Our route took us through town after town, white houses decorated with garlands of red peppers drying in the sun, and in between, roads lined with acacia and olive trees, through which the outline of distant mountains could be seen. We passed two-wheeled carts pulled by donkeys that looked as if they were three thousand years old, sheep herded by nomads, and dromedaries tethered to posts in the sand.
The group was particularly excited about this part of the trip. At Tozeur, they would transfer to four-wheel-drive vehicles to head out into the desert for two days. Once they'd seen Sufetula, they were impatient to be on their way.
But first there was the market in Tozeur to visit. I like Tozeur. It has something of the air of a frontier town to it, with its dusty streets and a kind of collective thumbing of the nose at authority. At one time it was more powerful in the region than the national government in Tunis, and it has retained the feel of the real North Africa, despite the influx of tourists. One can imagine still the sounds, sights, and smells of the great caravans that passed through here, attracted by both the vibrant marketplace, and the hundreds of springs that water the oasis.
It was harvest time for the dates, the delicate, almost translucent deglat en nour, finger of light. They hung in large branches from every stall. The place was a hive of activity. Donkey carts jostled for position with trucks, our group mingled with the locals: women, wrapped in the black sifsari common to the town, some with faces covered, shopping for their families, carpet weavers plying their trade right on the street, outside their little stalls packed with the brightly colored carpets whose patterns mimic the dramatic architecture for which Tozeur is famous. Buildings there are constructed of handmade yellow bricks, some pulled out slightly when they are laid to create intricate and three-dimensional geometric designs.
Over to one side, a blind man hawked roses de sable, sand roses, beautiful crystalline shapes created by moisture, dew perhaps, sifting through the sand dunes, and over time, hardening to create wonderful sculptural shapes. Farther along, a camel munched on its food. And everywhere there were red and white flags and huge pictures of Zine el-Abidine Ben Ali, President of the Republic of Tunisia, whose ascension to power on November 7, 1987 was being celebrated right across the country.
By now the group had adjusted to Tunisian-style commerce, and, getting into the swing of things, were bargaining for gifts and souvenirs with real aplomb.
Chastity stood off by herself, once again. This time she was staring at a newsstand. The proprietor became annoyed with her, and I went to her rescue. She pointed to a newspaper. "I want one of those," she said.
"You can't read it, Chastity," I said. "It's in Arabic."
"I want it," she said petulantly. "Hedi can tell me what it says. I've got some money."
"Okay," I said, helping her with the coins. An Arabic newspaper would make a souvenir of a different sort for her, but as I handed it over, I saw Rashid Houari's picture. It was just as well Chastity couldn't read Arabic, and that I couldn't either.
Then, at last, it was time for dinner, which we'd arranged to have served at two large tables beside the hotel pool. The evening was lovely, warm enough, and the moon glowed over the palm trees of the oasis in the distance.
It had been a trying day, in many respects, arranging for the luggage to be stored at the auberge for our return, and getting the smaller bags on and off the bus. Marlene insisted on bringing her large suitcase, and Chastity's. She wasn't for leaving anything behind. The hotel rooms had to be rearranged. We'd canceled Rick's and Kristi's rooms, of course, days earlier, and Catherine's the day before. However, the hotel was overbooked, and I had trouble finding space for Hedi and Briars, although eventually it worked out all right.
After dinner I was eager to get back to my research, reading through a lot of material I'd printed off the Web before we set off, but there were many little details to attend to first. The zipper on Jimmy's bag had broken, which would be a problem in the desert sands, and so I had to find someone to repair it for him overnight.
Susie needed to be soothed about the desert. "Could there be snakes in the tents?" she asked.
"I hope not," Ed declared.
"Of course not," I replied.
Cliff needed reassurance that the gift for his daughter was taken care of. I told him I'd keep looking for the puppet. He didn't know I'd already found three, and I left him none the wiser, because I couldn't bear the thought of calling Rashid's brother and asking if I could still purchase them. Instead I showed Cliff some spectacular bracelets I'd found in the market, telling him we wouldn't give up on the puppet yet, but with the bracelets, we'd be sure of having something for his daughter, no matter what. He appeared satisfied by that, and said he might take them both.
"I should get something for Nora, too," he said. "A memento of the trip. She hasn't bought anything for herself."
I thought the bracelets too restrained for Nora, who that evening was wearing very tight white pants, a cherry-colored low-neck blouse with pink and white ruffles, and very high-heeled slip-on sandals festooned with yellow and green plastic flowers. I suggested some more elaborate filigree earrings for her.
"Oh, the bracelets are for my daughter," he said. "If you find the puppet, I'll give her both. I think Nora would like the earrings, though."
As I watched Nora teeter about on the sandals, I made a mental note to tell her to wear her jogging shoes for the trip into the dunes. She was not looking well at all. When I really looked at her, I could see she was quite pretty, but she didn't know how to make the most of what she had. Colors that were rather charming on Susie did not suit Nora. It was as if she had never really looked at herself in a mirror to see what colors would flatter her. Her bottle-blond hair had not fared well in the North African sun, turning very brassy. I thought of Kristi's mean-spirited comments about her, and wished I could treat Nora to a day at my friend Moira's spa. But it was more than that: There seemed to be some profound sadness at the core of Nora's being, something that had twisted a good nature into something else, a woman who had to dominate Cliff in a way that corrupted her generous impulse to care for him. I didn't think I would ever understand Nora, but I hoped the gesture she had made toward Chastity was a new beginning for her.
"What kind of thing do you invest in, Cliff?" I asked, turning my attention back to him.
He looked startled at the abrupt change of subject, but answered right away. One thing you'd have to say about Cliff is that he was polite to a fault. Perhaps that was why Nora got to boss him around so much. He was too courteous to object. "Right now, Internet stocks, digital media, that kind of thing," he said. "Along with the usual safe blue-chip companies. I try to keep some of my money in secure investments, and have a little fun with the rest."
"Would having a little fun extend to say, a marine salvage company looking for treasure under the sea?"
"Absolutely not," he replied. "I'm not that adventurous. Funny you should mention it, though. That fellow Rick Reynolds suggested I might be interested in putting money into just that kind of thing. I told him he was crazy. If you're suggesting it, I'm afraid I'd have to tell you the same thing."
"I'm not for a minute suggesting it," I assured him. "It's just that I keep hearing that Rick did talk to a few people about it, and I was a bit worried some might take him up on it. I'm not sure Rick was quite what he said he was, as far as being an investment counselor."
"I got rather the same impression," Cliff said. "I hope no one was taken in."