Salim glanced at his watch and cleared his throat.

The woman sitting behind the front desk glanced at him. "What's the matter?" she asked, but her voice was a bit like "Shemo Four."

"It's eleven thirty-five now. Salim reminded her.

The woman glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. "Yes," she said, "I know." ”

"My appointment was at eleven o'clock. Salim said, smiling reassuringly.

"Mr. Blandin knows you're coming. She said in a reproachful tone. It sounds like "Bradin, the first word, you're here." ”

Salim picked up an expired copy of the Thames from his desk and looked at it. His English reading level is much worse than speaking, and he struggles to look at the passage above as if he were doing a crossword puzzle. He continued to wait, the chubby young man with the eyes of a battered puppy, his gaze moving from time to time between his watch, the newspaper and the wall clock on the wall.

At 12:30, several people walked out of the office inside. They spoke loudly, and talked quickly and indistinctly in British English. One of them, a tall, pot-bellied man with an unlit cigar in his mouth, glanced at Salim as he came out. He told the woman sitting at the front desk that she should try lemon juice to supplement zinc, and his sister swore that vitamin C and zinc would keep her healthy. She assured him that she would try it, and handed him a couple of envelopes. He pocketed the envelope and walked out with a few other people. Their laughter didn't die down until the stairwell.

It's already one o'clock in the afternoon. The woman behind the front desk opened a drawer, pulled out a brown paper bag, and pulled out a sandwich, an apple, a carton of milk, and a small plastic bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice.

"I'm sorry," Salim said, "but could you please call Mr. Blandin and say I'm still here waiting for him?"

She looked up at him, as if surprised that he was still here, as if she hadn't sat in the same room five feet away from him in the past two and a half hours. "He's having lunch. She said. He was at lunch.

Salim understood. It dawned on him that Blandin was the man with the unlit cigar in his mouth. "When will he be back?"

She shrugged and took a bite of the sandwich. "He's busy today and has a lot of appointments. She said. He is very soft and has a lot of invitations. ”

"So, will he see me again when he returns?" Salim asked.

She shrugged and pruned her nose again.

Salim was hungry and his hunger was growing. It also adds frustration and feelings of isolation and helplessness.

At three o'clock in the afternoon, the woman looked at him and said, "He's going to lose five." ”

"What?"

"Bradin is the first, he is here today. ”

"Can I make an appointment for tomorrow?"

She wiped her nose. "You have to dig up to the temple, dig the temple about the temple. ”

"I see. Salim said, smiling. Before leaving Muscat, Flauder had told him countless times that in England, being a salesman was as rude as not smiling as not wearing clothes. "I'll call tomorrow to make an appointment. He said, then picked up the sample box and walked down the stairs to the street. Outside, it was freezing rain and snow, and Salim stared at the long, cold street that led to the hotel on Bachelor's Street. The sample box was so heavy that he had to walk to the sidewalk and wave at any yellow cab that passed by, regardless of whether the lights were on or not. All the taxis whizzed past him.

One of the taxis suddenly sped up as they passed him, and one wheel drove into a puddle, splashing icy muddy water onto his pants and coat. For a moment, he wanted to rush to a slower taxi. But it occurred to him that his brother-in-law would only care about the fate of the sample box, not himself. No one would grieve for him except his beloved sister, Flauder's wife, who was always the one who embarrassed his family in the eyes of his parents. His romances were always very brief and ended quietly. Besides, he wondered if the cars were fast enough to kill him.

A yellow cab with a smash on its body pulled up beside him, giving him a grateful end to his thoughts. Salim got into the car.

The back seat of the taxi was patched with gray duct tape, and the compartment fence was plastered with warnings not to smoke and how much to pay to go to different airports. On the tape recorder, the voice of a famous, but never-before-heard celebrity, tells him to buckle up.

"Please come to the Magic Hotel. He told the driver the address.

The taxi driver snorted, started the car off the side of the road, and merged into the traffic. He was unshaven, wore a thick gray sweater, and wore black sunglasses. It was cloudy outside, night was coming, and Salim wondered if there was something wrong with the driver's eyes. The windshield wipers blur the streetscape outside into a gray and dirty light.

Out of nowhere, a van burst out of nowhere and rushed in front of them. The taxi driver cursed in the name of the Prophet's beard.

Salim stared at the driver's name tag on the dashboard of the car, but couldn't see anything from it. "How long have you been driving a taxi, my friend?" he asked the man in his native language.

"It's been ten years. The driver replied in the same language, "Where are you from?"

"Muscat," Salim said, "Oman." ”

"You're from Oman. I was also in Oman, a long time ago. Have you ever heard of a city called 'Yuba'?" asked the taxi driver.

"Of course I've heard of it," Salim said, "the lost city of towers." They dug up its ruins in the desert, about five years, or ten years ago. I don't remember exactly. You and the expedition excavated that site?"

"Pretty much. It's a pretty nice city. "Most nights, three or four thousand people camp there and pitch tents." Every traveler will rest in Yuba. There is music and the wine flows like water. Water flows out of the well, and it flows continuously. It is because of those wells that the city exists. ”

"That's what I've heard. "But it ended up destroyed, 1,000 years ago? Or 2,000 years ago?"

The taxi driver did not speak. They stopped at a red light. The traffic light turned green, but the driver didn't start the car. Immediately behind it, there was the screeching sound of car horns. Salim hesitated, then touched the driver's shoulder through the hole in the fence. The man's head immediately tilted up, started the car, stepped on the accelerator, and staggered into the traffic.

"Damn, damn it, damn it. He cursed in English.

