The Lost Forest

by John Francis Kinsella

  Chapter 40

  MOROCCAN BONES

  The hotel Tour Hassan had been built at the beginning of the century, it was about ten minutes walk from what is now Avenue Mohammed V that runs from the Palace grounds down to the Medina. The slope was said to slow down the subjects of the king, if they decided to leave their squalor to protest their miserable conditions, and to facilitate his soldiers when they left their barracks on the palace grounds to break a few heads and restore order.

  When the hotel had been built, it had been designed for the visitors from France to inspect their recently proclaimed protectorate, and was of course in keeping with the life style of the administrators of empire at the end of the romantic period. The hotel was discreet, there were no large grounds or gardens, the entrance and lobbies were decorated in Moorish style, the doorman and bellboys were dressed in the traditional costumes. Morocco, then ruled by Hassan II, a modern kingdom with the means and methods to keep its citizens in their place according to their age old traditions.

  Ennis together with Pierre Ros and the CNRS specialists arrived in Rabat from Paris on a Royal Air Marco flight, and after clearing formalities they loaded their baggage into one of the airport Mercedes taxis that had definitely seen better days, to the centre of the city.

  They were to be met by Christian Charles, who for some unknown reason was not at the airport. Charles was the resident representative of the CNRS natural history section and the linkman in all of the scientific programmes between France and Morocco. Ennis had been introduced to him in Paris, he was a Frenchman who had lived in Morocco for several years, in spite of small his small stature and habit of chain-smoking Marlboro in a grubby cigarette holder, he was charming and cultivated.

  Why on earth Charles had chosen Morocco was not very clear to Ennis. Marrakech was fine for a couple of weeks in the sun but apart from a passing interest in the Souks and Bazaars, he couldn’t for the life of him see why anybody in a reasonably state of mind would make the choice of the country as their permanent residence. However Charles felt at home in Morocco and had been successful in a number of important finds and was apparently ‘well-introduced-at-the-palace’.

  Morocco had become a renowned centre for palaeontology after the discoveries of some extraordinary specimens of dinosaurs among which were some of the largest specimens ever discovered. The sites were centred around the High Atlas Mountains, where palaeontologists had uncovered the bones of sauropods with names like carcharodontosaurus, spinosaurus, tazoudasarus and atlasaurus, beasts when the lived of up to fourteen metres long.

  The government through the Ministry of Mines planned to build a museum and a geopark between Marrakech and Ouarzazate that would attract hundreds of thousands of tourists each year and had asked the French Museum of Natural History to participate as a joint partner with financing from the French government along with the King Abdul Aziz al Saoud Foundation, a purely financial partner. The presence of the Saudis would be a good reference in Indonesia where there would probably be years of work to come for the French scientists.

  The rooms were comfortable, but as in such hotels the functioning of the telecommunication systems often corresponded with the vintage of the hotel. Ennis quickly regretted not being booked in the new and luxurious Hyatt. Charles had insisted their presence be discreet, at the Tour Hassan they ran little risk of being ‘spied’ upon which seemed a curious idea to Ennis.

  Charles had made all the arrangements with Ashraf Ghali, an ex-minister, head a vast state owned chemical company, Office Marrocaine d’Industries Chimiques, the world’s largest exporter of phosphates and fertilisers, representing several billion dollars a year in revenues for a country that had no oil and very little other natural mineral resources. The company owned many open mines and quarries that had been the source of rich fossil finds.

  Once settled into their rooms, Pierre Ros called Ennis, inviting over to Louis Brun’s room to look over the geological survey maps that they had brought with them from Paris. The room door was open, Ennis knocked and walked in. Brun’s bed was covered with papers and the room was full of smoke from the cheap cigarillos that he smoked. His assistant Lejeune was sitting in an armchair, also smoking and in the process of pouring a couple of glasses from a bottle of duty free Cognac.

  ‘Hey, have a drink,’ he said offering him one of the glasses. The CNRS men had both downed a good amount of free Cognac on the flight from Paris.

  ‘Not just now,” Ennis said declining the offer, “I’ll wait until Pierre is here.’

  Brun, an anthropologist specialised in on-site excavation, was fortyish, slightly podgy, and fond of cracking nervous jokes that he thought were enormously funny. He wore a tobacco stained moustached and there was a faint air of shabbiness about his appearance, as though he were struggling financially. Lejeune was younger and did not have much to say, he simply followed the cues from Brun.

  They had the look of debt collectors, rather than scientists. After glancing over the maps that meant little to Ennis, he suggested going down to the bar to wait for Charles and to escape the smoke and Cognac fumes. The bar was situated on the first floor level was deserted, normal, it was the middle of Ramadan and not yet sundown. The lounge bar typical of many Arab hotels furnished with very low couches and low tables. Pierre not seeing a waiter and as a typical Frenchman could not bear to sit before an empty bar table was about set off in search for one when Christian Charles appeared his cigarette holder clenched between his teeth.

