The Best of Connie Willis

by Connie Willis

  “ ‘A guide is recommended,’ ” Zoe reads.

  I have meant to frighten Lissa, but I have only managed to frighten myself. We are beginning our descent, that’s all, I tell myself, and flying through a cloud. And that must be right.

  Because here we are in Cairo.

  Chapter Two: Arriving at the Airport

  “So this is Cairo?” Zoe’s husband says, looking around. The plane has stopped at the end of the runway and deplaned us onto the asphalt by means of a metal stairway.

  The terminal is off to the east, a low building with palm trees around it, and the Japanese tour group sets off toward it immediately, shouldering their carry-on bags and camera cases.

  We do not have any carry-ons. Since we always have to wait at the baggage claim for Zoe’s guidebooks anyway, we check our carry-ons, too. Every time we do it, I am convinced they will go to Tokyo or disappear altogether, but now I’m glad we don’t have to lug them all the way to the terminal. It looks like it is miles away, and the Japanese are already slowing.

  Zoe is reading the guidebook. The rest of us stand around her, looking impatient. Lissa has caught the heel of her sandal in one of the metal steps coming down and is leaning against Neil.

  “Did you twist it?” Neil asks anxiously.

  The flight attendants clatter down the steps with their navy blue overnight cases. They still look nervous. At the bottom of the stairs they unfold wheeled metal carriers and strap the overnight cases to them and set off for the terminal. After a few steps they stop, and one of them takes off her jacket and drapes it over the wheeled carrier, and they start off again, walking rapidly in their high heels.

  It is not as hot as I expected, even though the distant terminal shimmers in the heated air rising from the asphalt. There is no sign of the clouds we flew through, just a thin white haze, which disperses the sun’s light into an even glare. We are all squinting. Lissa lets go of Neil’s arm for a second to get her sunglasses out of her bag.

  “What do they drink around here?” Lissa’s husband asks, squinting over Zoe’s shoulder at the guidebook. “I want a drink.”

  “The local drink is zibib,” Zoe says. “It’s like ouzo.” She looks up from the guidebook. “I think we should go see the Pyramids.” The professional tour guide strikes again.

  “Don’t you think we’d better take care of first things first?” I say. “Like customs? And picking up our luggage?”

  “And finding a drink of … what did you call it? Zibab?” Lissa’s husband says.

  “No,” Zoe says. “I think we should do the Pyramids first. It’ll take an hour to do the baggage claim and customs, and we can’t take our luggage with us to the Pyramids. We’ll have to go to the hotel, and by that time everyone will be out there. I think we should go right now.” She gestures at the terminal. “We can run out and see them and be back before the Japanese tour group’s even through customs.”

  She turns and starts walking in the opposite direction from the terminal, and the others straggle obediently after her.

  I look back at the terminal. The flight attendants have passed the Japanese tour group and are nearly to the palm trees.

  “You’re going the wrong way,” I say to Zoe. “We’ve got to go to the terminal to get a taxi.”

  Zoe stops. “A taxi?” she says. “What for? They aren’t far. We can walk it in fifteen minutes.”

  “Fifteen minutes?” I say. “Giza’s nine miles west of Cairo. You have to cross the Nile to get there.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she says, “they’re right there,” and points in the direction she was walking, and there, beyond the asphalt in an expanse of sand, so close they do not shimmer at all, are the Pyramids.

  Chapter Three: Getting Around

  It takes us longer than fifteen minutes. The Pyramids are farther away than they look, and the sand is deep and hard to walk in. We have to stop every few feet so Lissa can empty out her sandals, leaning against Neil.

  “We should have taken a taxi,” Zoe’s husband says, but there are no roads, and no sign of the refreshment stands and souvenir vendors the guidebook complained about, only the unbroken expanse of deep sand and the white, even sky, and in the distance the three yellow pyramids, standing in a row.

  “ ‘The tallest of the three is the Pyramid of Cheops, built in 2690 B.C.,’ ” Zoe says, reading as she walks. “ ‘It took thirty years to complete.’ ”

  “You have to take a taxi to get to the Pyramids,” I say. “There’s a lot of traffic.”

