Database: Diary of Joel Eastman (1)

WBT over 32. Heat curfew in place till sunset. Stuck in this shabby hotel room till then. Aircon sounds like a rattlesnake, but at least while it's making noise it's still working. If that thing conks out, this place will be an oven in half an hour.

Street vendor told me the power went out in one neighborhood a couple of weeks ago, middle of the day. Even in the shade, it was too hot to survive. Lot of people died that day. Old folk. Babies.

This place is hanging on by a thread. Everyone with money got out of Marrakech long ago. The only people that haven't are the people that can't.

The location is a stall in a souk just off Jemaa el-Fna in the medina. I'm supposed to leave an owl with the stallkeeper, as a sign I want to make contact. Instructions were less than clear, understandable given the circumstances. Did Dad mean a little figurine or something? Either way, no one here's even seen an owl, much less made statues of them. Instead I sketched out a barn owl, like I used to see in the woods out back of the house in Gloucester when I was a boy. It'll get the point across.

Drop the owl, wait for instructions. That's all I have. As to the rest, I just have to trust the old man knew what he was doing.

Man followed me from the station, I'm pretty sure. Probably some kind of local secret police, wondering what I was doing here. Not many white Europeans turning up in Marrakech these days, so I can't help standing out. Nothing left to squeeze out of this place. Only a matter of time before the warlords move in.

I lost him in the alleys. Lost myself for a while, too. Off the main thoroughfares, this place is a labyrinth. In the end I got some kid to guide me out, with the promise of foreign currency. What I gave him wouldn't have bought me a snack bar back home, but it'll keep him and his family fed for weeks.

It's not right. But then, none of it is. I've known that forever. Maybe that's why I got thick-skinned about it.

Been thinking about the argument I had with Dad, all those years ago. He wanted so badly for me to join him, said we needed to do something about the state of the world. I told him it was hopeless, the world was already broken. What could one person do, or ten, or a hundred? We were gnats crawling on the face of the great machine. Best we could do is to stay clear of the gears.

I wish it had gone differently, but I've wished that for a long time. The disappointment on his face, though. That's stayed with me.

Anyway, he got me doing something in the end, I suppose. I hope he appreciates it, wherever he is. He always was proud of me, maybe more than I deserved. Even when I didn't live up to his expectations.

Getting maudlin now. Maybe I'll stop. More tonight.