***
Joe found the little square and washed his face and hands, still unable to shake off the blurred feeling in his mind. He was standing in front of the small Roman fountain, gazing numbly down at the worn marble face and wondering what could be keeping Liffy, when suddenly a chilling shriek exploded behind him.
He whirled.
A huge horse and pale rider were wildly thundering out of the shadows and bearing down on the little square, the rider a fierce bedouin straight from the interminable depths of the desert, his great sword of Allah raised high as he charged headlong through the dim alley toward Joe. The hooded bedouin crouched low as the animal leapt and smashed its hooves into the cobblestones, rearing out of control in the half-light, enormous and fiery beneath the crackling robes of the horseman.
God help us, thought Joe, huddling in the little square and not daring to take his eyes off the monstrous vision, lest he be trampled or cut in half by the demon's slashing sword. The beast reared and charged anew, plunging recklessly back and forth as the bedouin whipped his mount into an ever greater frenzy, hair streaming and sparks flying, horse and rider hurtling skyward and filling the air with a stench of cold sweat.
Joe threw himself to the side as a blast of damp breath shot by his head. He slipped and went crashing down on one knee, catching himself at the last moment and spinning toward a wall, limping and stumbling, running, the awful vision of the horseman's face towering over him.
. . . gaunt stony features and a ghastly pallor in the eerie light. A hawk's beak and sunken glittering eyes and cruel twisted lips. A crazed primitive face from some lost wilderness.
Death, thought Joe, the image flashing through his mind despite himself.
Death's the rider and there's no escape.
He was pressed against a wall and moving sideways, frantically groping for a doorway, shelter, anything.
He felt a cavity in the wall and slipped into it, shrinking backward, pushing against the stone with all his strength.
But as soon as Joe had slipped into the safety of the doorway, he began to notice things.
For one, the huge sleek stallion seemed to have curiously knobby knees. And its stomach sagged and it was swaybacked, and there were thick clumps of matted hair spreading down over its hooves.
For another, the huge beast wore a heavy wooden halter of the kind used to weigh down common workhorses. And there were strands of old rope trailing from the halter that looked as if they might have been attached to a wagon not too long ago.
Joe stared.
Instead of the fierce bedouin who had come thundering out of the shadows, he now saw a frightened figure desperately hanging on to his tired mount as best he could, a man who was all elbows and knees and terrified squeals as he crashed around on top of the old horse, his perch so precarious he was clinging to the horse's head and squashing an old rag over the poor animal's nostrils.
Even the long powerful sword was no longer what it had appeared to be. In fact it wasn't a sword at all but a long cylinder of dull metal thrashing harmlessly this way and that, obviously wielded more for balance than anything else.
In any case the spectacle was abruptly over, the strange illusion gone as quickly as it had come in the shadows of the little square. With a groan the exhausted workhorse heaved itself into the air a final time and came tumbling down on the cobblestones, its bones cracking ponderously in the stillness and its legs nearly buckling under the impact, the old creature shuddering once before becoming instantly immobile, its head hanging, a vision of worn-out flesh weary beyond belief.
Just before the horse landed, Liffy jumped free. He pushed back his hood and grinned.
Double-time, he whispered. This way.
In another moment they were running down an alley. As Liffy pulled him along, Joe looked back and saw the huge old workhorse standing alone in the little square, its belly sagging and its tail swishing, its nose nestled against the alarmed marble face of the small Roman fountain. Liffy wheezed happily.
We needed that to get the day started, he whispered. Quick, this way.
Why are we running? asked Joe.
Liffy slowed to a trot.
No reason really. It's just more dramatic.
But what was all that about?
Liffy sneezed. He smiled.
Drama, he whispered. The inescapable drama of life. I decided we needed a bracing event to get ourselves going this morning.
Bracing? You scared me half to death.
Liffy laughed.
I did, didn't I, I could see it in your face. For just a moment you must have thought fate had come riding in from the desert to pay you a call.