  Stretching out his hand, he bid Ennis and Pierre Ros welcome to Rabat and waited for him to present the others. Charles was excessively formal and polite, more than well brought up. Ennis suspected that Charles could be easily slighted if things were not done correctly according to his strict code of etiquette.

  ‘I’m really sorry I couldn’t get to the airport, I was called to the Ministry of Culture Affaires over on rue Ghandi. You know it’s Ramadan and everything runs at half speed. Now the sun is now setting it’s the moment when everybody normally disappears to eat something quickly after their day’s fasting, that’s why you can’t see any waiters,’ he explained, ‘Well now that I’m here there’s no particular rush tonight. What do you say to a simple dinner, we can chat about our program tomorrow? There’s that small restaurant around the corner here, it’s called the Oasis and they serve typical Moroccan cuisine.’

  Charles insisted on driving them there in his car, a Peugeot that had seen better days, though the restaurant was not more than a few hundred metres away from the hotel. The owner informed them that it was already full on the ground floor and a waiter led them to the first floor balcony. Charles ordered pigeon pastilla and lamb tagine with a bottle of ‘Cabernet du President’, that unfortunately tasted nothing like as good as it sounded, and a bottle of Sidi Ali mineral water.

  ‘So what are the arrangements for tomorrow?’ Pierre asked.

  Charles dropped his voice and with a furtive movement glanced around. ‘The meeting is at ten in the offices of the Musée Royal du Patrimoine et des Civilisations. Murad El Malik has organised everything, he’s the vice president of the museum, and is also on the board of the Institute National des Sciences, de l’Archéologie et du Patrimoine. It’s not far on avenue Kennedy. Driss will also be there, you know him Pierre, be careful of him, he looks after all the details.’

  ‘Ghali will not be involved?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How come!’

  ‘It’s like that, don’t worry. He doesn’t get involved in the details.’

  ‘Will we get to visit the site quickly?’

  ‘No problem, it’s about eight kilometres south-west of Casablanca, a quarry called Carrières Thomas’

  It was where Brun had found his erectus mandible, the subject of much heated discussion in Paris, when Etxeberri had rejected out of hand the 15,000 year old estimate made by Brun, a mere junior scientist. The outcome was the reclassification of the fossil as an archaic sapiens, whi
ch Brun had silently accepted whilst waiting for new evidence. The site had also produced at a much lower level part of a skull and a lower jaw bone together with Acheulian stone tools, dating to around 400,000 years old and at a deeper level tools dating to 700,000 years old had been found.

  ‘What about the other sites?’

  ‘We have recently found a couple of others site in the Atlas,” said Brun, “there is evidence of archaic Homo sapiens and Homo sapiens sapiens, first estimates indicate dates between 30,000 and 190,000 years old, we have only just started preliminary work there. For the moment I don’t know what the programme will be.’

  ‘Will El Malik allow us to visit the sites in the south, I mean there won’t be any problems will there?’ Ennis asked anxiously.

  ‘No, not if our friends from the CNRS have got all of the papers ready as agreed, then there should be no difficulties,’ Pierre said.

  ‘Our problem right now is that Ghali is now 65 years old. He’s under pressure from his family and clan to make the most from setting up the new museum before being retired by the king.’

  Ennis was up early, he was on edge, the telecommunications were so bad in the hotel that it was difficult to have telephone contact outside the country; he was worried about the situation in Jakarta. On the garden terrace in the warm morning sunshine that filtered through the ample leaves of a banana tree, he sat alone trying to relax and relished the taste of freshly pressed Moroccan oranges. He thought about the meeting with the Moroccans, he was unfamiliar with their methods but suspected they could be difficult.

  Morocco had many problems like any other developing nation; Charles had told him over dinner the previous evening that there was a slow but irresistible pauperisation of the rural population, who followed the footsteps of the poor of the world, seeking relief in the overburdened cities. Huge shantytowns, the breeding grounds for revolution, developed which were carefully camouflaged out of view of the tourist or casual visitor. Over the frontier in Algeria, the regime which had ruled for thirty years was almost bankrupt, both economically and ideologically. With the menace of the Islamists, Algeria’s neighbours were deeply worried by the contagion, which could overflow into their populations, who had no other form of free expression than that offered through the Mullahs.

  As Ennis gazed at the Geckos inert on the garden wall his thoughts wandered to Homo erectus, the images that came to his mind were mixed with those Indonesia and Israel as he drifted into a dreamy fantasy.

  ‘Bonjour, how are things this morning!’ Christian Charles snapped Ennis out of his daydream; it was time to start with more serious matters.