  “ ‘It was built on the west bank of the Nile, which the ancient Egyptians believed was the land of the dead.’ ”

  There is a flicker of movement ahead, between the pyramids, and I stop and shade my eyes against the glare to look at it, hoping it is a souvenir vendor, but I can’t see anything. We start walking again.

  It flickers again, and this time I catch sight of it running, hunched over, its hands nearly touching the ground. It disappears behind the middle pyramid.

  “I saw something,” I say, catching up to Zoe. “Some kind of animal. It looked like a baboon.”

  Zoe leafs through the guidebook and then says, “Monkeys. They’re found frequently near Giza. They beg for food from the tourists.”

  “There aren’t any tourists,” I say.

  “I know,” Zoe says happily. “I told you we’d avoid the rush.”

  “You have to go through customs, even in Egypt,” I say. “You can’t just leave the airport.”

  “The pyramid on the left is Kheophren,” Zoe says, “built in 2650 B.C.”

  “In the movie, they wouldn’t believe they were dead even when somebody told them,” I say. “Giza is nine miles from Cairo.”

  “What are you talking about?” Neil says. Lissa has stopped again and is leaning against him, standing on one foot and shaking her sandal out. “That mystery of Lissa’s, Death on the Nile?”

  “This was a movie,” I say. “They were on this ship, and they were all dead.”

  “We saw that movie, didn’t we, Zoe?” Zoe’s husband says. “Mia Farrow was in it, and Bette Davis. And the detective guy, what was his name—?”

  “Hercule Poirot,” Zoe says. “Played by Peter Ustinov. The Pyramids are open daily from eight A.M. to five P.M. Evenings there is a Son et Lumière show with colored floodlights and a narration in English and Japanese.”

  “There were all sorts of clues,” I say, “but they just ignored them.”

  “I don’t like Agatha Christie,” Lissa says. “Murder and trying to find out who killed who. I’m never able to figure out what’s going on. All those people on the train together.”

  “You’re thinking of Murder on the Orient Express,” Neil says. “I saw that.”

  “Is that the one where they got killed off one by one?” Lissa’s husband says.

  “I saw that one,” Zoe’s husband says. “They got what they deserved, as far as I’m concerned, going off on their own like that when they knew they should keep together.”

  “Giza is nine miles west of Cairo,” I say. “You have to take a taxi to get there. There is all this traffic.”

  “Peter Ustinov was in that one, too, wasn’t he?” Neil says. “The one with the train?”

  “No,” Zoe’s husband says. “It was the other one, what’s his name?”

  “Albert Finney,” Zoe says.

  Chapter Four: Places of Interest

  The Pyramids are closed. Fifty yards (45.7 m.) from the base of Cheops there is a chain barring our way. A metal sign hangs from it that says CLOSED in English and Japanese.

  “Prepare to be disappointed,” I say.

  “I thought you said they were open daily,” Lissa says, knocking sand out of her sandals.

  “It must be a holiday,” Zoe says, leafing through her guidebook. “Here it is. ‘Egyptian holidays.’ ” She begins reading. “ ‘Antiquities sites are closed during Ramadan, the Muslim month of fasting in March. On Fridays the sites are closed from eleven to one P.M.’ ”


  It is not March, or Friday, and even if it were, it is after one P.M. The shadow of Cheops stretches well past where we stand. I look up, trying to see the sun where it must be behind the pyramid, and catch a flicker of movement, high up. It is too large to be a monkey.

  “Well, what do we do now?” Zoe’s husband says.

  “We could go see the Sphinx,” Zoe muses, looking through the guidebook. “Or we could wait for the Son et Lumière show.”

  “No,” I say, thinking of being out here in the dark.

  “How do you know that won’t be closed, too?” Lissa asks.

  Zoe consults the book. “There are two shows daily, seven-thirty and nine P.M.”

  “That’s what you said about the Pyramids,” Lissa says. “I think we should go back to the airport and get our luggage. I want to get my other shoes.”

  “I think we should go back to the hotel,” Lissa’s husband says, “and have a long, cool drink.”

