by N E. David
But if the men were happy to dispense with formality, the women were definitely not. It was their last chance to show themselves off and the potential grandeur of the occasion got the better of them. To match their surroundings, some made use of their Egyptian outfits for a second time, while others brought out something they’d kept hidden in their luggage. Lee Yong appeared in the gown that she’d worn on the night they’d passed through the lock at Esna. For Blake, it brought back memories. Mrs Biltmore was persuaded to dress up and pulled a lace cardigan on over her ubiquitous green top, although she professed this was as much to keep off the night chill as for the purpose of fashion. As for Ira – well, no-one noticed what he was wearing at all.
So later that evening, after another makeshift preparation by the chef, it was the full party of eight that clambered onto the bus for the trip downtown.
It was a different journey through the city at night. Landmarks which could be relied on in daylight vanished into the darkness, while areas that had lain unseen burst into life beneath a blaze of neon light – cafés, restaurants, late-night shops, it was hardly the same place. On the Corniche, the Winter Palace Hotel which had appeared dark and foreboding that morning, was reborn in the glow of a floodlit array. Across the road, the waters of the Nile slid by, dark and mysterious.
The temple itself was floodlit too, making its massive columns seem even taller as they were picked out against the night sky. As large as a cathedral, it dominated the waterfront – even the bulk of the Winter Palace Hotel appeared small by comparison. As its imposing structure came into view, a murmur of appreciation rippled around the bus.
“Oh my! Isn’t this wonderful?” said Mrs Biltmore, marvelling at the sight.
The bus dropped them off at the ticket office where they were waved straight through and walked down toward the entrance gate. They’d arrived early (it was not yet twenty past eight) and took time to stroll along the Avenue of Sphinxes that led to Karnak, admiring the statues. Within the temple grounds, a welcoming committee had assembled to meet them although there were to be no introductory speeches that evening. The place spoke for itself – this was the home of the gods. Here lived the Theban Triad of Amun (the Unseen One), Mut (his Consort) and their son Khonsu (the Traveller). The signs of these all-powerful deities were everywhere – what else was there to say?
At 8.30 they crowded together at the gate. Inside, curving down through the darkness toward the front of the temple, the pathway was flanked on either side by a row of Nubian slaves, each wearing a white headdress and a gold breastplate and bearing a flaming torch. As the gate opened to let them in, from deep within the temple building the theme of the Grand March from Aida boomed out to greet them. At the rear of their party, Joan stiffened at the sound. In her lavish guise as Cleopatra, she was to have her entrance after all.
Keith had been waiting patiently at the front and whistled through his teeth.
“Well, they certainly know how to put on a show…”
He and Janet then led the way, followed in turn by Mrs Biltmore and Ira, then David and Joan.
Lee Yong seemed hesitant and stood alone in her silver dress, clutching a small evening bag and looking round, waiting for an escort. Blake offered his arm.
“Shall we?”
She took it gratefully and encouraged by the strains of the Grand March, they set off along the path.
On either side, the Nubian slaves paraded like ushers and for a moment, Blake imagined himself at a wedding. In her long dress, it was as if Lee Yong were the bride and he the father, guiding her down the aisle. Somewhere in the shadows beneath the temple wall, her husband to be would stand waiting. Would it be Reda? Blake wondered. Perhaps, tonight, under a starry sky and the influence of the moon, they would come to their conclusion.
The reception was held on a small mound situated at the rear of the ticket office – so once they’d descended the pathway, paraded in front of the temple and made their way up again, they’d succeeded in walking a circle. As they came up the slope, they were confronted by a table covered with a white cloth and laid out with drinks and assorted snacks. Close by, a row of smartly bow-tied waiters stood in attendance, proffering trays and prefilled glasses.
David had been at the rear of the party but he was the first to break ranks. The pressure he’d been under to make the arrangements seemed to have got to him and he was anxious to get started.
“Over here!” He beckoned to the others, then addressed one of the waiters. “This way, my good man. I’m ready if you are.” He seized two glasses from a tray and thrust one in the direction of Joan before downing the other himself. “Ah! That’s better!” He smacked his lips and winked. “Hair of the dog – can’t beat it.”
Keith eyed his glass with suspicion.
“What exactly is it?”
An orange-coloured liquid bubbled dangerously like a fomenting chemical.
“I haven’t a clue,” replied David. “I tell you what – why don’t I try another one and let you know.” He grabbed a second glass from a passing waiter’s tray and immediately made a start on it.
Joan, in line with her character of queen, sipped decorously at her own cocktail and looked on, appalled at her husband’s behaviour.
Meanwhile, Keith had been conducting an investigation.
“It looks suspiciously like Bucks Fizz to me.” He took a glass for Janet and one for himself. “Anyway, cheers everybody! And here’s to us.”
By now they’d all got something to drink and raised their glasses to join in the toast. Here’s to us… This done, any formalities were at an end and the small talk could begin.
Janet took the bull by the horns and commenced the thankless task of conversing with Ira.
“So, home for you tomorrow is it?”
