“Drink up!” she cried for all to hear. “Drink up and let your mouths find sweet words for each other!”
Gnawa musicians were moving through the tent making a deafening clatter with their qarqabas and bass drums. They were a group of freed slaves who lived in shacks outside the city gates and entertained people at festivals and processions. Children swarmed around them excitedly, stuffing silver coins in the pockets of their garments adorned with cowrie shells and crying, “Yalla, yalla! Faster, faster!” as the men turned in circles to the beat.
After the gnawa came a group of nomadic Marrakchi people, who breathed fire and swallowed swords. They were accompanied by Berber women who danced with snakelike agility. Malika jumped to her feet and joined them. The men gave her admiring—and the women shocked—looks as the silver coins she had woven into her hair jingled and her embroidered skirt whirled around her legs.
Emily could not dance because her dress was too heavy. She sat on a round leather pouf next to Sabri’s grandmother’s chair and helped her spoon quince puree and chopped lamb onto a small piece of flatbread.
“My grandson was right to take you,” said the old woman and patted Emily’s cheek with shaky fingers.
Sabri stood with Oscar, André, John, and Thomas in the back of the tent. Oscar had already drunk plenty of the heady French wine and was describing at length how he had, at the tender age of sixteen, helped Eton beat Harrow in a legendary cricket match.
“Cricket is a sport that you in the East really must adopt,” he decided and slapped Sabri’s shoulder. “That’s how a man learns team spirit, fair play, and seizing your chance at the right moment. Just the qualities a good businessman needs!”
“That’s all well and good, Uncle Oscar, but Sabri is a doctor.” Thomas chuckled. “Has he told you that we plan to take the empty rooms at the maristan and turn them into modern operating rooms?”
“Has Uncle Oscar told you that we are planning to visit Tangier together?” John interrupted.
Thomas held out his champagne glass for a servant to fill. “So you really mean to leave Mogador?”
His brother shrugged. “Businessmen need to be wherever their business is. Trade is shifting to the north of Morocco, where Europe and Africa, the Atlantic and the Pacific intersect.”
Oscar nodded. “We’re going to explore the possibility of establishing a trading station in Tangier.”
“First we must see that the port there is suitable for steamships made of steel,” John added with a sparkle in his eyes, thinking of his father-in-law’s steelworks.
But Thomas seemed doubtful. “Does Mother know of your plans? I cannot imagine that she’ll agree.”
“Our mother is a clever woman,” John replied firmly. “She is well aware that the Europeans are putting pressure on the sultan to open Morocco even more to international trade. And that, of course, is going to happen first in the northern cities, where our influence is greatest.”
“It seems that all of us have new challenges to face,” Sabri said and looked over at André. “What are your plans, Ab?” Since his return from Lisbon, he had been addressing André with the Arabic word for father.
“I shall transfer more responsibilities to Frédéric and Christian to prepare them for the day when they must run Qasr el Bahia by themselves. I would like André Jr. to attend school in Mogador. He has a sharp mind. And further than that . . .” He stopped. Since Aynur’s death, he had lived from day to day and avoided looking too far ahead. It was as though his old place in life was gone and he had not yet found a new one.
His eyes fell on Sibylla. She was laughing and applauding the dancers. He thought how wonderful it had been to spend a few days and nights before the wedding as a guest under her roof. He had been conscious of her nearness the whole time, even when she was in a different room. He stifled a sigh when he realized how much he would miss her when he returned to Qasr el Bahia.
At that moment, she turned around and looked over at him with a little smile on her face, and André knew what he wished for his future.
As the sun went down, Emily and Sabri snuck away. While the festivities inside the tent were still in full swing, they stood together on the beach and watched the orange ball of light slowly sink into the ocean. Finally, there was nothing left but a glimmer of light on the black water.
Emily had taken off her shoes and wriggled her toes in the sand. The wind smelled of salt, and laughter and music from the tent mingled with the steady rush of the waves.
Sabri put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Are you happy, Emily?”
“Deliriously, my love.” She clung to him. “This is just the beginning!”
André took a bottle of wine, two glasses, and an oil lamp from a table in the back of the tent. It was the same dark wine that he had drunk with Sibylla many years before in the ruins of the Portuguese church.
“I want to show you something,” he told her. “Will you come?”
She looked at him from the side and noticed the smile wrinkles that danced around his eyes, the curly hair now streaked with gray, the narrow scar on his temple. The last two years had left their mark on him, and she felt their connection more deeply than ever.
“I would love to,” she replied.
André’s smile deepened. He placed his hand on her back and guided her through the throng of partiers.
Outside, it was almost dark. Torches were burning around the tent. In the day’s last light, Sibylla saw a man and a woman standing close to each other on the beach. She nudged André and whispered, “Look, it’s Emily and Sabri.”
He looked in the direction she indicated. “It seems they won’t be needing us anymore today.”
“And you?” she asked with a throbbing heart. “What is it you wanted to show me?”
Grinning sheepishly, he pointed to the neck of the wine bottle protruding from his pocket. Then he turned away from the water and pointed to the city wall, where the ruins of the old Portuguese church rose above the flat roofs of the houses. The destroyed walls of the steeple were black against the dark blue sky. “Do you recall that we were once very happy there?”
“How could I ever forget?” she whispered.
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. Then he led her away from the beach and the tent, in which the wedding guests would celebrate Emily and Sabri’s future life together until daybreak.
The hinges of the door to the old church creaked as they opened. The interior was completely black. There was a smell of dust and the refreshing coolness of stone. Stars twinkled through the broken roof. André slipped off his jacket, laid it on the ground, and pulled Sibylla down with him. She heard a cork pop, then smelled the delicate aroma of the wine.