Joe tugged on Liffy's arm, slowing him to a walk.
And not just fate either, Liffy.
No?
Liffy stopped, suddenly serious. He stared at Joe.
And I looked, he murmured, and behold a pale horse, and his name that sat on him was Death.
Liffy touched Joe's chest.
But you just see how it is? You must be careful, Joe. The desert is never far away here, and even Old Cairo can be a dangerous place. And perhaps even the Hotel Babylon, if you're its only guest.
Joe looked at him.
Is that true? There's no one else staying there but me?
No one, said Liffy. And what's more, no one has stayed there in several months. You can ask Ahmad.
But why?
Who knows, Joe? Perhaps it was condemned or forgotten by certain sinister secret forces . . . until you arrived on the scene. Perhaps there's even far more to Bletchley's potted palms than we suspect.
Liffy nodded. He smiled.
But we've had enough of the Hotel Babylon for now. The point is the classical world still lives and the trick works. It took me awhile to find an old horse unattended, that's what kept me. There he was just roped to his wagon in a dreary back alley with the prospect of another dreary day ahead, old and tired and thinking he'd seen it all, when suddenly he shed the bonds of a lifetime and the two of us went flying away like the wind. Like the wind, Joe, I could feel it. Will wonders never cease?
Joe smiled.
I don't think they could if they wanted to, Liffy, not when you're around. But what did you do to that old workhorse to make him move like that?
I merely reminded him of the joy of life, answered Liffy.
How?
By recalling a day in the life of Alexander the Great.
What?
Yes. That rag I had pressed to the old gent's nostrils is actually a footnote from history. You find a mare in heat and acquire her scent, then when the magic is applied to the nose of a stallion, even a decrepit old jade as tired as that one, his blood wildly surges and all at once he's a bounding prancing colt again, deliriously out of control. Can't help himself, you see, not when you put it right under his nose. Sex, it's called.
Alexander the Great did that with a horse? asked Joe.
It was either him or one of his lackeys, and there you see how well it works. The scent seems to be good for several days, as well it might be. Clever, these ancients. Had their wits about them on occasion and discovered a thing or two about the meat of the matter. Including the fact that it's all in the mind, as we've often suspected. Sex, I mean.
Liffy hummed, whistled, sneezed.
Do you think Cynthia would be shocked if I told her about this? My guess is she'd pretend to be shocked while secretly relishing the whole idea. And who knows what it might lead to later in the evening, for who knows what lechery lurks in the minds of women? Or who knows what lurks in anyone's mind?
Or . . .
Joe smiled. Liffy threw back his head and studied the sky.
Now where did I leave that secret van? Our wholly inconspicuous Ahmadmobile?
He laughed and they started off again.
Oh I remember, it's just that it's like everything else in this world. We're not there yet, but we're getting there.
***
After twisting and turn
ing through more alleys, they finally arrived at the small delivery van, its side panels boldly advertising AHMAD'S GREASY FISH & LEVANTINE CHIPS. Before they climbed in Liffy zipped up his former sword, a long collapsible spyglass, in its leather case.
Ahmad's, he said. He always keeps it handy under his counter, for those times when he feels the need to take an especially penetrating look at the past. I couldn't tell him I was taking it without waking him, but he won't mind. He only uses it at night . . . Saturday nights, I believe.
Liffy gazed at the bundle of clothing under his arm. He smiled.
The bedouin cloak goes with me for another day, but I think I just might play God this morning by leaving this magical rag, heavenly scented, right here on a windowsill. And should a weary workhorse chance to pass this way today, and should the sagging old jade chance to raise his weary head at the right moment and catch a whiff of this Alexandrian rag, he'll be rewarded by music far beyond his wildest dreams. For the old jade's blood will suddenly surge as he abandons himself to the passionate dances of his youth, and his owner will be astounded and everybody will be astounded and the whole neighborhood will gather to behold, as they used to say.