Her polite enquiry evinced the inevitable answer.
“Yup.”
After which, she struggled to make further headway.
In contrast, Mrs Biltmore had buttonholed Keith and was regaling him with one of her stories.
Blake listened in to these snippets of conversation but didn’t speak, restricting himself to the occasional courteous nod. He’d no desire to become engaged or attract attention. He hated small talk – it all seemed so pointless. It was a skill he’d never mastered, preferring instead to avoid it. After a while, he’d learnt he could shut himself off from the herd and isolate himself from the general conversation. He’d watch as a sea of mouths silently opened and closed – he presumed they emitted sounds but he’d become immune to them. With practice he could then project himself elsewhere – he’d imagine he was watching one of the beggars in the Sharia Salah Salem, or that he was birding on the Delta, telescope and tripod slung jauntily over his shoulder. The key was to retain sufficient presence of mind to know when you were being directly addressed and to trigger an appropriate response. Then he’d slip back into the real world and pick up the thread. Of course, he would say, naturally…
He’d perfected the technique through attendance at countless Embassy functions – the ambassador’s residence, cocktails at seven, black tie and the dread of being trapped in a corner with some minor foreign diplomat or the colonel’s wife and the unavoidable discussion about the situation in some far-off foreign country. I don’t know how those poor devils survive… And if, by some awful miscalculation he was forced to make comment himself, he’d developed a ‘get out of jail card’ he could use –You’ll have to excuse me, I can see the consul’s waiting – after which he’d slip away into the crowd.
This was such a moment. All around, people were talking (Sam was taking his finals in the summer and it was a good year for plums). Blake heard the words, but his mind was disconnected. From his position on top of the mound he could look down at the temple. Down below in the glare of the arc lights, the row of pillars stretched into the night, while in front of the main pylon, a single obelisk rose up and pricked the darkness, pointing toward the heavens. Above it, a crescent moon gleamed, creamy white. From
somewhere in the ether, the god Amun and his consort Mut looked down on them. If conditions allowed, they would surely come together. Perhaps, tonight, under a starry sky and the influence of the moon…
Suddenly, the sound of Keith’s voice wrenched him out of his reverie.
“…easy for you, Michael. I mean, it can’t be more than, what, an hour by plane, give or take, from here to Cairo? Provided everything’s running of course (and the last time I looked it was fine) you’ll be home by lunchtime tomorrow. As for us poor beggars, I don’t suppose we’ll see the inside of our front doors until gone midnight.”
“Yes…I mean, no…” Blake struggled for a response. For once he’d been caught unawares – he was getting out of practice. Then he realised where he was and reverted to his pre-prepared script. “Of course, naturally…I’m sorry Keith, I was miles away. You were saying?”
Keith started over, but all Blake could discern was the mimed movement of his lips as the words floated by again unheard. He was indeed miles away and this time finding it difficult to return.
He was standing at the edge of the group, a glass of the orange concoction in each hand. In his capacity as Lee Yong’s escort he’d gone to replenish their drinks, but now he was unable to find her. He’d hung around for a few minutes, catching snatches of the conversation as he peered over shoulders and behind his neighbours, looking for her, but to no effect. It was almost a quarter of an hour since he’d seen her and he was becoming concerned. She’d completely disappeared and ever since that thought about Mut and Amun he’d been consumed by a growing sense of foreboding. Was it Mut whose body had been cut into pieces and according to legend, distributed about the kingdom? Or was that some other god or goddess? In the heat of the moment he couldn’t remember. And now Keith was on his case and wanting him to join in some discussion. He needed to get free and resorted to using his old get out of jail card.
“Look, you’ll have to excuse me – there’s something I’ve got to do.”
I can see the consul’s waiting…
He hailed a passing waiter and dumped the glasses.
Lee Yong was no longer at the reception, of that he was certain. Nor could she have gone out onto the Corniche – the exit gate by the ticket office had already been locked. She must have wandered off somewhere – but unlike at the souk where they’d been separated by the arrival of the police, this time her departure must have been deliberate. Looking around, there was only one place she could have gone and that was back from where they’d arrived. With every intention of finding her, Blake left the group and set off down the slope toward the temple.
He didn’t stop to ask himself why. This was not a time for introspection and the answer to the question might prove unsettling. A week ago he’d been unaware of her existence and at first she’d been no more than a passing interest. But in the past few days he’d come to know her well and she’d become precious to him. Now, as at the souk, he could not rest until he knew she was safe. At last, it appeared he’d found something to care about other than birds.
The front of the temple was swathed in semi-darkness. The row of Nubian slaves lining their entry route had long since extinguished their torches and gone home for the night so there was no guard of honour to light his way. High above, the giant obelisk glowed beneath the thin sliver of the crescent moon, although in the shelter of the temple wall there was barely enough light to see by. Further to the left and still lit, the ghostly Avenue of Sphinxes stretched away toward Karnak. He scanned the surrounding area but it appeared deserted. So if she wasn’t there, instinct told him she must have turned right and gone into the temple. He followed suit and with the seated colossi of Ramses II on either side, passed through the gateway.
