The Miraculous Plot of Leiter & Lott by Jonathan Lowe Page A
Authors: Jonathan Lowe
Tags: General Fiction
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Perfume Souq , but he also detected the fainter odor of fish from more distant Port Rashid. In one spacious courtyard he found a traditional Bedouin dance in progress. Called the Ayyalah , it was accompanied by fluted oboe-like instruments known as mimzars . The dance was being performed enthusiastically for the early evening enjoyment of both men in white dishdashes and some more colorfully dressed women who mimicked the dancer's movements.
Once, he almost settled on a thin gold watch with a simple face and black leather band. Since he'd first picked up and rejected a more expensive, heavy and ostentatious model, the shop owner seemed disconcerted as he simply walked away with a bow, not even attempting to haggle. Perhaps Dubai Mall, David told himself, mimicking what he imagined another shopper thought, passing through.
Before he began a walking tour of the area, he rechecked his cell phone for missed calls. The time was indicated on the screen, so why did he even need a watch? Only to be rid of the Timex?
Once inside the Dubai Museum, at the foot of Al- Fahidi Fort, he viewed a collection of 19th Century Arab weapons, including khanjar daggers and curved silver swords. Aerial photos of Dubai's development since the 1960s were on display there, along with a pre-oil-times collection of artifacts, and specimens of native flora and fauna. A tour of Sheikh Al- Maktoum the elder's house followed, and led to a walk along the dhow wharf next to Dubai Creek, where he wondered again about Etherton.
Taking out his cell phone again, he held his thumb over the call button as he tried to imagine what was happening at Aazad's private compound. Beside him, old men with leathery faces nonetheless smiled at customers to their wares, which were piled onto the twenty or so now obsolete yet not inappropriate wooden vessels. Assembled as they were into a kind of ancient trading port, with goods from India and East Africa, the fifty meter al- bateels seemed a perfect contrast to the high rise skyscrapers of modern Dubai lined up along Sheikh Zayed Road in the background. It showed, better than anything could, what progress had been made by the rulers over the past two decades. No such a dramatic distinction existed anywhere that he knew, and it was even more awe-inspiring than anything planned at the mega theme park Dubailand , whose construction had been stalled only until the inevitable uptick in oil prices, already begun, refilled the river of money available to Arab investors.
David was still pondering whether to close his phone when it rang. Pushing the answer button, he looked to his left, up the wharf, where a woman with a black shayla over her face was getting out of a Mercedes, perhaps extending her visit from Dubai Mall's twelve million square feet to a back-in-time evening junket into the history of shopping.
"Hello?"
"David?" Etherton answered. "Sorry for not calling earlier. Are you okay?"
"Sure. What about you?"
"All is well. Kinda tense for a while, but understandable. Where are you now?"
"I'm at the dhow wharf in Deira , looking at the sunset."
"Nice?"
"Yes, very. Where are you?"
"I'm waiting for a water taxi back to the mainland. Shall we meet back at the Swann in an hour?"
David rubbed at his forehead with one hand, considering it. "Listen, Doug," he said, "I think I've outstayed my welcome. Maybe I should just stay at the Hyatt for a few nights, see the sights on my own. We can hook up before I leave for drinks."
"We could do that," Etherton said, any note of disappointment strangely absent from his voice, "just like you propose." He paused. "But then you'd miss the big surprise, too."
"What surprise?"
"The party tomorrow night at the El Haj."
"Party?" David asked. "What party?"
He could feel Doug smiling into his cell, now. "Well, the one that'll be attended by your friends Innes and Cashman , of course."
~ * ~
The Deira Hyatt did not cost $5000 a night, as once did the Burj al-Arab, or even the $2000 a
Once, he almost settled on a thin gold watch with a simple face and black leather band. Since he'd first picked up and rejected a more expensive, heavy and ostentatious model, the shop owner seemed disconcerted as he simply walked away with a bow, not even attempting to haggle. Perhaps Dubai Mall, David told himself, mimicking what he imagined another shopper thought, passing through.
Before he began a walking tour of the area, he rechecked his cell phone for missed calls. The time was indicated on the screen, so why did he even need a watch? Only to be rid of the Timex?
Once inside the Dubai Museum, at the foot of Al- Fahidi Fort, he viewed a collection of 19th Century Arab weapons, including khanjar daggers and curved silver swords. Aerial photos of Dubai's development since the 1960s were on display there, along with a pre-oil-times collection of artifacts, and specimens of native flora and fauna. A tour of Sheikh Al- Maktoum the elder's house followed, and led to a walk along the dhow wharf next to Dubai Creek, where he wondered again about Etherton.
Taking out his cell phone again, he held his thumb over the call button as he tried to imagine what was happening at Aazad's private compound. Beside him, old men with leathery faces nonetheless smiled at customers to their wares, which were piled onto the twenty or so now obsolete yet not inappropriate wooden vessels. Assembled as they were into a kind of ancient trading port, with goods from India and East Africa, the fifty meter al- bateels seemed a perfect contrast to the high rise skyscrapers of modern Dubai lined up along Sheikh Zayed Road in the background. It showed, better than anything could, what progress had been made by the rulers over the past two decades. No such a dramatic distinction existed anywhere that he knew, and it was even more awe-inspiring than anything planned at the mega theme park Dubailand , whose construction had been stalled only until the inevitable uptick in oil prices, already begun, refilled the river of money available to Arab investors.
David was still pondering whether to close his phone when it rang. Pushing the answer button, he looked to his left, up the wharf, where a woman with a black shayla over her face was getting out of a Mercedes, perhaps extending her visit from Dubai Mall's twelve million square feet to a back-in-time evening junket into the history of shopping.
"Hello?"
"David?" Etherton answered. "Sorry for not calling earlier. Are you okay?"
"Sure. What about you?"
"All is well. Kinda tense for a while, but understandable. Where are you now?"
"I'm at the dhow wharf in Deira , looking at the sunset."
"Nice?"
"Yes, very. Where are you?"
"I'm waiting for a water taxi back to the mainland. Shall we meet back at the Swann in an hour?"
David rubbed at his forehead with one hand, considering it. "Listen, Doug," he said, "I think I've outstayed my welcome. Maybe I should just stay at the Hyatt for a few nights, see the sights on my own. We can hook up before I leave for drinks."
"We could do that," Etherton said, any note of disappointment strangely absent from his voice, "just like you propose." He paused. "But then you'd miss the big surprise, too."
"What surprise?"
"The party tomorrow night at the El Haj."
"Party?" David asked. "What party?"
He could feel Doug smiling into his cell, now. "Well, the one that'll be attended by your friends Innes and Cashman , of course."
~ * ~
The Deira Hyatt did not cost $5000 a night, as once did the Burj al-Arab, or even the $2000 a
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