  “We’ll go to Tutankhamun’s tomb,” Zoe says. “It’s open every day, including holidays.” She looks up expectantly.

  “King Tut’s tomb?” I say. “In the Valley of the Kings?”

  “Yes,” she says, and starts to read. “ ‘It was found intact in 1922 by Howard Carter. It contained—’ ”

  All the belongings necessary for the deceased’s journey to the afterworld, I think. Sandals and clothes and Egypt Made Easy.

  “I’d rather have a drink,” Lissa’s husband says.

  “And a nap,” Zoe’s husband says. “You go on, and we’ll meet you at the hotel.”

  “I don’t think you should go off on your own,” I say. “I think we should keep together.”

  “It will be crowded if we wait,” Zoe says. “I’m going now. Are you coming, Lissa?”

  Lissa looks appealingly up at Neil. “I don’t think I’d better walk that far. My ankle’s starting to hurt again.”

  Neil looks helplessly at Zoe. “I guess we’d better pass.”

  “What about you?” Zoe’s husband says to me. “Are you going with Zoe or do you want to come with us?”

  “Before, you said death was the same everywhere,” I say to him, “and I said, ‘Which is what?’ and then Zoe interrupted us and you never did answer me. What were you going to say?”

  “I’ve forgotten,” he says, looking at Zoe as if he hopes she will interrupt us again, but she is intent on the guidebook.

  “You said death is the same everywhere,” I persist, “and I said, ‘Which is what?’ What did you think death would be like?”

  “I don’t know … unexpected, I guess. And probably pretty damn unpleasant.” He laughs nervously. “If we’re going to the hotel, we’d better get started. Who else is coming?”

  I toy with the idea of going with them, of sitting safely in the hotel bar with ceiling fans and palms, drinking zibib while we wait. That’s what the people on the ship did. And in spite of Lissa, I want to stay with Neil.

  I look at the expanse of sand back toward the east. There is no sign of Cairo from here, or of the terminal, and far off there is a flicker of movement, like something running.

  I shake my head. “I want to see King Tut’s tomb.” I go over to Neil. “I think we should go with Zoe,” I say, and put my hand on his arm. “After all, she’s our guide.”

  Neil looks helplessly at Lissa and then back at me. “I don’t know …”

  “The three of you can go back to the hotel,” I say to Lissa, gesturing to include the other men, “and Zoe and Neil and I can meet you there after we’ve been to the tomb.”

  Neil moves away from Lissa. “Why can’t you and Zoe just go?” he whispers at me.

  “I think we should keep together,” I say. “It would be so easy to get separated.”

  “How come you’re so stuck on going with Zoe anyway?” Neil says. “I thought you said you hated being led around by the nose all the time.”

  I want to say, Because she has the book, but Lissa has come over and is watching us, her eyes bright behind her sunglasses. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of a tomb,” I say.

  “King Tut?” Lissa says. “Is that the one with the treasure, the necklaces and the gold coffin and stuff?” She puts her hand on Neil’s arm. “I’ve always wanted to see that.”

  “Okay,” Neil says, relieved. “I guess we’ll go with you, Zoe.”

  Zoe looks expectantly at her husband.

  “Not me,” he says. “We’ll meet you in the bar.”

  “We’ll order drinks for you,” Lissa’s husband says. He waves good-bye, and they set off as if they know where they were going, even though Zoe hasn’t told them the name of the hotel.

  “The Valley of the Kings is located in the hills west of Luxor,” Zoe says and starts off across the sand the way she did at the airport. We follow her.

  I wait until Lissa gets a shoeful of sand and she and Neil fall behind while she empties it.

  “Zoe,” I say quietly. “There’s something wrong.”

  “Umm,” she says, looking up something in the guidebook’s index.

  “The Valley of the Kings is four hundred miles south of Cairo,” I say. “You can’t walk there from the Pyramids.”

  She finds the page. “Of course not. We have to take a boat.”