Solemnly, then, Liffy drew himself up and gazed at Joe, his hand held high.
And behold it was written, the neighbors will say one unto another, a gleam and a twinkle in every eye and the glory of divine grace full upon them. For if a broken-down old workhorse can suddenly become a prancing playful colt, dare we imagine what this must mean for the rest of us?
And behold it was written, they will say. And the word will go forth from this place and be good news throughout the land, bringing great joy to all who hear it, as from a golden bell. For there are miracles in this world, they will say, that surpasseth all understanding. And these miracles come to those who raise their eyes from the cobblestones and look to the heavens, to search in their hearts for the darkness and the light. . . .
Liffy smiled shyly. He dropped his hand and nodded.
And I know that must be written, Joe, because miracles happen all the time, they do. It's just that we have to raise our eyes to look for them. And mostly we don't because we're weak and afraid, but when we do . . .
Liffy went on smiling, nodding.
Well, an interlude then on the dawn patrol. But wouldn't it be wonderful if we could witness a small miracle this morning? Especially a miracle involving someone who deserves it? Someone like Stern? . . .
***
The engine of the delivery van started with a quiet purr.
Less noise than when we drove in from the airport, said Joe.
That was the muffler cutout, replied Liffy, sometimes useful when the traffic's clogged. Just a flip of a switch and our Egyptian friends think Rommel's panzers have broken through the Eighth Army and are thundering into Cairo. Instantly the traffic clears and I go roaring through with waves and cheers on every side. It sets you up a bit until you remember why they're cheering. Off we go now.
They drove through the narrow streets of the Coptic Quarter, past horse-drawn carts and men bent double under loads of sacks and vegetables. The air was fresh and cool. Here and there a café was opening.
Best moment of the day really, said Liffy. The heat and corruption haven't settled in yet, and the mind hasn't had time to be horrified by what lies ahead. Do you need coffee or can you wait?
I can wait. Where are we going?
It's a surprise, a secret destination.
Liffy hummed a music-hall tune, a habit he apparently shared with Vivian. Joe gazed out the window, once more bothered by the blurred sensation in his mind. They seemed to be driving out of Cairo toward the desert, where a gathering of light lay on the horizon. The road turned and Joe caught a glimpse of the pyramids against the dim sky.
You weren't joking? We're going to the pyramids?
The dawn patrol, murmured Liffy. We're heading toward the dawn of Egyptian civilization, and although five thousand years have passed since the pyramids were built, we still may be in for a surprise. At least I hope so. If we're lucky. . . .
***
They lay on a rise of sand, the pyramids and the Sphinx in full view in front of them, a deep red glow above the desert to the east. Liffy handed the long spyglass to Joe.
Now adjust the spyglass to the Sphinx, said Liffy Have him yet?
Almost.
Beautiful?
Exquisite. The light.
Yes. Now look at the right eye of the Sphinx and concentrate on that. What do you see?
Shadows, Liffy.
Fine, keep looking. Shadows assume unexpected shapes and that can be intriguing.
But what am I supposed to see?
Who knows for sure. That odd-looking mythical creature with his human head and his animal body has always been a riddle, unlike the rest of us. Just keep looking.
Joe did so, feeling the cool sand against his chest and smelling the freshness of the desert, his thoughts far from any war.
Nothing yet? asked Liffy.
More light.
Good. We could all use a little more of that. Just keep looking.
Joe strained to see through the spyglass. For a moment he thought he saw something moving in the right eye of the Sphinx. A flicker, shadows, he couldn't be sure. Perhaps the sun rising toward the horizon was causing shadows to play on the worn ancient stones.
Beside him Liffy began to whisper.
Last night, remember? You talked a lot about Stern and what he means to you, and why you came here.
You also said you'd heard about that friend of Stern's, old Menelik Ziwar, who was an Egyptologist in the last century. You said you'd heard stories about him when you were living in Jerusalem. But did you also know old Menelik had found time to do some serious poking around inside the Sphinx? Did anyone ever mention that to you?
