“Do not be deceived - the kite is a very vicious sport. You see, they are waging battle - he has adversaries over here, and over here. He flies the kite to where the other kites are there, and the aim is to entwine with the other. The string is a special string, lined in glass so it is sharp to easily cut the another.” The Kite Flyer’s string broke, and my first companion clicked his tongue in a tsk. “Oh, very bad luck today,” he confided, shaking his head. “Usually we have the upper hand because our roof is highest, but today has been a very bad day. This was his fourth.”
“He is just being rude,” the Kite Flyer said, joining us and shrugging his shoulders.
“Will you fly another kite tonight?“ I asked, and he shook his head. The sun had gone and the sky was soaking up pink and gold behind us. “It’s too late,” he clarified, and I nodded, although it still seemed bright enough to me.
“Where are you from?” He asked, and I told him - first the US, then specifying Philadelphia just in case.
“Ah, American,” he said with satisfaction, smiling. “I love the US freedom of speech. When I started my career, I was a ranger at a very high class preserve, taking wealthy Brits and Americans to find tigers. Here, we are taught the English way, to stand up straight and speak very careful to not offend. But the US is better. I remember on Jimmy Fallon when Trump was president, he brought out a box of dicks to say are you this size, or this one? You could never do that in India. Yes, I love American comedy - Two and a Half Men, Brooklyn Nine Nine, Big Bang Theory. But my favorite is Wonder Years. It is an older program, perhaps you have not seen it… but the greatest storytelling.”
“It’s been a long time, I’ll have to rewatch it,” I said, smiling to myself as I pictured a sweet, hesitant romance between adolescents. It was not what I had expected from this self-professed lover of say-anything. He asked if we would be joining their morning walking tour of the city, and when I declined citing work he asked what I did, listening to my reply before saying he was happy to hear there’s a market for screens and blocks in America too. I agreed. He told me about his recent travels to Marrakech, how his hotel had had the best service in the world, the all-women staff getting argon oil when he requested, and a taxi, and dinner too.
“I didn’t like the food, though,” he said, “But I knew I wouldn’t.” I told him I’d always wanted to go, that it looks so beautiful. He agreed, emphasizing the Mughal architecture. “But it’s hard for me there, they only speak French and Arabic. And it’s impossible when I’m drunk.
I’d already stayed too long, late to meeting Amy for the drive to dinner. I nodded to him before walking over to the far corner of the glowing rooftop, taking a photo of the skyline and then waving goodbye to him before descending. Downstairs I called a taxi, taking a seat in the courtyard to wait by candlelight, a skinny spotted cat, and illuminated fountains. I daydreamed about my watercolors, planning to capture a piece of the beautiful poolside view the following morning.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Christiane.” I heard from behind me, and I turned to see the Kite Flyer walking towards the gate. I smiled, waving before remembering I had introduced myself but he had not reciprocated.
“And what is your name?” I called to his back as he retreated.
“Yogi - a little easier,” he replied, disappearing around the bend.
