Her eyes were dark and mysterious above her veil, and try as I might, I could not avert my gaze. She was staring at me as if she wanted something, which simultaneously unnerved and exhilarated me.
I was in Marrakesh and all around me the markets were alive with activity.

But I was frozen in the moment.

Then she motioned for me to follow her and, against all my better judgment, I did.
We whisked between barrels piled precariously high with ground spices, and everywhere there were hanging herbs. It all filled the air with such rich aromas that the imagination was overwhelmed. In a matter of minutes, we had passed by a dizzying array of leather goods, pottery, and baskets woven with intricate detail. Then we arrived at a doorway and without hesitation, she let us in.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room as the only light came through the high latticed windows. There was an Ottoman-styled couch draped with colorful rugs, with an elderly looking man perched on it.
“I am so thankful you have come,” the old man said as he extended to me a rolled up parchment. “The map must be kept safe at all costs.”

My mind was abuzz with confusion. My guide with the sultry eyes had disappeared, and I knew nothing of a map, nor of the man seated before me. “I’m not sure what to do with this …” I stammered.

“No one does. No one ever has. Only, its safekeeping is imperative.” The old man was staring intently at me as he spoke. His voice dropped to a near whisper as he urged, “Beware Scimitar! He wants you dead. And his general, Khaled, is especially dangerous … only, we lost track of General Khaled a few minutes before you arrived in the market.”

My jaw was agape with non-comprehension. I had clearly been mistaken for someone else and was being thrust into mortal danger. “I think you have the wrong man,” I whispered hoarsely.

The old man patted my shoulder as he responded, “We have all felt that way. Now, up the stairs and cross over the rooftop. Drop down beside the camel pen. The doors will be watched by Scimitar’s spies.”

I had not noticed the narrow plastered stairs built against the wall. It was all unfolding like a dream.

“Quickly, now! Follow Hassan!” the old man ordered. And for some unimaginable reason, I followed the heavily armed man up the stairs. As my foot touched the landing, I could hear the old man’s parting words, “God be with you, Dr. Hoffman!”

Hassan led me across the rooftops and pointed at a stack of straw beside the camel pen. I jumped.
When I looked up to thank the man, he was gone. I stood for a moment collecting my thoughts. Who in the world is Dr. Hoffman? I wondered.

I heard a young voice cry out, “There he is!”

And without looking, I bolted in the opposite direction …

Confessions of a fiction writer:

I’ve never even been to Morocco, thus the above story is not true. It is an allegory of 2020. And, like 2020, it ends on an ellipsis.
Beware my friends, not all of the issues from 2020 are finished. The only thing that is fully resolved is the calendar.
So, my advice for the new year: Try to use good judgment and discretion, without becoming paranoid.
Remember to look out for your neighbors whenever you can.
And, if you encounter a warlord named Scimitar, you should probably run.

May 2021 be a blessed year for you!