Standing in opulent splendour, this place might have been a palace. A mansion dating from the colonial era, it had been restored beyond its former glory, every wall a pleasant colour which could almost be described as tangerine, but lighter, paler so as to enhance the superb natural light, which struggled to conquer the mansion’s forbidding outer wall each morning but which, once the sun was high enough, bathed an immaculately manicured garden in sunlight until dusk.

As if to offer a contrast as delicate as a souffle, the house’s window frames and its awnings had been painted the purest white, like arctic snow. Ornate, decorative columns, also painted white, and strong, sturdy mahogany doors completed the scene.

In the garden, the sound of running water disturbed the irregular chink of cutlery. At this time of the day, it provided a gentle cooling effect, before the day became oppressively hot. Guests trickled from their bedrooms, settling themselves at teak breakfast tables which had been spaced liberally on the still-shady patio surrounding the fountain.

A tall waiter, dressed incorrectly in evening wear, but otherwise immaculate, led four guests to one of the tables, then disappeared to fetch some cool mineral water as they pondered their menus. It was a safe bet. Whatever else the guests might order, in this hot, humid climate, to which most of them were unaccustomed, people always wanted water.

“So what did you guys do yesterday? Did you find anywhere worth seeing?”, asked Brandi. Both couples, friends from home, were part of the tour party which had arrived two days ago. They had had yesterday and today at leisure in the city, were due an excursion up into the highlands tomorrow, then would move on to their next destination on Friday.

“Oh, Bill and I were still pooped after the flight. And it was so hot yesterday! We felt like we were in an oven. So we spent most of the day hunkered up in the room”, replied Taylor, adding, “we didn’t get out until about five, and just walked around the neighbourhood. Did you know there’s a beautiful park just along the road, which leads right down to the river? And there are some wonderful old houses.” Not surprising. The hotel was located in the colonial district, a respectable distance out of the Old Town. The Europeans had known how to look after themselves. “What about you two?”

“We walked into the city. then found this market and… oh Taylor, it was awesome. All these spices! Every colour you could possibly imagine. And the smell down there was to die for!”

“We had to watch out for the locals, though”, interrupted Gerry. “Soon as they heard American voices, they were after our money.”

“Yeah, you gotta watch out for that. All they ever want to do is to take. Gotta watch ‘em”, Bill re-affirmed, taking a sip from the freshly-arrived water.

The waiter held off for a break in the conversation, before jumping in. “Sirs? Ladies? Have you decided on your breakfasts yet, please?”

Their breakfasts ordered, the group returned to their conversation.

“Say, Brand? That’s one crazy-looking top you’re wearing this morning”, complimented Taylor on her friend’s clothing.

“Isn’t it? It’s all brand new, too, bought it from Tiger Lilly’s over in the Westover Mall. Just before we flew out. Got a whole bunch of them, specially for the vacation. Less than a hundred bucks, too, the lot. I figured, ‘so what if they fall apart when I wash ‘em?’. They only gotta last these next two weeks.”

“Now, that’s what I call a good deal”, laughed Gerry. “And mighty pretty with it”, he proclaimed, squeezing Brandi’s ass.

The local market sounded intriguing, however, and she and Gerry agreed to show Taylor and Bill, once breakfast was finished.

❖

Late again! This was the second time this month, and as she hurried toward the Old Town, Amara prayed that Tuk would, for once, not notice her absence. It had been hard enough to find this job in the first place, and though the work was hard and the hours long, it provided a lifeline for both her children and her ageing parents. Only last month, on top of all her other expenses, she had managed to replace Papa’s reading glasses, the old ones missing a lens and held together for so long with fragments of disintegrating sticky paper.

So no, she could not lose this job, she thought, as her slight frame scurried faster towards the factory, her stumbling steps betraying her growing anxiety. Her goal was not helped by the row of four in front of her. In these narrow streets, the four stretched almost the entire width of the road. Tourists, she presumed. Clean and well-dressed, they had no hurry, and as she neared them, she heard foreign voices. But she must pass them, for fear of Tuk! Thinking she could see a small gap between the third and fourth, Amara made her move.

At that moment, though, the fourth one turned. This tall, enormous giant of a man was clearly a foreigner, and it was just as well he was wearing a fanny pack, for it broke Amara’s fall as, misjudging the gap, she tumbled to the ground. The man, though, hardly seemed to notice, turning around to see Amara on the street,  checking the zipper on his bag before helping her to her feet.

“Are you all right, little lady?”

Amara stammered an apology, before hurrying past the group.

“Damn locals are in a hurry to get everywhere! Did you see that?”, muttered Gerry, barely slowing, while at the same time, his wife consoled him.

“What’s the matter, hon? Are you okay?”

At a tiny, barely noticeable alley, Amara paused briefly to dust herself down. Fortunately, she felt no injuries, and darted past the street vendor on the corner. At the end of the passage stood a ramshackle factory.

Outside the door of the three-storey dilapidated building, litter was scattered, the sort of scene which the tourists never lay eyes upon. Two tired workers stood gossiping.

No time for pleasantries. “Where’s Tuk?”, interrupted Amara as she approached. “Have you seen him?” While she recognised the women, one about her age, one much younger, she had never spoken to either before. Her haste must have given her away, though.

“In his office. Door closed all morning. So, if I were you, I’d get in there quickly, before he comes out and notices you’re missing.”

Amara hardly broke step, climbing the flight of wrought-iron steps in record time as she entered the dingy, grimy factory. Seeing the office door still closed, she swiftly took her place at her ancient sewing machine.