  The offices of the museum were not much more than a ten minutes brisk walk from the hotel, normally a pleasant walk under the trees. There were no crowds in Rabat, except at evening time in the old town. In the business area at that hour, there was just the occasional passer-by and the waiting chauffeurs or the cleaners who seemed to be perpetually sweeping the steps of the office building entrances in their desultory manner.

  That morning however they had decided to take a rented chauffeur driven Mercedes limousine. The driver took the long way round with the one-way system, heading down to the palm lined ring road that ran parallel to the picturesque walls of the royal palace, turning left back into the centre, at the old red fort, the Chella, that overlooked the river valley separating Rabat from the old town of Sale.

  It was one of those fine but hazy mornings, not yet too hot outside, but already overheated in the Mercedes, the driver shrugged, explaining without too much concern that the air conditioner was not functioning as it should. The traffic was light, Charles looked indifferently at the passing sights that were more interesting and certainly much more exotic to Ennis, who had taken the precaution removing his jacket avoiding creasing in the heat of the car. He carried just a light document case, whilst the Ros and the CNRS men had their brief cases squeezed onto the seat between them.

  The offices of the museum were situated on the third floor of the ministry building, in the small but relatively modern and pleasant business area of Rabat. The street was lined by closely planted evergreen trees, designed to give shade from the hot sun, but the branches were a touch too low, forcing the passers by to skirt around them so as to avoid being peppered by the heavy red dust that had accumulated on the thick leaves.

  The offices was housed in a six-story building dating from the early seventies, it was set back from the pavement and fronted by a narrow garden. They walked up the steps and into the lobby, taking the modern but shaky looking lift to the third floor. They followed each other into the executive reception area that was luxuriously appointed, with exotic wood panelling and thick piled wall-to-wall carpeting.

  There was no reception and they proceeded directly to the office of Murad El Malik’s secretary. She was an attractive Moroccan of about fortyish, she wore rather heavy French style makeup and was fashionably dressed, the skirt on the long side, ‘probably to hide her thick ankles’, Ennis thought to himself as he unconsciously appraised her.

  There was a much younger and plainer girl seated at a desk in front of a PC, she looked on whilst El Maiak’s secretary gushed over the visitors in an exaggerated display of familiarity. The offices were hot, the secretaries did not enjoy air-conditioning, apart from that discomfort the offices were well equipped with all the latest equipment, and there was an air of efficiency.

  They stood a little uncomfortably exchanging niceties, there was no waiting room. Ennis inquired whether Murad El Malik and his staff had already arrived. Before the secretary could reply, Mohammed Driss arrived, shirt sleeved and tieless, his forehead that appeared enlarged by his receding hairline glistened with beads of transpiration.

  ‘Well, hello Monsieur Ros, how are you, when did you arrive?’ he said with a broad friendly smile, which seemed to have a touch of genuine friendliness to it. Charles had learnt it was merely a facade.

  He went through the formalities of welcoming them and invited them to El Malik’s office, which also served as a conference room for important meetings. The office was elegant furnished with fine, thickly upholstered, leather chairs and behind the president’s chair displayed on a small rostrum were a magnificent pair of elephant’s tusks, which would have certainly been considered in bad taste in Europe.

  Mohammed Driss invited them to take a seat at the conference table as they waited the arrival of El Malik. A few moments later El Malik arrived together with Rachid Benani, both dressed in formal business suits in contrast to Driss’s short sleeved shirt. They rose and shook hands.

  ‘Ah, Monsieur Ros, good of you to make it, please sit down. We will have a busy morning,’ El Malik said gesturing to them to be seated.

  After Pierre Ros had made the introductions El Malik launched into the niceties of welcoming their foreign guests to Morocco and the importance of Franco-Morocco cooperation and the far sightedness of the French government in providing credits not only for new research and exploration but also for the construction of the new museum.

  Murad El Malik was seated at the head of the table with Rachid Benani facing Ennis and Mohammed Driss opposite Charles.

  The secretary served thick black coffee in small glasses decorated with gilt arabesque as they went through the preliminaries, taking out files and shuffling their papers.

  ‘Well Mr Ros, let’s get down to the serious business on the day. I think that all of the so called technical points have been covered.’ El Malik said looking at Mohammed Driss.

  Fortunately the sweaty little bastard isn’t required to reply, thought Charles, as Murad El Malik’s had made a statement rather than having asked a question.

  ‘Today we shall talk about the expedition to our new Palaeolithic site in the south.’

  There was some confusion as Benani, in a low voice, sounded out Driss in Arabic. To Ennis’s pleasure Driss appeared confused. Benani frowned heavily and started reading through the list of personnel whilst Driss shuffled his papers nerv
ously under the glare of his superior.