No, whispered Joe, staring intently through the spyglass, trying harder and harder to see, not believing what seemed to be happening out there.
Well he did, whispered Liffy. Old Menelik decided he wanted to do a potter of sorts inside the Sphinx in the last century, lovable old mole that he was, and so he had a small tunnel dug from the outside, right into the Sphinx. The entrance to the tunnel is hidden as it has always been, and it leads to a tiny lookout old Menelik fashioned for himself right inside the riddle itself. . . . What do you see?
Something moving, whispered Joe.
In the right eye?
Yes.
A stone being removed?
It could be.
And now?
It looks like a face, a head, appearing.
Where?
Right in the middle of the eye.
On his back on the sand beside Joe, gazing straight up at the sky, Liffy sighed happily.
In the pupil of the eye, you mean?
Yes.
It looks like a face, you say, a head? And it's becoming the pupil of the right eye of the Sphinx? Still shadowy?
Yes.
Do the shadows have a shape you can recognize?
No, it's too far away. Too small and indistinct.
Of course, the Sphinx's a riddle. Look harder.
Joe did so. He leaned forward on his elbows, holding his breath, straining to see through the spyglass. All at once he whistled softly.
Impossible.
Beside him, Liffy closed his eyes, a blissful smile on his face.
But it is real, whispered Joe, I can recognize him. Oh my God, it's Stern. Stern. . . .
Ah, murmured Liffy, he wasn't away after all. He's there watching the sunrise from his favorite perch.
You can't always count on it anymore, Ahmad says, not the way things are these days. Just once in a great while can you find him at it. ... But it's a sight, isn't it, Joe? Something worth looking for and waiting for and hoping will happen, our very own Stern gazing out through the eye of the Sphinx at dawn . . . and it doesn't happen much these days, according to Ahmad, so we were lucky to catch Stern at it . . . very lucky. Unless Ste
rn knew you were arriving in Cairo. Could he have known that?
No, I didn't tell him.
And Bletchley wouldn't have said anything to him?
Oh no.
Are you sure?
Yes, positive.
Liffy hummed. He smiled.
Lovely then. It's chance, pure chance, and I was the one who was able to show it to you. . . . Ahhh, the wonders of life, the miracles. Sometimes I feel as light as a dove on the dawn. Ahhh. . . .
-7-
Monastery
Liffy was surprised when Joe told him he had a daytime meeting coming up with Bletchley. According to Liffy, the Monks were notorious for always conducting their briefings and meetings at night.
Strictly at night, said Liffy. Darkness is the sea they swim in. Do you realize that in all my time here, I've never once been to the Monastery except at night? But if Bletchley's really taking you into the desert to be briefed by Whatley, in broad daylight, at least you may not have to watch those awful films they show out there.
Films? asked Joe, pouring himself more gin. The two of them were sitting in the small crumbling courtyard behind the Hotel Babylon, a narrow enclosure strewn with rubble and old newspapers and piles of ancient debris.
On the dangers of venereal disease, said Liffy. Those same films they show back in England to young army recruits before they're sent overseas. Noses missing . . . no eyes . . . holes in heads going nowhere.
Just terrible. When you arrive at the Monastery at night you have to sit through a couple of those films in the cloisters first, before you're allowed inside. Ugliness by starlight, in other words, to put you in the appropriate frame of mind before you enter the black bowels of the place. It's a kind of ritual they have out there, and not the only one from what I hear. . . . Just blackness everywhere. Disgusting.
Joe sipped his gin, thinking how the mere mention of the Monastery always disturbed Liffy so profoundly, in a way Liffy himself seemed unable to explain.
But what is it that bothers you so much about the Monastery? asked Joe.
Liffy shuddered and clasped his hands together, twisting his fingers around themselves. For a moment he stared at his fingers in horror, as if their slithering movements reflected his feelings.
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