Wedding Bells… Not! - Part VIII
I married well known Czech photographer, Werner Forman, on a dark rainy day at a registry office in London, largely because my mother, who had a crush on him, insisted. Her feelings for Werner, her desire to keep him in the family, were what led to his proposal of marriage and everything that followed.
THIS IS PART 8 of a NINE-PART STORY
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9
Photo: Polina Tankilevitch
I yanked myself away from the guide. He gave me the creeps and I didn’t want to answer his question. Werner got back in the car and we rode the rest of the way in silence. When we were back in Marrakech, Werner, who was thrilled with the guide’s performance, invited the man to join us for dinner -- not something I wanted, but there was no way, at that point, to make my wishes known.
We went to a small French restaurant in the modern part of the city. Werner ordered wine for the three of us, and he seemed absolutely fine until he had his first sip. Then his face turned a putrid green, the color of decay and death, and he slid from his chair to the floor.
I stared at him out of disbelieving eyes. Werner lay slumped on the floor, and to me it looked as if he’d just had a stroke... as if he was going to die.
A man leaped up from one of the tables, yelling in French that he was a doctor. While I stood there uselessly, he examined Werner and announced that he was calling an ambulance. “Is he going to be okay? What’s wrong with him?” I kept asking, but the doctor ignored me. Meanwhile, the guide, who I really could have used right then, vanished -- slithered away just as we heard sirens. A small, boxy-looking ambulance pulled up in front, and Werner, who by then had regained consciousness, was lifted onto a gurney. This all happened very quickly. Before I could understand what was going on, the ambulance disappeared and I was left on my own, trying to figure out the way to the hospital.
We had a rental car, a shift, but I didn’t yet have a license or really know how to drive. No matter. I got in the car, switched on the ignition, and began cranking gears. Where had the ambulance gone?
No idea.
Where was the hospital?
No idea.
I drove in jerky stops and starts, windows open, yelling at passersby for directions. People would point and I’d shoot the car up and down different streets, praying I wouldn’t kill myself or anyone else. I don’t think I’d ever in my life felt so helpless.
Cover photo: Camilo Jemenez