Service

Perhaps the birds knew them because they wore white most of the time. Or perhaps it’s because they all had the same long angular shape that a bird’s eye could spot and a bird’s brain could remember. However it was done, the birds always knew they were coming. So when the birds appeared in the courtyard, or perched on the lamps or the terraces, we too knew they were coming, or perhaps were even already in the house. If we took the time to notice the birds, then the tension of their arrival (and the questions to come) was somewhat diminished.

The cats were a whole other story. While they came at a regular time, their coming seemed at first to be based on nothing other then their need. There were two of them at the beginning, both quite young, less then a year old. They were from the same litter perhaps, because they were easy with each other. They seldom arrived at exactly the same time, but the appearance of one later, did not disturb the earlier arrival. They were brazen enough to come into the house, but were not yet easy with human beings. Likely this would never happen. The staff seldom ran the cats off, but never fed them. We lay bowls of milk, leftover Poulet Mhamer, and bits of fish for them and watched them eat from respectful and hopefully uncommitted distances. The relationship was more closely related to the one we would have with the place as a whole. Mutual benefits bestowed (we gave them things, they amused and edified us by their acceptance) but it was a temporary arrangement and there would be other people after us in this place and other places we would go to. The services done would cancel out and then be over

And then there were the flies. The persistent, dim witted, don’t get the message, at least they don’t bite, flies. We were in an grove, who’s agricultural nature was gradually being pared away by the advance of fantasy houses and resorts. Amidst the occasional construction noises, the bray of a few camels, and the arrival of new guests, the flies seemed vengeful, a reminder of the previously short distant to the dung heap, and that the honored and useful services that would be lost could return in unexpected and unwanted ways.

And now about the people. First the guests. We had arrived at Sublime Allier, very, very tired. And delayed by perhaps six months. From it’s start, the year had been a wreak. The promised trip for Doris to Morocco had to be put off because of a heart operation and the complicated reaction to it, which unfortunately had included a stroke, and the long slow unfathomable recovery path we all were on. In fact it was two grand trips that had had to be canceled, one on the Residency, an ocean going luxury apt. building that promised delivery to the Seychelles and Zanzibar and other such places and this return to Morocco, with Sublime Allieres promise of a secluded retreat in the Palmerie outside of Marrakech.

We had been tending to Doris as she recovered, been up and down with her and at her and at ourselves. Bonnie had dragged herself through the cold winter, everyday to be at her mother’s bedside. This soul chilling obligatory behavior had produced bad feelings. The navigation through the maze of nursing homes, intensive care units, rehab centers, advanced care centers, medicare paperwork, good and bad advice, therapists, assisted living facilities, kind people, careless family, callous doctors, dishonest doctors, disingenuous doctors, scheming, egotistical, self-important, would operate on an orange doctors, had left us a little skidish of people who wanted to take care of us. Yet in our wary hearts, we really longed to be taken care of, to be helped, to be listened to, for somebody to really understand what we wanted. This of course always involved understanding yourself what it is you want but that comes later. We arrived at Sublime Allier very tired.