  ‘Monsieur Ros,’ he spoke in French, ‘whilst we have already indicated our desire to cooperate, we can only do so on the basis of an equitable agreement! These conditions seem rather strange and don’t concord with the wishes of our staff. I think it would be good if your people re-examined these points.’

  Ennis looked on a little perplexed after all it was not his project, but he had promised to help Pierre Ros with the negotiations, it was normal, a return for all that Lundy and Pierre had done for him, after all he could have been thrown out as a fraud if at the outset it had been to Etxeberri he had presented his skullcap. Pierre problem was that he was not commercial and usually gave in to everything, he was too kind, soft in a nice way but Lundy had made it clear that they needed the agreement to satisfy the financial people back in Paris who had started to make noises about costs in Kalimantan.

  Ennis put on his most serious look, and indeed he did feel serious, it was important for the financing extension of the borneensis dig. Otherwise the Indonesians could bring in other partners and he would have to slink off like one of the mangy beaten dogs he had seen lurking in the filthy back streets of Rabat.

  They had rehearsed what he was going to say on nod from Pierre.

  ‘If I could make a suggestion Monsieur El Malik, I know it is very difficult to increase the French participation in the Museum project, but there are some important events of which I cannot talk at present which will make a significant contribution to the interest in your new museum. I have discussed this with Professor Lundy and certain private investors who have permitted me to inform you that a further five percent participation could be made from our side.’

  He waited for their reaction there was none, their faces were blank he looked at Rachid Benani, but his face was also closed, he was not ready to indicate anything, Murad El Malik open his file and jotted a note with his gold pen.

  He appeared to be thinking deeply, he took a breath and appeared to collect his thoughts.

  ‘Thank you for your interest Monsieur Ennis, unfortunately this is really too little. If you are really interested by this cultural joint-venture, you will have to come up with something more realistic, you must understand that a potential American partners has made some interesting proposals and the difference remains significant, as I said and I repeat France has a major role to play, but not under these conditions, you should understand that we expect a bigger effort from our friends.’

  Ennis waited, a little surprised by the mercantile attitude of the Moroccans, however his experience told him that he should let Murad El Malik pursue his reasoning so that they could after analyse his position.

  ‘Please reconsider your proposals and what we have said, and we shall wait for your reply here on Thursday at 11 o’clock in our offices,’ El Malik said with a said smile.

  Murad El Malik closed his file, indicating that the day’s discussions were at an end. It had been too quick for Pierre Ros and the CNRS men, Charles made them a sign and they fumbled their papers together, stuffing them into their brief cases as they rose to leave.

  Charles left them at the hotel, returning to Casablanca. He would contact Ennis at the hotel later that day.

  In the hotel they went directly to the bar, the favourite meeting place of disappointed business travellers all over the world. They went over their brief meeting trying to explain the reason for the unexpected position of El Malik. They sat drinking their beers whilst Ennis tried, in spite of his own confusion to explain the situation to them.

  ‘It’s all part of the normal process of commercial negotiations.’

  ‘Not in the scientific and academic world, we don’t play games like that,’ said Pierre Ros.

  Ennis knew that to be untrue, he had found academics were just as devious as another people. The French in spite of their experience refused to see the point of view of the other side. Their deep suspicion of Maghrebins was difficult to overcome.

  ‘Just think of it as two camels sniffing each others back ends before engaging in more serious business,’ laughed Pierre Ros hopefully trying to raise their hopes with his coarse pleasantry. They appreciated that and laughed but did not seem to be more convinced as to the progress of their business.

  ‘Look, get on the phone to Paris and find out what can be done.’ Ennis suggested to Ros. ‘We’ve got a couple of days to come up with the right answers, I don’t think it should be too difficult.’

  Ros looked at Brun and nodded, it was true that they needed to act, they couldn’t leave the field open to the Americans.

  Towards six Ennis called Charles, but he had left the office. He waited in his room hoping that Charles would call. Towards eight Ros called him, he was hungry and they decide to eat in the hotel restaurant. The conversation was morose as they tried to make the best of their lamb mechoui. Ennis looked at his watch it was nine thirty and no news. He collected his key to return to his room and strolled to the lift.

  ‘Monsieur Ennis, Monsieur Ennis.’ the reception manager called him holding a telephone in his hand. ‘A call for you.’

  ‘Hallo John, sorry it’s so late. Listen I can’t speak now, but I think we can arrange things. We should meet tomorrow here in Casa, I’ll explain why tomorrow. Take the train if you like, come alone for lunch. At the Hyatt.’

  Ennis understood he could not talk over the phone but it was irritating to be kept in suspense. He explained the situation to Ros asking him to push Paris with the aide of the Cultural Counsellor who had nothing much else to do in Rabat except wait for his retirement; they would liven up his day.

