A Distant Episode Excerpt by Paul Bowles Lyrics

The September sunsets were at their reddest the week the Professor

decided to visit Aïn Tadouirt, which is in the warm country. He came

down out of the high, flat region in the evening by bus, with two small

overnight bags full of maps, sun lotions and medicines. Ten years ago

he had been in the village for three days; long enough, however, to

establish a fairly firm friendship with a café-keeper, who had written

him several times during the first year after his visit, if never

since.

“Hassan Ramani,” the Professor said over and over, as the bus bumped

downward through ever warmer layers of air. Now facing the flaming sky

in the west, and now facing the sharp mountains, the car followed the
dusty trail down the canyons into air which began to smell of other

things besides the endless ozone of the heights: orange blossoms,

pepper, sun-baked excrement,burning olive oil, rotten fruit. He closed

his eyes happily and lived for an instant in a purely olfactory world.

The distant past returned—what part of it, he could not decide.