The Grimoire of the Blue Crystal

I decided to spend the day like any tourist, hoping things would improve between Fátima and me if I stopped insisting. The getaway took me to a few squares where I enjoyed the atmosphere filled with kiosks and lots of people, motorcycles, pedestrians, and trucks, which left me more alert than usual.

I stopped for tea and took the opportunity to ask which direction I should go to see the city's famous market.

"I see the map you're holding isn't any use to you," the young man pointed out graciously.

"No, the truth is this city is a mess. I have a hard time finding my way around so many streets; they all look the same."

"What's your name? I'm Jamal."

"Nice to meet you, Jamal. My name is Alfonso."

"Where are you from?"

"I come from a small country called Blâwerenstein."

"And why are you walking alone?" It's not very safe for you; it's better to take tours, don't you think?

"The truth is, I'm not your average tourist. I came to research history, and today the library was closed to the public, so I had to come here for some entertainment."

"Be very careful. We're generally good people, but there are some who have come from other countries after your money, those of you who come to visit. That's why you won't recognize them; you won't know who's who. It's best to at least hire a guide. If you go with a local, they won't be able to get close, you understand? You're wearing gold and a flashy watch."

I drank another cup of delicious mint tea and ate a piece of one of the various sweets displayed on the trays.

Fátima's words came to mind: "I'm going to treat you like any other customer." And as I ate and drank, I noticed the stark difference between the locals' attire and mine. Which gave me an idea for how to fill the rest of the day.

"Can I confess something to you, Jamal?"

"Tell me, what do you want to know?"

"Look at my appearance: flannel, jeans, and sneakers. How could I dress like that?" My hands gestured to my clothes and his. "I want to look like a local."

"Well, with your hair type and skin color, you have an advantage. You should buy leather sandals, and wear them with socks, even better." He stuck his foot out from under the table to show me. "That's the main thing; no one here wears those shoes you're wearing.

For the rest, you can buy those same pants and a different style of shirt. You won't spend much."

"Go to the market, ask for Omar's stand, tell him you're coming from me so he can give you a better price; everything is negotiable here. And if you stay a few more days, come back here so I can give you my opinion on the makeover. Sometimes the details are the most important."

"I'll do it. I need support with that, because I want to surprise someone very special." I wanted to hurry up; I could already imagine her smile when she saw me in the new outfit.

"A woman, no one else can make us daydream. Look at your face, Alfonso. Don't tell me you fell in love in the city. What's the young woman's name?"

"Fátima," I replied with a smile that lit up my face.

"And why doesn't she go out with you? She knows it's dangerous."

"She's a little strange, upset, I think, she's suspicious."

"It's cultural, bro. Women here know that falling in love with a foreigner will bring tears to their lives. You'll leave, and then who knows? Only he's looking out for you, and he's right. The upbringing here is strict for women; they'll choose their safety over listening to their hearts."

"I understand, and I plan to keep my word. I'm a man of my word."

Jamal hugged me and told me not to stop and talk to strangers, except to ask for directions to Omar's shop, on Jamal's behalf. "They won't touch you if you name us; you're already a friend."

Confident, I continued through the narrow streets, distracted by the variety of spices, lamps, and pieces of art. I forgot what I was doing and found myself lost in a kind of labyrinth formed by the streets, until I stopped to chat with a craftsman making leather belts.

"Hi, your art is beautiful. What are the women's ones?"

"Thank you. I can offer this model in all colors. Your wife can wear it with a dress or a skirt; it goes with any outfit."

I thought about what the craftsman said and liked the idea: "your wife."

"I don't have a wife, although I'm thinking about it. I've met someone and I'd like to give her one of your pieces, perhaps the sand-colored one. What's the price?"

"I can get that one for 200, but I don't have any change. I just opened the store."

"I have 100."

"Raise it a little, buddy. I haven't sold anything, so you're going to make a loss."

"I don't have any more. I swear."

"The girl is worth it, I'll lower it to 150. You raise it now."

"You've convinced me. Done, 150, put it in a bag because I didn't bring my backpack."

"Who taught you how to negotiate that way? You're good."

"My mother always had more money than she said, but she loved to haggle."

"It's an art, I admit, you'll always get the seller to lower it."

"I know, this way we both make money. I spoke to Jamal, the tea seller, earlier, and he told me to stop by Omar's. Do you know which route I should take?"

"Sure, they're my friends. Pay attention to my directions so you don't get lost: keep right until you reach the secondhand book store. Ask again there."

"Books? What kind? You can spend hours there; they're old books, it's a tourist attraction."

"I'm a historian."

"So it's a must-see for you. Take care and stop by to say hello on your way back."

I said goodbye with a handshake and went off to look for some treasure among the old books. A hope arose in my heart; the book I was looking for might be there.