"You must be tired, my friend. Salim reassured.

"I've been driving this forgotten taxi by Allah for thirty hours straight. The driver said, "It's been too long." Before that, I had only slept for five hours, and before that, I had been driving for fourteen hours straight. Understaffed before Christmas. ”

"I hope you've made a lot of money. Salim said.

The driver sighed. "Not much. This morning, I drove someone from Judge Street to the airport. After arriving, he actually ran directly into the airport and could no longer find his figure. The fifty pounds for the car was gone, and I had to pay the toll myself. ”

Salim nodded sympathetically. "I also had to waste time today waiting to meet someone who didn't want to see me at all. My brother-in-law hates me. I've been in the UK for a week now and have achieved nothing but wasted money and haven't sold anything. ”

"What do you sell?"

"A pile of garbage. "Worthless bargains, gadgets, and tourist decorations." Nasty, cheap, stupid, ugly bunch of junk goods. ”

"You sell garbage?"

"Yes. Salim said, horrified to find that he had told the truth about his brother-in-law's sample.

"And they're not going to buy it?"

"Don't buy it. ”

"No, look at these shops, they specialize in garbage. ”

Salim laughed nervously.

A van was parked on the street in front of them, and a red-faced policeman stood in front of the car, waving and shouting, pointing for them to walk down the nearest street.

"Let's take a detour to Eighth Avenue and go through that road. Said the taxi driver. They drove down that street, and it turned out that the traffic there was completely jammed. The shrill sound of car horns was continuous, and no car could move.

The driver swayed in his seat, and his chin began to slowly drop to his chest, once, twice, three times. He began to snore softly. Salim reached out and pushed the man awake, hoping that this was the right choice. As he shook his shoulder, the driver moved, and Salim's hand touched the man's face, knocking off his sunglasses.

The taxi driver opened his eyes, found his sunglasses, and put them back on his black plastic glasses. It was too late, Salim had already seen his eyes.

The taxi squirmed slowly forward in the rain, and the numbers on the meter kept increasing.

"Are you going to kill me?" Salim asked.

The taxi driver's lips were pursed together. Salim observes his face in the driver's rearview mirror.

"No, it won't. The driver said calmly.

The car stopped again. The rain was beating down on the roof of the car.

"My grandmother swore that one evening she had seen a Malai Kulemout, right on the edge of the desert," Salim said. We told her it was just a sandstorm, a gust of wind, but she insisted she saw it. She saw its face, and its eyes, which, like yours, were burning flames. ”

The driver smiled, but his eyes were still hidden behind his black plastic sunglasses, so Salim couldn't tell if there was a real smile in the smile. "Grandmothers have come to this place. He said.

"There are a lot of you like in London.... Monsters?" Salim asked.

"Not much, we are very small. ”

"There are angels, there are human beings made of clay by Allah, and there are bloodline shamans who have been handed down. Salim said.

"Here, no one knows about us. "They think we can help mortals fulfill their wishes." If I really have this ability, do you think I can still drive a taxi to make a living?"

"I don't understand. ”

The taxi driver looked a little sad, and as he spoke, Salim stared into his face from the driver's rearview mirror, looking at Malekul Maut's black lips.

"People believe we can make their wishes come true. Why would they believe that? I live in a smelly room in the harbor area, and I drive this taxi. As long as I have money, any stinking bastard can ride in my car, and some people won't even give me money. I send them where they want to go, sometimes they tip me, sometimes they just give money according to the price on the meter. His lower lip quivered. This McLaykulemaut seems to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "Once, a guy actually pooped in the back seat. Before returning the car to the company, I had to scrub it by hand. How could he do that? I had to clean up that puddle of from my seat. How can that be done?"

Salim reached out and patted Malekul Maut on the shoulder. Through the sweater, he felt his strong flesh. Malekul Maut lifted a hand from the steering wheel and placed it on Salim's hand, and there was silence for a while.

At this time, Salim remembered the desert. In his imagination, red sand rolls up a sandstorm, and countless scarlet silk tents surround the lost city of Yuba. The image flew and swirled in his mind.

They drove to Eighth Avenue.

"The older generation, who hold fast to tradition, believe in our existence. They don't urinate in the cave because the Prophet told them that there are gods and monsters living in the cave. They know that if they eavesdrop on the angels' conversations, the angels will throw burning stars at them. But even the older generation, after coming to this country, feel too far away from their hometown, so they don't care about us anymore. In my hometown, I don't need to drive any hellish taxis. ”

"I feel sorry for you. Salim said.

"It's a tough time," the driver said, "and the storm is coming." I was terrified. As long as I can get out of here, I'm willing to do anything. ”

After that, during the time when the car drove to the front of the hotel, the two men stopped talking.

When Salim got out of the car, he gave Malekul a twenty-pound note and told him that he didn't need to give change. Then, out of nowhere, he gave him his room number. The taxi driver didn't say anything. A young woman slipped into the back seat of a taxi and drove back into the cold rain.

By six o'clock in the evening, Salim had not yet finished writing a fax to his brother-in-law. He braved the rain to go out and buy himself kebabs and french fries for tonight's dinner. It's only been a week, but he already feels like he's gotten fatter, rounder and softened in this part of London.

When he returned to the hotel, he was surprised to see the taxi driver standing at the front desk, waiting for him with his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the black-and-white postcards on the shelves. When he saw Salim, he laughed a little unnaturally. "I'll call your room," he said, "and no one answers." So I guess I should wait for you for a while. ”

Salim laughed and touched the man's arm. "I'm here. He said.