The Moors Last Sigh

they disappeared down the aisle, they seemed to be having quite a giggle together, and I had the impression that they must be having a laugh at my expense. I could find no explanation for what had happened, and so fell back into a deep and, this time, dreamless sleep. I never saw Eduvigis Refugio again. I allowed myself to imagine that she was a sort of phantom of the air, called forth by my own desires. No doubt such houris did float up here, above the clouds. They could pass through the aircraft’s walls whenever they chose.
    You will see that I had entered an unfamiliar state of mind. The place, language, people and customs I knew had all been removed from me by the simple act of boarding this flying vehicle; and these, for most of us, are the four anchors of the soul. If one adds on the effects, some of them delayed, of the horrors of the last days, then perhaps it is possible to see why I felt as if all the roots of my self had been torn up like those of the flying trees from Abraham’s atrium. The new world I was entering had given me an enigmatic warning, a shot across my bows. I must remember that I knew nothing, understood nothing. I was alone in a mystery. But at least there was a quest; I must cling to that. That was my direction, and by pursuing it as energetically as I could, I might come in time to comprehend this surreal foreignness whose meanings I could not begin, as yet, to decode.
    I changed planes at Madrid, and was relieved to have left that strange crew behind. On the much smaller plane south I kept myself very much to myself, hugging Jawaharlal and answering all offen of food and wine with a curt, negative shake of the head. By the time I arrived in Andalusia the memory of my transcontinental flight was fading. I could no longer call to mind the faces or voices of the three attendants who had, I was now convinced, conspired to play a practical joke on me, no doubt selecting me because it was my maiden flight, a fact I may have revealed to Eduvigis Refugio – yes, indeed, now that I thought about it, I was sure I had. Apparently air travel was not nearly as enlivening as Eduvigis had suggested; those who were condemned to interminable, altered hours in the sky had to lend a little cheer to their lives, a little erotic thrill, by playing games with virgins such as I. Well, good luck to them! They had taught me a lesson about keeping my feet on the ground, and, after all, given my decrepit condition, any offer of sex rated as a positively charitable act.
    I emerged from the second plane into brilliant sunlight and intense heat – not the ‘rotten heat’, heavy and humid, of my home town, but a bracing, dry heat that was much easier on my ruined, rackety lungs. I saw mimosa trees in bloom, and hills dotted with olive groves. The feeling of strangeness had not left me, however. It was as if I hadn’t quite arrived, or not all of me, or perhaps the place I’d landed in wasn’t exactly the right place – almost, but not quite. I felt dizzy, deaf, old. Dogs barked in the distance. My head ached. I was wearing a big leather coat and sweating hard. I should have drunk some water on the flight.
    ‘A vacation?’ a man in uniform asked me when it was my turn.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What will you see? While you are here you must see our great sights.’
    ‘I hope to see some pictures by my mother.’
    ‘That is a surprising hope. Do you not have many pictures of your mother in your own country?’
    ‘Not “of”. “By”.’
    ‘I do not understand. Where is your mother? Is she here? In this place, or in another place? Are you visiting relatives?’
    ‘She is dead. We were estranged and now she is dead.’
    ‘The death of a mother is a terrible thing. Terrible. And now you hope to find her in a foreign land. It is unusual. Maybe you will not have time for tourism.’
    ‘No, maybe not.’
    ‘You must make time. You must see our great sights. Definitely! It is necessary. You comprehend?’
    ‘Yes. I comprehend.’
    ‘What is the dog? Why is the dog?’
    ‘It is the former Prime Minister of India, metamorphosed into canine form.’
    ‘Never mind.’
    I spoke no Spanish, so I was unable to haggle with the taxi-drivers. ‘Benengeli,’ I said, and the first cabbie shook his head and walked away, spitting copiously. The second named a number that had no meaning for me. I had come to a place where I did not know the names of things or the motives for men’s deeds. The universe was absurd. I