Читать книгу Behind Palace Walls - Cay Garcia - Страница 4

The beginning of the end

IT IS two o’ clock in the morning. The sandstorm is at its peak. The windows are rattling as if someone is hammering on them from the outside. The desert sand, like talcum powder, penetrates even though everything is tightly shut. It hangs in the air making breathing difficult.

The noise is unsettling. I am alone at home.

There’s a light knock on my bedroom door. My flat mate, Mona, who works in the same palace and has just returned from work, hands me a large envelope. She seems flustered as she relays the news, “You have to be out of the country today!” Her tension is evident in her shallow, rapid breathing, but the excitement in her eyes confirms my suspicion that there is much riding on this for her.

The envelope contains a flight ticket and an exit permit. This, at the whim of a princess who doesn’t have a clue what’s really going on beyond her bedroom door. Although I knew this was coming – and asked for it even – I reel at the finality. A flood of adrenalin propels me out of bed. I run two doors down into a wall of sand, to what has become my island in a storm.

We agree to stay awake the whole night and treasure the time left together. Exhilarating but utterly draining shows of emotion have us falling into an exhausted sleep at six in the morning.

Suddenly it is 10 o’clock. I feel bereft at the 11 hours left. The enormity of what I have to get done floors me and, quite frankly, I don’t know where to start.

The rest of the day plays off in slow motion, yet time has never moved faster. As I pack, I try to make sense of it all. Every surface is piled with clothes, beautiful pieces of material and artwork collected over the past four months. Six hours until take-off.