Post by Deleted on May 30, 2019 22:55:58 GMT -5
The Medina of Rabat was a bustling swirl of colors, smells, and sounds. Everywhere one looked there were all sorts of treasures, stalls filled to the brim with anything anyone could ever want- from shoes and clothes and fabrics, to fruit and flowers and fresh fish, jewelry of all sorts from gems in delicate filigree to colorful strings of beads, spices and teas of every kind. One stall was displaying gorgeous rugs and carpets, another intricate brass pots and kettles that it seemed almost a shame to cook with. There were stalls stocking curios and antiquities… and there were ones that sold, at least in this part of the world, something a little more unusual.
Bookshops weren’t common in a country whose storytelling traditions ran, for the most part, orally. But true to form for everything imaginable being available in the bustling marketplace, there was one stall with a pleasant-faced keeper manning it that stocked several shelves of books in French, English, and Arabic, including quite a few large, colorful coffee table volumes. Several people stopped, perused, and occasionally a sale was made. But one fellow- a man with the body of a giant but the blonde hair and peaceful-looking face of something a little closer to heaven- had stuck around for quite some time, carefully looking through any book that happened to catch his eye.
This was a welcome reprieve. Their first business trip for Valor Pro had turned vulgar. For John, he was used to hearing the ugliness that rolled off that woman’s tongue. It was more of the same and despite the voracity of those words, it was the nature of the beast when it came to competition. The hope that was after it was all said and done, they would respectfully separate. However one little turn of phrase had blown up all of their channels. John was sure that this “truth teller” would be apathetic to the consequences of such an action. After all, she didn’t have to live in their world.
So John and Mike turned all of that off and stepped away to where they were just two of thousands of American tourists in a bustling city. But even in the unfamiliarity of it all, he still found a piece of comfort. He looked briefly at what he considered the books that weren’t aids for the visitor. He briefly glanced at the landmark maps, the language guides, and the history books and went to a place he had an outsider’s fancy for. He found it, eye level, on a shelf at the far end of the stall. His fingers traced down the spine of a leather bound tome. A side by side translation of Sahih Muslim. A book of sayings from a prophet. John, himself, had a hard time buying into what this was, literally in the same way with any holy books he read in the past twenty years. But as he pulled the first volume of seven from its place and flipped it open, the wheels in his mind begin to blur, and time and space became irrelevant as he began to read…
...and meanwhile, too far away to be seen but not too far away to be quickly accessed, an androgynous redhead was in a discussion with a different stall’s vendor. Different bottles of different colors, shapes, and aromas surrounded them, and while Mike had to be incredibly careful not to break anything by accident, they were enjoying themselves. They were on a mission- an adventure, even, as this was something not usually in their wheelhouse.
Opening up one bottle, they took a sniff, lips quirking a bit in thought. It was good. But not perfect. After all, this wasn’t exactly for them- well, it was, but they wanted it to appeal to a certain sense. Something that reminded of home, of a gift given and cultivated with utmost care.
“Close, it’s close. It smells really good. But it ain’t quite what I’m looking for.”
The shopkeeper seemed perplexed as well. She was used to discerning customers perusing her wares, though. Shuffling through a few bottles, elegant fingers almost danced before settling on a phial of pale pink glass, the liquid inside swishing a bit as she handed it to the Bronx native.
“One of my finest works if I say so myself. Made from the best oils from the rose harvest and other essences. This will surely meet your desires.”
Mike carefully pulled the stopper from the bottle and inhaled. The heady floral scent of rose hit their nose first, but there! Right behind them were notes of sweet fruitiness- citrus oils, maybe- but mingling together, the scent was unmistakable. Just breathing it in brought to mind their own backyard. The visual of strong ungloved hands tilling up soil with a spade, nestling tender seedlings into the ground. Banishing any parasitic weeds. Tenderly pruning, never too much as if he didn’t want to cause the plants any more pain than necessary. And all around it all, a fragrance exuded from the garden’s crowning glory- lush orange roses with a fragrance almost exactly like this.
“It’s f… antastic! No, really, it’s perfect. Just what I was looking for. I’ll take it.”
They smiled broadly. In this moment they could forget, almost. Forget about being misjudged and seemingly despised by someone they barely knew. Someone that they’d actually liked and yet had made all sorts of vicious assumptions and called it truth. Someone who seemed oblivious to the fact they were being a bitchy know-it-all and actually didn’t know a damn thing.
But Mike could forget about that, and just focus on what John’s reaction would be to this fragrance. Paying the perfumier, they tucked the bottle carefully into their satchel along with the bundles of spices they’d picked up earlier… but not before dabbing a little of it on either side of their neck.
After all they’d had to deal with in this first chapter, Mike hoped that John’d find the scent of home as soothing to the soul as they did.