12
Toreador’s Song, Carmen (Bizet)
Javier (thoughts)
September 17, morning
I put my hand on her shoulder and I squeeze it. Joline tenses under my fingers and fights off my grip before turning around. She has just bought two pounds of Moroccan pastries in the most famous shop of Old Casablanca. The entrance, which is hidden behind a blue corridor, reminds me of my room at the Palacio de la Virgen Mora in the old days.
“We don’t know each other very well,” I say. “Let’s have lunch; I know a restaurant near the sea with a nice view of the King Hassan II mosque, it’s inspiring.”
“No thanks. I’ll pass on the seaside. I like markets and kebab.”
I don’t move. She winces and she adds : “When the Sultan lets me out, I want to forget I belong to her.”
“So do I. That brings us together, at le
