A Night in Tunisia

A Night in Tunisia

“Its funny. Ships the whole world round begin with S.S., not just US ships or British, but even those of our proud Italian ship… shippers. Merchant… Civilian shipping, that’s the term!” Monika said, the cool Mediterranean waters behind her contrasting with her hair, now golden in the dying light of the sun.

“It was good of the government to finally give into our lobbying about a colony in Tunisia, I had told them how beautiful it was here, and it still is, especially since the occupation was bloodless. OH! That reminds me. The consulate requested our presence at dinner tonight at 7.” You replied to your wife.

“Actually,” Monika gives you a sidelong glance, you know exactly where this would be going. “I thought we might do some shopping in the local bazaar and see the ruins around town. Now that we got the French to back down, town should be safe, especially with a strong husband by my side~”

You could never say no to her, but it always involved walking for hours with her. Today was a beautiful day though or had been. There was still about an hour before it was dark. “Just one shop, sweetheart. The coolies can carry our luggage to the consulate. That one, with the dome.” You pointed across the harbor to a large domed building. The foghorn sounded as the ship was coming into port and was soon after moored and disembarking passengers, including yourself and Monika.

Now a few evil eye bracelets richer, you both settle down at w the consulate, rather poorly lit, just a great deal of oil lamps and the soft tunes of a… “What is that?”

“I don’t know darling. How about you ask the waiter? Whatever it is, it reminds me of our trip to Louisiana. God, but we had too much to drink then, and the street music was so wonderful, we couldn’t stop dancing! Nearly enough to make me a prohibitionist, remember? I said I wouldn’t touch another drink in my life, and here we are, knocking back Bourbons.” Monika reminisced.

She was right. It was familiar yet clearly improvisational, with a chord progression that was unknown in Europe, especially not home in Ravenna. “It’s not the Bebop, nor the blues, its just some cool Jazz tunes. You’ll maybe hear some scat or do wop, but only here tonight you’ll hear this bop.” Said the blind man on stage, sunglasses riding low over his large Berber nose. The music, you were told by the waiter, was created here in town by that man, and that the man, who everyone called Dizzy, cursed “Those damn negroes back home, they even stole my Jazz, deadly as Torpedoes, those negroes.”

“What a rainbow of colorful language” your wife happily exclaimed. “You always did like to mingle with the Submarine captains in literal dive bars, and I was right there with you. Wonderful storytellers, those lads.”

As the night swooned into the midnight hours, the longue cleared, leaving just you and your wife on a sofa in the corner, her head tumbled upon your shoulder as you held her tightly. The other people of the consulate let you two be, her cute snoring quite contagious.

Perhaps you could build a palazzo down here. Monika would love to teach more people to read and write in her spare time, and the country needed governing. Perhaps you would investigate a position to be had here when you returned.
End (Unless you want more)