Horse Under Water [antikvár]

1 Sweet talkMarrakech: Tuesday Marrakech is just what the guide-books say it is. Marrakech is an ancient walled city surrounded with olive groves and palm trees. Behind it rise the mountains of the high Adas and in the city the market place at Djemaa-el-Fna is alive with jugglers, dancers, magicians, story-tellers, snake-charmers and music. Marrakech is a fairy-tale city, but on this trip I didn't get to see much more of it tiian a fly-blown hotel room and the immobile faces of three Portuguese politicians.My hotel was in the old city; the Medina. The rooms were jBnished in brown and cream paint and the wall decorations were notices telling me not to do various things in French. From the next room came the sound of water dripping into the stained bath tub and the call of an indefatigable cricket, while through the broken fly-screens in the window came the musical sound of an Arab city selling its wares.I removed my tie and put it over the back of my chair. My shirt hung suddenly cold against the small of my back and I felt a dribble of sweat run gently down the side of my nose, hesitate and drop on to 'Sheet 128 : Transfer of sterling assets of Government of Portugal held in United Kingdom, Mandates or Dependencies to successor Government'.We sipped oversweet mint tea, munched ahnond, honey-sticky cakes, and I took comfort in the idea of being back in London inside twenty-four hours. This may be a miUion-aire's playground, but no self-respecting millionaire would be seen dead here in the summer. It was ten past four in the afternoon. The whole town was buzzing with flies13