  The next morning he took the train from Rabat to Casablanca, it was a good idea and he had enough of the local drivers who activated his imaginary ulcer. The train was comfortable and relaxing, in the air-conditioned first class wagon, it was also a moment of escape. The meeting with Charles was fixed at the Hyatt Regency where they could take a light lunch in the privacy of the pool side restaurant where it was always relatively calm.

  He walked up from Casa Port station to the Hyatt, under the thick palms that lined the pavement. It was a moment of pleasure; he enjoyed the clear fine weather and the tourist’s view of the city. In the hotel lobby he saw Charles hurrying in.

  ‘Ca va John.’ he said between his teeth and his cigarette holder. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late, but I was on the phone with my friend talking about what happened yesterday.’

  They crossed the lobby, it was dark and cool in contrast to the strong sun outside, the black granite floor reflecting the light from crystal chandeliers, they made their way through a maze of corridors and halls to the pool situated discretely at the back of the hotel.

  The tables were set at the pool side and as usual the restaurant was practically empty apart from a couple of women sunning on themselves on their chaise longue, no doubt waiting for there absent business husbands.

  They consulted the menu and ordered a Moroccan salad and a bottle of local rose wine and for a few moments watched the swallows diving and skimming over the pool, there was little noise except the dull drone of the traffic beyond the high wall that separated the hotel pool from an adjoining avenue.

  ‘A cousin of El Malik’s, will come to my apartment this evening at seven and I have reserved a table at Le Cabestan for eight thirty so that we can review the situation, I imagine you can stay overnight, there are no problems so we can relax, the only question open concerns the financing schedule.’

  ‘What was all that story about yesterday?’ said Ennis impatiently.

  ‘Internal problems don’t worry.’

  ‘What about our participation?’

  ‘Well you’ll have to make some concessions.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Another five should be okay.’

  ‘I see, that’s quite a bit.’

  ‘You’ll have to convince Lundy if you want their approval.’

  ‘Okay. As far as participation is concerned it should be possible, is the
re any specific thing they would like.’

  ‘Well yes, is it possible to make part of the side arrangement, you know the commissions, in cash.’

  ‘Cash! I don’t know that’s not really my problem. I don’t know if the people in Paris would agree.’

  ‘Why not,’ he smiled slightly embarrassed.

  ‘Do you know how much that is in cash!’

  Charles laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘That’s what they asked.’

  ‘They don’t trust us?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Sure, I cannot see why not, except for the fact that it’s quite a sum of money in cash as I just said.’

  ‘Can it be in France?’

  ‘In France! I don’t think so. I suppose that Belgium or Luxembourg would be okay.’

  ‘Fine, Brussels is okay.’

  “Good, I’d like to get on with the rest of the visit and see the sites that interest me.”

  Dinner was at ‘Le Cabestan’ an excellent restaurant run by a French woman just on the outskirts of Casablanca, in the coastal resort of Anfa nearby the Riad Salem hotel. The cuisine was typically French, seafood based on quality with light sauces, though the imported wines were extravagantly priced and local wines more than lacking in class. Through the panoramic window they had a view onto the seashore a beneath the restaurant where the waves broke on the rocks and the wind carried the spray high into the light cast from the restaurant.

  The cousin who’s name Ennis did not catch confirmed in a low voice the agreement. His role was that of the so-called coordinator, which in simple terms meant ensuring that payments were approved and monies were paid in cash or transferred to the nominated banks.

  For Ennis this was good news with El Malik part of the arrangement it would ensure that the project was carried out according to the agreement.

  Ennis picked up the phone, it was Driss and he sounded mad.

  ‘Ennis!’

  ‘Oui.’

  ‘Who’s this person telephoning us all the time?’ Driss said.

  Ennis was taken by surprise ‘I don’t know, what do you mean!’

  ‘He’s called five or six times asking for information, why?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Is he your agent?’

  ‘No, the only agent I know in Morocco is Charles.’

  ‘He’s the managing director of a tourist organisation.’

  ‘I don’t know…’

  ‘In any case he doesn’t know the ministry very well, we’re a state organisation you know.’

  ‘Trouble!’ thought Ennis. ‘This is going to screw things up.’

  ‘In any case, we have decided for the Americans, they have offered us better terms.’

  ‘You’ve already signed an agreement?’

  There was a silence whilst Driss seemed to hesitate.

  ‘Yes...well no...we’ve taken the decision.’

  Bastard, I’ll get that arrogant little bastard, Ennis thought.

  ‘I see then there’s nothing to do,’ he said forcing Driss into a corner.

  ‘No, another time maybe.’ He was calmer ‘We’ll send you a fax,’ he paused again, ‘In any case the final decision is with El Malik, he’ll contact you.’

