had done that to him since he was about seven or eight years old he realized, amused.

  "You are not fully adjusted to our time," Uncle stated as a fact.