A Darker Light
A Darker Light
a novel
Heidi Priesnitz
Copyright © Heidi Priesnitz, 2003
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn
Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.
Editor: Barry Jowett
Copy-editor: Jennifer Bergeron
Design: Emma Kassirer
Printer: Transcontinental
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Priesnitz, Heidi, 1972–
A darker light / Heidi Priesnitz.
ISBN 1-55002-459-0
1. Title.
PS8581.R469D37 2003 C813'.54 C2003-904050-X
1 2 3 4 5 07 06 05 04 03
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and The Association for the Export of Canadian Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishers Tax Credit program, and the Ontario Media Development Corporation's Ontario Book Initiative.
Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author
and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credit in
subsequent editions.
J. Kirk Howard, President
Printed and bound in Canada.
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acknowledgements
Thank you to Ken Shorley for hours of ideas, encouragement and love.
Thank you to the Nova Scotia Arts Council for a generous creation grant.
And thank you to everyone who has given me insight, energy and inspiration during the process of writing this book.
I deeply appreciate all of it.
for Ken
chapter 1
From the height of the terrace where she sat, Sara framed the city's rooftops against the mist of the morning sky.
click
Red tile hides beneath moist, swirling air. The hood-like dome of a mosque rises above the mist and shines in the early rays of sun. There is a shadow that might be a woman shaking out a rug through an open window. There is a hint of blue that might be the sea.
"That's not enough for a tip," a young British woman said, making Sara turn away from the view. "You've never waited tables, so you have no idea what it's like."
The woman's greying husband, with the vista of Tangier behind him, flicked a crumb off the white tablecloth and counted the foreign currency in his wallet. "I know you think I'm made of money, but my fortune has to last another two weeks."
"Just give him something reasonable. I can't stand looking cheap."
Sara turned away from the quibbling couple and tried to catch her waiter's eye. Lifting up her empty cup, she motioned for a refill. She always drank too much coffee while she was travelling. I'll ease up when I get home, she thought, but she was never there long enough for it to matter.
"Where will you go today?" the young waiter asked, as he cleared away her dirty plate.
"To take more photos," she said.
"You want a nice place to see? You go to supermall. Good deals. Brand names."
"I'm looking for something older, more historic." Her editor wanted a story about romantic getaways—quiet dining, gorgeous hotels, ancient mosques, exotic views. Something beautiful to look at, not something to take home.
"This is oldest restaurant in Morocco," he told her. "It has always been here."
"Can I take your photograph?" she asked, lifting her camera from her lap. "I work for an English-language magazine."
"Yes, yes. Wait please."
He rushed off into the kitchen, fixing his hair and checking his shirt for stains or spills. When he returned, he stood where she asked him. He smiled fully, his mouth curved, his eyes robust.
click
A young man dressed in good pants and a well-ironed shirt smiles too hard for the camera.
click
The young man blinks, although he tries not to.
click
He blinks again.
"Thank you—Shukran," Sara said, lowering her camera slightly. "Maybe one more coffee?"
"Na'am." He lifted her cup and began to pour.
click
A man, with his eyes lowered and his lips determined, pours coffee on a terrace in Tangier.
On the street, Sara chose to walk to her first destination. With the strong coffee still in her veins, she moved fast—her eyes darting from building to building, looking for images worthy of her camera. The air was already warming—she could feel the heat gathering on her skin. She stopped at an open door.
click
A swirl of cloth as a woman turns away.
Soon, the walls of the medina stood before her. Remaining in full sunlight, she shot a roll of thirty-six, capturing angles and arches and awkward corners. Kneeling down, with her body bent forward to create some shade, she changed films rapidly.
Once inside the medina, she photographed a series of decorated doorways. For some, she filled the frame with white plaster, for others she included bits of sky, or patches of the dry, caked earth. There were moments when the dust moved like a sparkling mist, but she avoided these, knowing her editor would not approve of flying dirt.
Pressing herself into a wall to get the distance she required, she waited for some young boys to pass by. At the last minute, the smallest boy changed direction and ran straight through an arch-way. Sara snapped quickly, following the boy's movement with the camera's eye. After he disappeared, she repositioned herself so that she could see down the full length of the street. A middle aged man with crooked teeth and a white hat watched her from his idle newspaper stand