Going Ashore Read Online Free PDF

anything?” her mother persisted. “Do you know what happens to a lot of kids like you? They get left in schools, that’s what happens. Did I ever do that to you?”
    “No.”
    “I always kept you with me, no matter what anyone said. You mean more to me than anybody, any man. You know that. I’d give up anyone for you. I’ve even done it.”
    “I know,” Emma said. There was a queer pain in her throat. She had to swallow to make it go away. She felt hot and uncomfortable and had to do something distracting; she took off her hat, rolled her gloves into a ball and put them in her purse.
    Mrs. Ellenger sighed. “Well,” she said in a different voice, “if we’re going to see anything of this town, we’d better move.” She paid for their drinks, leaving a large tip on the messy table, littered with ashes and magazines. They left the café and, arm in arm, like Miss and Mrs. Munn, they circled the block, looking into the dreary windows of luggage and furniture stores. Some of the windows had been decorated for Christmas with strings of colored lights. Emma was startled; she had forgotten all about Christmas. It seemed unnatural that there should be signs of it in a place like Tangier. “Do Arabs have Christmas?” she said.
    “Everyone does,” Mrs. Ellenger said. “Except –” She could not remember the exceptions.
    It was growing cool, and her shoes were not right for walking. She looked up and down the street, hoping a taxi would appear, and then, with one of her abrupt, emotional changes, she darted into a souvenir shop that had taken her eye. Emma followed, blinking in the dark. The shop was tiny. There were colored bracelets in a glass case, leather slippers, and piles of silky material. From separate corners of the shop, a man and a woman converged on them.
    “I’d like a bracelet for my little girl,” Mrs. Ellenger said.
    “For Christmas?” said the woman.
    “Sort of. Although she gets plenty of presents, all the time. It doesn’t have to be anything special.”
    “What a fortunate girl,” the woman said absently, unlocking the case.
    Emma was not interested in the bracelet. She turned her back on the case and found herself facing a shelf on which were pottery figures of lions, camels, and tigers. They were fastened to bases marked
“Souvenir de Tanger,”
or
“Recuerdo.”
    “Those are nice,” Emma said, to the man. He wore a fez, and leaned against the counter, staring idly at Mrs. Ellenger. Emma pointed to the tigers. “Do they cost a lot?”
    He said something in a language she could not understand. Then, lapsing into a creamy sort of English, “They are special African tigers.” He grinned, showing his gums, as if the expression “African tigers” were a joke they shared. “They come from a little village in the mountains. There are interesting old myths connected with them.” Emma looked at him blankly. “They are magic,” he said.
    “There’s no such thing,” Emma said. Embarrassed for him, she looked away, coloring deeply.
    “This one,” the man said, picking up a tiger. It was glazed in stripes of orange and black. The seam of the factory mold ran in a faint ridge down its back; the glaze had already begun to crack. “This is a special African tiger,” he said. “It is good for ten wishes. Any ten.”
    “There’s no such thing,” Emma said again, but she took the tiger from him and held it in her hand, where it seemed to grow warm of its own accord. “Does it cost a lot?”
    The man looked over at the case of bracelets and exchanged a swift, silent signal with his partner. Mrs. Ellenger, still talking, was hesitating between two enamelled bracelets.
    “Genuine Sahara work,” the woman said of the more expensive piece. When Mrs. Ellenger appeared certain to choose it, the woman nodded, and the man said to Emma, “The tiger is a gift. It costs you nothing.”
    “A present?” She glanced toward her mother, busy counting change. “I’m not allowed to take