part 1: an irresistible pattern

If you must know, I took the plainer door on the left. Too often I have chosen the most beautiful door, and been left disappointed by what I found inside. But this time, it was an accident. I had knocked on the wrong door.

It was raining that night. Did you notice that the left door had a small shelter above? In the darkness I missed the sign above the portal in the middle: Riad Yazid, where I was supposed to stay.

The rain was driving, and I sought relief. I was told that heavy rain was very unusual for that time of year. My clothing was soaked. I knocked at the door and huddled against it, seeking refuge from a weeping sky.

I was leaning against the door, and when it opened, I stumbled into the old man who had opened it. He was sturdier than he looked and he caught me with a strong arm, hidden beneath his white beard and flowing robes. With his other arm he held a glass lantern. The flame was still and safe against the wind and rain.

The man said nothing. The glass lantern illuminated his billowy shadow against the wall. I collected myself and watched him turn around, slowly plodding back towards the unknown depths. He seemed to invite me inside, through his slow steps. He paused and turned, pointing back towards the entrance. I listened and returned to close the plain blue door. It swung closed flawlessly, as if the solid wood enjoyed the sweeping motion, reminded of younger days when grand branches would swing in the wind. The lockset chimed in happy satisfaction as it found its resting place.

I looked back and the bearded old man was gone. I was alone in the smooth, blue-painted passageway. All the edges were rounded: floor disappearing into wall, wall rounding into ceiling. It was as if a tunnel inside an enormous hive. Regardless of the rain, the passage was dry. Light danced on the pale-blue surfaces, past a soft bend in the far end of the passage. I followed it.

Turning the corner, I found myself entering into a very strange room. It was far taller than I expected, and the light danced high up on the gently sloping ceiling. The room’s ceiling was like the inside of an enormous dome to a far larger building, yet the room itself was not altogether large, excepting the high ceiling. Indeed, this was a strange city, formed at the steep mouth of a mountain pass, holding volumes unseen.

The old man sat in the middle of the room, eyes closed, seated on a colorful pillow atop an enormous carpet. He seemed like a piece of delicate furniture. The intricate carpet spanned almost the entirety of the room, which seemed to be a kind of foyer or atrium. There was another passageway in the back, and as I looked I felt the hint of moving air. The old man was silent and smoking from an antique brass shisha, the mouthpiece dangling at the edge of his mouth.

Standing at the entrance of the unusual chamber, I saw in the back another man curled up, asleep on the carpet. Next to him was a small pile of heavy blankets. All I could see was the stranger’s back, and then nothing at all, as an enormous cloud of smoke escaped from the lungs of the old wizened man who had brought me inside. The white smoke rose toward the impossibly tall, conical ceiling, obscuring much of the room. The lantern lay on the woven carpet next to the meditative man, and the light folded itself in and out of the white cloud of smoke, to the slow rhythm of a quiet dance.

I was tired and wet, ready to rest my feet. The smoke had partially dissipated and I saw a stack of blankets, near the sleeping man. I quietly crossed the room and took one, ready for sleep. Holding the heavy cloth in my hand, a person-sized pattern emerged on the room’s large carpet, as if presented itself to me. Perhaps I had simply not noticed it before. It beckoned to me, a place destined for sleep. I laid down my leather satchel and lowered myself into position, laying on my back on top of the nocturnal design. I pulled the blanket over my cold, damp body.

Closing my eyes, I drew a heavy breath through my nose, bringing in the scent of the cleansing rain and perfumed tobacco. I exhaled from my mouth, and I felt myself sinking into the rich carpet’s irresistible pattern. The wool blanket felt even heavier than before, as if it were sealing itself around me, joining me to the carpet and the tall room itself.

I felt the quiet presence of the old man, and the stranger sleeping near me, before I too fell asleep.