Amazing Mrs. Pollifax by Dorothy Gilman

Author:Dorothy Gilman [Gilman Dorothy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8041-5179-5
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2014-05-06T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

Having been officially hired as their guide, Sandor took them over with stern authority. He allowed them to sleep until three o’clock in the morning and then he prodded them awake. “For you to be real peasants you get up now. You will do rest of the sleeping in Taksim Square, please. Like others.”

The three of them arose stiffly from their floormats. They would have to wash on their way down the hill, at the public well, Sandor told them; Madrali was bringing them tea and fruit for their breakfast. They would also be carrying their lunch on the bus with them—it was already packed in a basket: two jugs of water and the remains of their evening meal. He produced a small cardboard suitcase that looked as if it had been possessed by a dozen other people first. Into this Mrs. Pollifax packed her suit for Magda to wear, and Colin added a number of spare reels of film. His cameras he insisted upon carrying in a string bag. Mrs. Pollifax again checked her pantaloons for the wads of money and Magda’s passport, all secured with large safety pins. Her flowered hat was presented to Mr. Madrali with instructions to dispose of it, as well as her useless, emptied purse.

They started out in the pale light of dawn, and at the base of the hill wrung Mr. Madrali’s hands, thanked him and were once again on their own, a little more secure in their new identities but a little less secure at being on the street.

“I think I could get to like these baggy pants,” said Mrs. Pollifax, lengthening her stride. “Is my headgear properly wrapped? Are you sure we’re all right, with everything where it should be?”

“Good, very good,” Sandor said gravely. “Except slower—please! You act like American. Dressed as you are dressed you come from a small village—do not walk so fast, so happy, and please—stay behind us men!” He shrugged apologetically. “Not for myself, you understand, who know precisely who you are but for the role, the act. Anatolian women, they work hard, say nothing. And to wear the shawl pulled so across the mouth you must be very shy, very small village. You understand?”

“All right.”

Sandor added, “You do not look so Turkish as the other lady, you see.”

“Oh—sorry,” she said contritely, falling still another pace behind him and Colin.

“And stop talking English,” contributed Colin, delivering the final snub.

Magda’s eyes were gleaming over her veil with amusement. “It worked,” she said.

“What did?”

“You look properly cowed and snubbed now. Your shoulders droop, you look shamed and subservient.”

Mrs. Pollifax said in a peevish undertone—she really had been feeling expansive—“It’s all very well for you—he said you look the part.”

“Touché,” said Magda with a throaty little laugh that reminded Mrs. Pollifax she would be delightful company under more relaxed circumstances. They turned down a broad, tree-rimmed boulevard lined with buildings so modern that Mrs. Pollifax might have forgotten she was in the Near East but for the sight

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