The Storyteller of Casablanca (20)
Once we’ve finished our coffees, I gather my bags together and we go our separate ways. I’d spotted a bookseller on the way to the craft shop and I head back there now. Most of the books on the shelves are in French or Arabic, but they have a small selection in English, as well as a children’s corner. I spend some time browsing and then carry the pile of books I’ve chosen for Grace over to the till. I’ve picked up three Miffy picture books, a book of African folk tales and a beautifully illustrated copy of Tales from the Thousand and One Nights. The last one is more for me to read, but I know she’ll enjoy looking at the pictures with their vibrant colours and intricate patterns, as I tell her Scheherazade’s stories about the adventures of Aladdin and Sinbad the Sailor, even if she doesn’t understand the words yet. Then I head for the taxi rank and home to stash all my new purchases away in Grace’s room.
Josie’s Journal – Sunday 16th February, 1941
Papa and Maman have been to the American consulate today for their interview. When they came back they were both in high spirits. ‘They loved your maman,’ Papa told us. ‘Of course they loved her, everyone does. But she charmed them completely and the vice-consul we saw said he’s going to do all he can to get our application processed as quickly as possible.’
Annette was very pleased at this news, but I didn’t feel quite as excited as I thought I should. I’ll miss Nina and Kenza and Miss Ellis, and Mademoiselle Dubois at the library. I’m reading Jane Eyre at the moment and it’s brilliant. Annette said, ‘Beware of the mad woman in the attic,’ and I said, ‘That’s no way to refer to your own sister,’ which made her laugh a lot.
When he’s not at the American consulate or meeting friends for a vermouth cassis at the Hotel Transatlantique, Papa still sometimes goes to meetings in the mellah. I asked him if I could come too one day because I’d like to see if I could bump into Felix again before we leave. Papa said it wouldn’t be possible for me to come to any of the meetings and anyway I’d find them very boring. But he told me he’d ask around and pass on our address to a man who comes along to the meetings who seems to know everyone in the Jewish Quarter. That way, the man can remind Felix where we are, if he comes across him, and maybe Felix can come and visit us one day soon. I’d like that. I can introduce him to Nina too.
Annette started teasing me, saying I’m pining for my boyfriend. I did my best to ignore her. She’s going to a dance at the Hotel Excelsior tomorrow night with a group of friends, but it’s very obvious that she mentions one called Olivier more than the others. So I wondered out loud whether Laurence Olivier is heartbroken that he’s been replaced in her affections by a substitute who shares one of his names and that made her shut up.
Miss Ellis has been teaching me about how to use colons and semicolons in my writing. They are useful for complicated lists. E.g. The British army has captured the following cities in Libya: Bardia; Beda Fomm; Benghazi; and, with the help of the Australians, Tobruk and Derna.
We’re also taking it in turns to read chapters of Jane Eyre out loud, which is much more fun than learning grammar. The other day while it was my turn to read, Papa popped his head round the door and handed Miss Ellis another one of those mysterious brown envelopes. She put it to one side without even looking at it. But later on, when she left me grappling with semicolons and went to powder her nose, I noticed it wasn’t stuck down and snuck a quick look to see what was inside it. It was just some boring-looking lists of places and numbers. Not a semicolon in sight!
Maman has booked our riding lesson for Thursday morning.
Josie’s Journal – Thursday 20th February, 1941
Today we went to the farm for our riding lesson. Papa decided we should make it a family day out and hired a car. He called it our chariot and told me it was a 1936 Dodge Sedan. Maman looked at it a bit doubtfully as it was quite dilapidated and had a few dents, but I was excited that it was ours for the whole day and we could go wherever we wanted. Kenza had made us a picnic and Papa loaded the baskets of food and crockery into the trunk. Then we all piled in and set off. At first the car made some crunching sounds and jumped and stalled a few times because Papa wasn’t used to the controls. But then he got a bit better at driving it and things went more smoothly. We opened the windows as wide as they’d go so that the wind cooled us down as we sped through the streets of the city. Soon we had to shut them, though, because Annette complained it was messing up her hair. I pointed out that we were going to ride horses, not out dancing with Olivier and Co. But as we were now on a country road and there was a lot of dust coming in too, Maman said she thought we really did need the windows closed.
After about an hour we arrived at the farm. It had lots of silvery olive groves and also some rows of trees with glossy green leaves, which Papa said were orange orchards. It was a very beautiful place. There was a neat white fence around a paddock of horses. In the distance was a backdrop of hazy blue mountains and it felt very peaceful. I said that I’d like to go and explore the mountains sometime and Papa said we might be able to go on an expedition further afield one day, now he’s got the hang of the car.
Annette and I were to have our riding lesson straight away, before the sun got too hot, so we went to the stables where white doves were cooing softly to each other from little nesting boxes in the eaves. A very nice man called Hamid was saddling up our horses. Mine was a lovely chestnut mare with a white blaze on her forehead and her name was Najima, which means ‘star’. Annette’s was called Marguerite because she was as white as the wild daisies flowering around the edge of the pasture.