PROMPT - the sound of a running horse

Sana'a, 1989

I fall asleep with the balcony door open, the warm monsoon air changing to a cool breeze. In my dream I see a horse's feet slowly approaching. In reality, someone is riding a horse around the large yard of the compound of my apartment building. I wake up and see the shadow of the horse and its rider, someone wearing a turban and a cape. An intruder?

The dawn is just breaking. It is only five in the morning. I get up, put on my robe and pinned my hair up. I stand on the side of the balcony door not wanting to show myself to the horse rider. He wears a white dishdasha and a satiny jade green overcoat, the polished khanja in his waist glistening from the balcony lights, and his head is wrapped in a white turban. There is an unmistakable grace in the way he sits on his horse, a beautiful Arabian whose skin glistened like the khanja. He turns around as if looking for something, or someone.

"Your Excellency, sir." I part the flimsy curtain and step out onto the balcony. "Good morning."

He turns around, masking the surprise with a smile, then nods. "Assalam alaikum." Although he is smiling, you can see the seriousness in his eyes.

"Waalaikum assalam," I say back, mentally chastising myself for forgetting the Arab greeting. For good measure, I curtsy, the best one I an muster, to make up for calling him "Your Excellency" as suddenly I am unsure if that is how I have to address the ruler of the country.

"You need not curtsy, you are not one of my subjects, madame." I can see that he is amused by my actions. "Only my subjects are expected to curtsy to me."

"Are you lost, sir?" I ask. "Oh, I'm sorry. You can't get lost in your own kingdom." I give him a big "Garfield" smile.

"I can't, now, can I?" he says and flashes another polite but guarded smile. "But since you ask, where is the house of the Minister of Interior?"

"It's the large house at the end of the street. It has the same fencing as this building. Would you like me to walk you to it? I can change my clothes in two minutes."

He smiles again, the perfect white teeth more visible now as I stand by the balcony's railings.

"It's okay. I should be able to find it myself." He clucks his tongue for the horse to start walking.

"I recognize you." He furrows his brows. "Do you work at the palace?"

"Yes, sir," I answer.

"Leslie, isn't it?"

I give a small laugh, surprise that he knows my name. He rarely sees the paid staff in the palace, much less the foreign workers. I work in the catering room of the palace.

"Yes, sir. Leslie."

"Assalam then!"