Page 25 of Under the Arabian Sky

Tariq popped his head around the door to look at me. “Are you decent?”

“Well, you’d know if I wasn’t, you’re practically already in the room.”

He laughed. “Just keeping you on your toes. How did you sleep?”

“Like a baby.”

“Oh dear, that bad? Was the bed not to your satisfaction?”

“No, I slept great. Sleeping like a baby is a good thing.”

“Really? How many babies have you put to bed in your time? I’m guessing none, otherwise you’d know that babies are terrible sleepers. They cry all night.”

“Precisely how many babies haveyouput to bed?”

“Plenty. Although they’ve all had feathers. Nevertheless, babies are babies, and none of them are known as deep sleepers. Who came up with such a terrible saying?”

I pondered this. “I have no idea, but you have a point.”

“I have clothes for you,” he said, holding up a traditional white robe exactly the same as the one he was wearing now, which was exactly the same as the one he’d worn yesterday. Over the hook of the hanger was a head-dress and a thick black cord, as well as something that looked like a light skirt.

“You want me to wear your clothes?”

“Of course. Look at what you’re wearing. After yesterday your clothes are a mess. There’s dried blood on your shirt collar.”

“There is?”

I plucked up my collar, trying to see, as Tariq laid the clothes out on the bed.

“This is called a kandura,” he said, pointing to the white garment and looking at me as though he wanted me to repeat after him as though I was four years old. I wasn’t sure whether he was being patronising or simply showing pride in his cultural heritage, but he clearly wanted me to oblige.

“Kandura,” I said.

“This is an underskirt to wear beneath the kandura. It’s called an ezar.” He then picked up the headpiece. “This is a ghutra and this black rope is called an agal. It holds the ghutra in place on your head.”

“Ghutra… agal… am I saying them right? More importantly, am I even allowed to wear these clothes? I mean, isn’t it considered cultural appropriation?”

“Not at all. Any man can wear these. We welcome visitors dressing as we dress. These clothes are cool and practical for our harsh desert conditions… not to mention, I think you’ll find you will look very handsome in them.”

“I will?”

He nodded and arched one eyebrow somewhat suggestively. “Indeed, you will. There is a towel and soap waiting for you in the bathroom down the hall. Once you’ve dressed, we’ll have breakfast downstairs.”

* * *

The breakfast table was set with gold-trimmed crockery, cloth napkins and enough platters of fruit, cheese, dates and flat bread to feed an entire Bedouin tribe. As Tariq gestured for me to take a seat, Zahra entered the room carrying a tray of coffee and a glass jug containing a white, cloudy drink.

“Good morning, Arthur. You look fresh as a daisy this morning.”

“I think it’s the clothes. They’re so… white.” I stretched out my arms, showing off the pristine sleeves of the kandura. It felt very strange wearing what was essentially a full-length dress… and yet there was no denying it was the most comfortable thing I’d ever worn.

“You look very… what’s the word… dapper,” said Tariq.

“Indeed, you do,” agreed Zahra. “I trust you slept well?”

“Wonderfully, thank you. Nothing like a baby.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Zahra said. “Babies are terrible sleepers.”

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