  ‘OK, goodbye.’

  His first thought was to get hold of Charles but there was no reply. It was strange; there should be somebody from his staff there. Finally when Ennis did get through the secretary told him Charles was absent; he had left with another visitor for Fez about two hundred kilometres from Rabat.

  Ennis went down to the bar to let the others share the bad news. They were not very happy, they suggested trying another approach. They agreed to rest and think things over, then meet for dinner at eight.

  He was just beginning to doze off, when the phoned rang, he picked up the receiver and the operator asked him to hang on a moment.

  It was Charles.

  ‘Hallo John, I had a call from the office, it seems like there is a problem, tell me how the meeting went but don’t mention any names.’

  He quickly described what happened and the call that he had from Driss.

  ‘Hmm I see, well it appears that he is with the other side, but don’t worry you should know that he cannot make any decisions, but of course he can to some extent can influence things, but a decision like this is really out of his power,’ he paused, ‘as I said if some concessions are not made, it will make life difficult for El Malik.’

  Ennis concurred, but said that they should at the very least have an exact indication on the price.

  “I’ll try to talk to Driss.”

  Ennis was not too surprised when he received a call from Driss. He was charming as if there had been angry words earlier in the day. He invited Ennis to dinner that evening at a hotel about half an hour south of Rabat, it was at a beach called Atlantic Plage behind a coastal woodland, a plantation of eucalyptus.

  Ennis suspected and hoped that pressure had been applied to Driss, who was now trying to put the pieces back together. In any case their dinner in tête-à-tête would give him a good idea of where they were with the discussions. He didn’t trust Driss, but he had gracefully accepted the invitation. He hoped that it would be reasonable clear, not too oblique, as Moroccans often tended to be.

  It was a popular weekend picnic beach. They arrived by cars, vans and buses. The woods that bordered the beach were littered with the debris of many previous weekends. The picnickers must have been oblivious to the rusting sardine boxes, Coke cans, plastic bottles and sacks, which were strewn as far as the eye could see. He noted that attempts had been made to collect and burn the debris, black stains on the short grass remained as evidence.

  The beach area started about thirty feet down a bank from the woods where a hotel had been constructed, maybe ten or fifteen years previously by the look of it. It must have been built for the foreign tourist industry and had seriously declined, sad memory of its fairly recent past. The season was too short and it had become an over night stop for motorised tourists, forced to stop short of their planned destination having overestimated their driving stamina.

  The dilapidated exterior of the building had been slowly eroded by the action of the sea air and the constant wind and sand. The interior was an outdated modern; it was spartan lacking the frills of comfort that had disappeared. The carpets were stained and worn; the woodwork had been recently repainted with a lack of skill and care.

  That evening Driss picked Ennis up at the hotel in his new Citroen, he lived nearby in Rabat, in a comfortable modern apartment. They arrived in the middle of a power cut, or maybe it was the generator that had failed. With the sea wind the evening was chilly and Ennis shivered as they were shown into the dinning room where they were the only diners present. It was light by candlelight and shadows flickering across the walls.

  Driss was a man who lived in two worlds, he was a Moroccan Arab, part of a culture that ran from the Indian Ocean to the Atlantic, he was also a Muslim. His other world was France, which had once governed Morocco as a protectorate; he had been brought up bilingual in a French school in Rabat. He then studied archaeology at the University of Leige in Belgium and had married a girl from the northern French town of Lille.

  Like the rest of his people, he was dependent on Western know-how and was in constant conflict, defending his world against disparaging French academics. Many northern Europeans looked down on Moroccans, as underdeveloped at the best, and potentially dangerous terrorists at the worse, with dirty habits, unclean food and infected drinking water.

  For the French natural scientists he was a the key to their research programmes considering Morocco’s rich archaeological and palaeontological records, they were obliged to court him and treated with him obsequious respect, but that did not prevent them from dropping barbed anti-Arab remarks.

  A man such as Driss, was more than aware of that two sided relationship. He had to live with its tearing conflict, as did many of his fell
ow Arabs. He saw around him, the difficulties of his country, the impoverishment, galloping demographic growth that his leaders had done nothing to prevent with their poorly conceived political ideas, equating numbers with strength, in a race against their neighbours who pursued the same ideas under a military regime.

  He saw the forever dwindling resources in education, in housing and in employment, the rapidly deteriorating environment, without the slightest effort at pollution control except for window dressing in tourist areas.

  ‘You know Mr Ennis, the economy is bad, in this area for example is a supplier of eucalyptus wood to our local industry, unfortunately the situation becomes more and more difficult, the government forestry department supplying industries with a raw material whose quality is slowly but perceptibly declining every day.’

  In the half light one or two others dinners arrived. Driss ordered the dinner from the waiter who struggled to see what he was writing on his order pad.