  She points, and I see we have reached a stand of reeds, and beyond it is the Nile. Nosing out from the rushes is a boat, and I am afraid it will be made of gold, but it is only one of the Nile cruisers. And I am so relieved that the Valley of the Kings is not within walking distance that I do not recognize the boat until we have climbed on board and are standing on the canopied deck next to the wooden paddle wheel. It is the steamer from Death on the Nile.

  Chapter 5: Cruises, Day Trips, and Guided Tours

  Lissa is sick on the boat. Neil offers to take her below, and I expect her to say yes, but she shakes her head. “My ankle hurts,” she says, and sinks down in one of the deck chairs. Neil kneels by her feet and examines a bruise no bigger than a piaster.

  “Is it swollen?” she asks anxiously. There is no sign of swelling, but Neil eases her sandal off and takes her foot tenderly, caressingly, in both hands. Lissa closes her eyes and leans back against the deck chair, sighing.

  I toy with the idea that Lissa’s husband couldn’t take any more of this, either, and that he murdered us all and then killed himself.

  “Here we are on a ship,” I say, “like the dead people in that movie.”

  “It’s not a ship, it’s a steamboat,” Zoe says. “ ‘The Nile steamer is the most pleasant way to travel in Egypt and one of the least expensive. Costs range from $180 to $360 per person for a four-day cruise.’ ”

  Or maybe it was Zoe’s husband, finally determined to shut Zoe up so he could finish a conversation, and then he had to murder the rest of us one after the other to keep from being caught.

  “We’re all alone on the ship,” I say, “just like they were.”

  “How far is it to the Valley of the Kings?” Lissa asks.

  “ ‘Three and a half miles (5 km.) west of Luxor,’ ” Zoe says, reading. “ ‘Luxor is four hundred miles south of Cairo.’ ”

  “If it’s that far, I might as well read my book,” Lissa says, pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head. “Neil, hand me my bag.”

  He fishes Death on the Nile out of her bag and hands it to her, and she flips through it for a moment, like Zoe looking for exchange rates, and then begins to read.

  “The wife did it,” I say. “She found out her husband was being unfaithful.”

  Lissa glares at me. “I already knew that,” she says carelessly. “I saw the movie,” but after another half-page she lays the open book facedown on the empty deck chair next to her.

  “I can’t read,” she says to Neil. “The sun’s too bright.” She squints up at the sky, which is still hidden by its gauzelike haze.

  “ ‘The Valley of the Kings is the site of the tombs of sixty-four pharaohs,’ ” Zoe says. “ ‘Of these, the most famous is Tutankh
amun’s.’ ”

  I go over to the railing and watch the Pyramids recede, slipping slowly out of sight behind the rushes that line the shore. They look flat, like yellow triangles stuck up in the sand, and I remember how in Paris, Zoe’s husband wouldn’t believe the Mona Lisa was the real thing. “It’s a fake,” he insisted before Zoe interrupted. “The real one’s much larger.”

  And the guidebook said, “Prepare to be disappointed,” and the Valley of the Kings is four hundred miles from the Pyramids like it’s supposed to be, and Middle Eastern airports are notorious for their lack of security. That’s how all those bombs get on planes in the first place, because they don’t make people go through customs. I shouldn’t watch so many movies.

  “ ‘Among its treasures, Tutankhamun’s tomb contained a golden boat, by which the soul would travel to the world of the dead,’ ” Zoe says.

  I lean over the railing and look into the water. It is not muddy, like I thought it would be, but a clear waveless blue, and in its depths the sun is shining brightly.

  “ ‘The boat was carved with passages from The Book of the Dead,’ ” Zoe reads, “ ‘to protect the deceased from monsters and demigods who might try to destroy him before he reached the Hall of Judgment.’ ”

  There is something in the water. Not a ripple, not even enough of a movement to shudder the image of the sun, but I know there is something there.

  “ ‘Spells were also written on papyruses buried with the body,’ ” Zoe says.

  It is long and dark, like a crocodile. I lean over farther, gripping the rail, trying to see into the transparent water, and catch a glint of scales. It is swimming straight toward the boat.

  “ ‘These spells took the form of commands,’ ” Zoe reads. “ ‘Get back, you evil one! Stay away! I adjure you in the name of Anubis and Osiris.’ ”