‘The merchant told the policeman about his dream and how a man had appeared telling him to seek his fortune in the city beyond the mountains. “But when I got here, the only things I received were the blows you and your men bestowed upon me with such generosity.”
‘The head of the police burst out laughing. “What a fool you are! I, too, have been told things in my dreams. In fact, three times a man has appeared to me and said that I must travel to a town on the other side of the mountains, where I will find a fine house with a white marble courtyard. In the centre of the courtyard I will find a fountain carved with peacocks and, if I dig beneath that fountain, I will find a casket filled with gold that has been buried there. But am I as great a fool as you? Would I go all the way across the mountains because of words that came to me in a dream? Of course not! What an idiot you have been.”
‘The merchant said nothing, but as soon as he was released from jail he hurried home to his town on the other side of the mountains. In the white marble courtyard, beneath the peacock-carved fountain, he discovered the buried treasure that had lain there all along. Thus were the words of his dream fulfilled.’
I lower the book and watch the stars flicker on the wall by Grace’s bed, mulling over what I’ve just read. It’s a story that’s been told and retold time and time again down the ages in various different forms, the saga of the search for something that turns out to have been hidden within all along. Is that what Tom and I are doing here? Are we searching for answers when really, all this time, we’ve held the key to them within ourselves? I think about our relationship and wonder, fleetingly, where Tom is right now. Is he really still at his desk, making calls beneath the stark fluorescent strip lights of the shipping office? Or is he somewhere else? A restaurant or a bar, maybe, with some of his colleagues, unable to face another silent and awkward dinner here with me. Or with just one of his colleagues, perhaps. When I go through his jacket pockets before I take his suit to the cleaner’s, will I find a receipt for a dinner for two, printed with tonight’s date? It wouldn’t be the first time. We were still living in Bristol and he’d said he’d be working late, just like he had today. The following day I found the receipt. That evening, when he came home, I handed him the slip of paper – a bill for two steaks and an expensive bottle of red wine. I scanned his face carefully, watching for any sign of guilt, but he just thanked me and said he’d be needing it to claim against expenses as it was from a rather tedious business dinner with an insurance broker. I didn’t say anything. I don’t know whether he was telling the truth or not, but either way the seeds of doubt had lodged themselves in my mind, taking root there and beginning to grow, fed by his coldness and the distance that was building between us, their tendrils silently twining their way into my thoughts.
I watch the candlelight cast its stars across the walls of Grace’s room, then glance back down at the book on my lap.
Do I already know the answers to the questions I’ve travelled so far to find? Perhaps they’ve been there all along, in my dreams.
Josie’s Journal – Friday 28th February, 1941
It’s the last day of February and there’s still no sign of our visas for America, despite Papa spending several more mornings queuing at the consulate to try to see where they’ve got to. There are so many refugees in Casablanca now and everyone wants a visa. Maman is getting quite anxious, especially since there seem to be a lot more German soldiers around these days. The Afrika Korps is helping the Italian army to fight the British in Libya and they come to Casablanca for a rest sometimes. They career through the city in their grey trucks with the black and white crosses painted on the sides, making pedestrians scatter as they carve their way through the streets, and you see them sitting in groups at the cafés, ordering glasses of beer and guffawing raucously. Somehow you get the sense they are always laughing at you, not with you. Maman is careful to lower her eyes as we hurry past on our way to the shops or the hairdresser, not making eye contact. They’ve completely taken over some of the bars, where they get drunk and behave badly, so Papa tends to stick to the Hotel Transatlantique when he wants a cigar and an aperitif. He says he’s having to ration his cigars now as well, because it’s harder to buy them and the price has gone up a lot. Maman says that’s a good thing. She doesn’t like him smoking them in the house, which is one of the reasons he goes out so much.
Gasoline is another thing that’s rationed and is now a lot more expensive. Papa says we can go to the farm to go riding again sometimes but not every week. He said we’ll still go on an expedition to the mountains one day but we need to save up for it. I got a bit worried then and asked him if we were running out of money, but he just ruffled my hair and told me not to concern myself about that, we’re still very fortunate not to have those sorts of worries. He did buy Maman a beautiful gold bracelet for their 20th wedding anniversary last weekend and she still goes to the salon to get her hair and nails done every week, so I guess we must be okay.