  ‘The villagers steal the growing timber, the other day riding in the plantations I stopped some fourteen or fifteen year old boys who were tearing down branches. I tried to explain to them that the trees would never reach productive maturity if they did that.’

  He paused looking at Ennis wistfully, the candlelight flickering in his sympathetic eyes.

  ‘You know what they replied?’ he paused questioningly ‘They replied that maybe it was not right, but their needs were more immediate. They had to eat; they needed wood to cook, for heating. They had no other resources, no money, no jobs, what could I say to them, because I know it’s true!’

  They ate a typical Moroccan dinner, a couscous with a local wine. Ennis made an effort to relax, but the cold and the emptiness of the restaurant made him feel ill at ease. The conversation was easy Driss was a talkative and intelligent man. He ordered deserts and coffees.

  ‘You know Mr Ennis, really we would like to work with you, but I must be frank and tell you that the conditions proposed by Monsieur Ros are unacceptable to us, you have competition from the USA. Personally I prefer France, but the French will have to make concessions.’

  Ennis nodded and told Driss, that he was sure that a last effort could be made prepared, and he would communicate the message.

  There was a silence; Driss looked into his coffee shifting his spoon about.

  ‘You know I have a daughter who is studying in the USA, she will be finished in June and is looking for a position.’

  Ennis understood Driss was now feeling his way along and he helped him.

  ‘What has she been studying?’

  ‘Bioarchaeology, you know excavation of burial sites and analysis of skeletal remains.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘University of Arkansas, under the King Fahd Middle East Studies Program.’

  ‘Very interesting. I think we can help her. Look, ask her to email the details of her work to me personally and as soon as I return I’ll get things moving, count on me.’

  That would not be too difficult, if it would reduce Driss’s resistance, he knew his daughter came before anything else. Finding a job for her would not be too difficult.

  What else did Driss want, his daughter was no doubt a starting point, but Ennis was not going to pre-empt any demands from Driss, they had to come from him. Suddenly the lights came on, it was a good sign he thought.

  Thursday morning at eleven, they were again in the ministry building waiting for the lift. Three other people from the office staff waited with them, it was common that everybody took the lift, even if they were only going up or down one floor. Ennis supposed it was a question of status, only cleaners took the stairs; it was the same in Indonesia. They all crowded in, the four of them and the three Arabs, who gave them side glances, hoping to glean a clue as to the reasons for the foreigners presence, which would them a couple of hours conversation.

  As they arrived at the secretaries office Driss appeared quickly dismissing the secretary and warmly welcoming them.

  ‘So have you had a good rest, is the Hotel okay?’ he said shaking hands with Ennis and then Ros and the CNRS men.

  ‘Everything is fine, no problems.’

  ‘Better here than Paris, not so cold.’ he grinned.

  ‘Let’s go into the conference room, Monsieur El Malik is not yet here, he will be here shortly and in the meantime we can look at the papers.’

  ‘I shall order some coffee.’

  ‘Well have you come up with some good results.’

  Ennis looked to Pierre Ros who was already fidgeting with his briefcase.

  ‘Yes here is your copy of the new pages,’ he said passing the papers to Driss.

  ‘As you can see there are the three distinct areas in the agreement, the first for the museum, the second is for the research programme and the third is for field work at the Thomas quarries and the Atlas sites.’

  ‘So it looks like everything is in order,’ Driss said looked through the papers.

  ‘So would you like some tea or coffee’ Driss asked as the secretary entered the conference room.

  It was eleven thirty; El Malik was over half an hour late. Ennis hoped there were no difficulties at with the minister. They shuffled the papers and made small talk, as there was no way they could precede without El Malik’s presence. The secretary came back with the tea and coffee and whispered something in Arab to Driss.

  ‘Please excuse me a couple of moments, I must attend to something.’

  Ennis gave Ros a questioning smile; it appeared there might be a hitch.

  At that moment Driss returned in a fluster and was followed by a dignified El Malik, impeccable as usual, he was tall and elegant, dressed in an immaculately tailored pin strip suit, from a Parisian tailor without any doubt, and as calm as an eagle.

  ‘Je suis desolé, I’m sorry I am late I was held up for an urgent question at the palace.’

  ‘So gentlemen what is your reply, you’ve discussed our remarks with Paris?’

  ‘Yes, we have re-examined the conditions of the agreement to suit your wishes.’ Ennis offered passed the documents to El Malik.

  El Malik paused knitting his eyebrows in concentration he scrutinised the documents.

  ‘Gentlemen can I ask you to leave us for a few moments whilst we discuss this together.’ he said.

  They stood up and left the room. Driss showed them into a small office further down the corridor and left them alone. Ennis looked out the window, which gave out onto the back of the building. Some moments later the secretary brought them more coffee.