Once inside, the passageway narrowed and a large structure to his left loomed incongruously above the stonework. This must be the Mosque of Abu el-Haggag. Perhaps Lee Yong had come down for midnight prayer – she was most likely Muslim, although they’d not discussed it and she’d never struck him as being devout. But all its lights were out and there was no sign of life. He dismissed it as unlikely and pressed on into the main courtyard.
Here, the moon shone bright on open ground and he was at last able to see where he was going. The place seemed empty, although there were plenty of dark corners where someone might easily hide. In front of him lay the huge colonnade whose massive pillars were visible from the Corniche. From outside they appeared gigantic, but viewed from within they were no more than vast shadows cast by the powerful lights. Guarding the way, another colossus, this time in black granite, dominated the entrance.
As he approached the statue he began to hear voices, faint at first, then growing in intensity as he moved forward. Deep within the shadows of the colonnade, two people were talking.
His immediate reaction was to hide behind the mound of stone. The temple was a natural amphitheatre, magnifying sound, and he leant out into the passageway in the hopes of catching what they were saying.
The first voice was unquestionably that of Lee Yong. It was high-pitched, vibrant and trilled like a soprano, echoing amongst the pillars. He’d found her – but more to the point, was she safe? And what was she doing here? The second voice was a man’s – surely it had to be Reda. Much deeper, it was more baritone than tenor and lacked the resonant quality of its counterpart. So while her words rang out, his were dulled and to determine what was happening, Blake was forced to read between the lines.
At the Egyptian evening they’d billed and cooed like pigeons, but what Blake could hear now was the screech of squabbling starlings. Something had gone wrong and there was an argument in progress – was it just a tiff? Or something potentially more serious?
“No! I don’t believe you!”
Blake had already experienced Lee Yong’s reproving tone, but her outburst held more venom than that – now she was really angry.
Reda’s baritone responded but Blake failed to make out the muted reply.
“How can you say that? You know how much it means to me…”
Lee Yong again – although this time more pleading than enraged.
The baritone cut in again, softer now but still sounding unmoved, intractable, although the words themselves were indecipherable.
“And is that your final decision?” Lee Yong was asking next.
The answer must have been ‘yes’ as it was followed by an anguished shriek. Then there was a heart-rending sob and the sound of slippered feet running across the flagstones.
Blake instinctively pressed himself against the black granite. For all that had happened in the last week, at heart he was still an observer and whatever his sympathies, he’d no desire to be discovered. He had assumed – and probably hoped – that she would run straight past, but she stopped on a patch of open ground directly opposite his position and turned to face him. Her expression bore no malice and she seemed not to object to his presence. It was as if she’d expected he’d be there, watching…
The neat black hair he’d once admired had become dishevelled and she looked distraught, but somehow still beautiful in the moonlight. They stared at each other for a moment and then she cried out.
“He won’t go, Mr Blake. He won’t go!”
He thought she’d continue to run off across the courtyard, instead of which she promptly burst into tears and came to him, flinging herself onto his chest. In what was now a cold and cheerless place, she would take whatever warmth and comfort he could provide.
Blake clasped her to him, feeling the hot sting of her tears through his linen shirt. He tried to soothe her as best he could but with every sob she uttered, he felt his heart beat faster. Why could she not have asked him? He would have followed her to the ends of the earth! If only he were younger…
More footsteps resounded on the flags and Reda appeared out of the darkness. Coincidence or not, he too stopped on the same patch of bare ground and stood in the moonlight to look at them. He’d lost his boyish looks and seemed chastened by his recent experience
, although his face was calmer and much as Lee Yong must have seen it, implacable but saddened, as if to say I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Blake raised a hand to signal that for the moment at least he should stay away while he took care of things.
“It’s alright,” he mouthed, “she’ll be fine…”
But deep inside, he knew that she would not and that this would take time.
Reda gave a shake of his head and walked on across the courtyard and for a full five minutes after she continued to weep, her tiny body shaking in spasms. Eventually the convulsions ceased and she pulled away to compose herself, taking a tissue from her evening bag and dabbing at the trails of mascara that had run down her cheeks.
Blake waited patiently until she’d finished.
“We’d better go back…”
There seemed little else he could say.
He offered his arm yet again and they began to make their way slowly across the courtyard, entering the passage beneath the Mosque of Abu el-Haggag, dark and shuttered up against the night. So far she’d remained silent, but once outside the temple wall she stopped next to the obelisk and turned to speak to him.
“You won’t say anything about this to the others, will you?”
“Of course not.”
Why should he? It was the second time she’d asked him the same question. He’d pledged his silence once – why could he not be trusted now?
They returned to the reception to find they’d no need of concealment. While they’d been away, David had been up to his usual tricks. He’d succeeded in spilling a glass of the orange concoction down the front of Joan’s Pharaonic gown and a serious mopping-up operation was in progress that involved the whole of their party. Her reported reaction had been anything but regal and in the hoo-hah that followed, their absence had gone completely unnoticed.