  Twenty minutes passed, they hardly spoke.

  The door opened it was the secretary.

  ‘Monsieur El Malik is ready for you Mr Ennis, could you ask the other gentlemen to wait.’

  Ennis entered the office, there was an air of tension, Driss was no longer there, another person seemed to have taken his place.

  ‘So gentlemen, we have examined your conditions and are ready to make a decision, which appear to be acceptable, however the French financial participation is still inadequate!’ he paused and lifted his eyebrows. He raised his hand to stop any protest that Ennis might offer.

  ‘However we are ready to do business if you can extend the field work to the aerial survey we are doing of the fossil beds in the Anti Atlas!’ He made a sign to the person on his left whom Ennis seemed to vaguely recognise, he paused again letting it sink in, ‘If you can that then we can shake hands.’

  Ennis paused in reflection, it would be unwise to jump up and accept instantaneously. He turned over the pages he held in his hand in a semblance of hesitation, it was not his prerogative; it was a question for the French. Pierre looked at him and he nodded indicating that he should accept.

  ‘Monsieur El Malik,’ said Pierre, ‘as you know this is a decision for Paris, however, I can say quite unofficially that your proposals are very reasonable and will be accepted.’

  Pierre stood up and held out his hand. El Malik did likewise, the tension fell away
as they shook hands and they all broke out into broad smiles. El Malik nodded to his administration man, who stood up and left the room.

  ‘All of the documents are ready,’ he said looking at Benani.

  ‘Yes Madame Hammadouche has prepared all the files.’

  ‘Well gentlemen I think we are in agreement and Mr Driss and his staff have informed me that we have come to an agreement on all the so called technical points, there is just one point that he feels we should re-examine.’ he paused causing Ennis a surge of anxiety. ‘That is the name of the new fossil man, we would like it named Homo berberisis.’

  ‘I don’t think that will be a problem,’ Pierre said with a broad smile.

  The secretary discretely slipped into the conference room with a folder containing the different documents, which she handed to Benani.

  ‘Eh bien! We can start the signatures if you are in agreement.’

  The contents had already been approved and El Malik handed one to Benani who compared them to the copies in his possession whilst they perused their own knowing already that the conformed to the agreed copies.

  ‘So Monsieur Benani will start initialling and signing this one if your party will commence with the other,’ said El Malik.

  The contracts were then exchanged for the other party to sign and on completion Benani stood up smiling and held out his hand to Pierre Ros and Brun the official representative of the Centre d’Evolution Humain and the CNRS.

  ‘Congratulations, I sincerely hope that this is the start of a long and fruitful cooperation in this agreement, we look forward to our cooperation partners in this ambitious programme.’

  Pierre Ros beamed and Brun grinned, mumbling some suitable phrase for the occasion, whilst Ennis was thinking about their departure to the south.

  That evening they were invited by El Malik at the Rabat Hyatt for dinner to celebrate their agreement in the exclusive Bedouin restaurant designed in the style of the traditional desert tent. A six-piece orchestra played traditional Arab music, lancing sounds that slowly induced a hypnotic state on its listeners.

  Ennis was to the right of El Malik who was acting out the role of a regale host and Pierre sat to his left. They were offered aperitifs and wine to accompany a succession of dishes, including those Moroccan favourites of pigeon pastilla and lamb tagine with prunes and almonds, as they listened to a succession of different singers of classical Arabic music.

  El Malik made small talk and as the dinner progressed he became slowly aware of a message being passed over in a typical parabolic fashion wrapped in suave innuendo as Arabs of high breeding are in the practice of using.

  ‘You understand Mr Ennis it is essential that you respect your promises for our contract, there is a lot at stake.’ Ennis was not sure if he was talking of his own side of the agreement or the contract with the CNRS.

  ‘Our institution has the responsibility of fulfilling its engagements and this is most important for those of us who wish to develop our scientific research concerning our rich Moroccan prehistory.’ Ennis listened with a practised demonstration of keen enthusiasm and sincerity designed to say that he could be trusted.

  ‘It is imperative that the instructions that are communicated to you by my staff led by Mr Driss are respected and followed up in a discreet and confidential manner.’

  Ennis nodded.

  ‘Good I am pleased to see that you understand, let us watch the show and relax now, remember that we consider a man’s word as a question of honour.’ His smile did not soften his piercing eyes.

  At that moment an oriental dancer stepped into view, her skin was pale and she was astonishingly beautiful, dancing with striking skill and force, full of natural presence and grace. Ennis was hypnotised, she was like a beam of moonlight in contrast to the oriental dancers he had ever seen. He could not remove his eyes from her as he was carried into a fantasy of dreams away from the negotiations of the previous days.