Not surprisingly the boy was a very private and quiet sort – on the taciturn side. He was far too private and quiet for his rich great-uncle’s liking. The elderly man did not have an especially negative opinion of the boy. It was more that the boy disconcerted him – a feeling he did not like. So his response was not to pay him too much attention.
More or less ignored by his great-uncle, the boy grew to loathe him, observing with distaste how little money he gave to beggars, how he bargained whenever he bought anything, how he shouted his requests instead of asking politely, how he seemed to enjoy making scenes. The boy had no trouble finding countless flaws in the man; and he came to feel his connection to him as embarrassing and humiliating. And yet, whenever the old man gave him his pocket money, he would open his hand, take the money and mumble a barely audible and reluctant ‘thank you’, all the time wanting the earth to swallow him up.
Each Sunday meeting brought a repetition of this money-giving ritual, followed by an excruciatingly tedious family lunch at the great-uncle’s house – a lunch at which all the adults seemed to feel compelled to offer rapturous praise for each dish served. During these lunches the boy would make a point of eating conspicuously little in the vain hope that, some day, the master of the house would notice his abstemiousness. But his great-uncle had other things on his mind. He never seemed to notice how little the boy ate. If he ever did, he never remarked upon it.
Shortly after his twelfth birthday, the boy’s resentment of his great-uncle turned into a wish to see the old man humbled somehow. At first, that thought – most present in the boy’s mind just before the Sunday family get-togethers – was shapeless. But it took a more definite form the day he began hearing some boys at school – the sons of highly placed officials in the new regime – give the names of companies and wealthy men that would appear, they claimed, on the next list of nationalisations and sequestrations.
One Sunday, during one of the tedious, nerve-racking lunches to which he had been subjected ever since he was a little boy, he saw an opportunity to try out his idea. No sooner had the lunch started than his great-uncle launched into an attack on the new regime. ‘A gang of inept thieves,’ he thundered, and then proceeded to dissect the regime’s policies. Present at that lunch were two members of the old regime, including an ex-minister. While the great-uncle went on and on, the two guests were observing, out of the corner of their eyes, the house servant standing at attention in the dining room. They were wondering whether it was safe for their host to be speaking in front of the house servant, for one never knew, these days, who might report what to whom. Noticing their unease, their hostess put their minds at ease, assuring them that she could vouch for the man’s loyalty: he had been in their service for over thirty years, he considered them family. Thus reassured, the two gentlemen took turns to expatiate on the real and supposed evils of the new regime.
As soon as the gentlemen were finished with their tirades, the boy, now seated at the table for grown-ups, decided to seize the moment to do what he had been secretly wanting to do for some time. He leaned towards his mother and whispered something in her ear. That something led her to exclaim ‘Oh! No!’, which, naturally, caught the attention of the master of the house.
‘What is it?’ his great-uncle asked with a tone that suggested that the only displays of emotion he tolerated at his table were his own.
‘Nothing, uncle, nothing, really!’ the boy’s mother said nervously.
‘It cannot be nothing, Lina! You wouldn’t have been taken aback if it were nothing. Now, you tell me what this boy of yours whispered in your ear! It must be of some interest – he rarely opens his mouth.’
So, his great-uncle had actually noticed him whispering to his mother, the boy noted with excitement!
‘Well,’ she said with some hesitation, ‘why don’t I let him tell you. I’m not sure that I got it right.’
‘So what do you have to tell us, young gentleman?’ the great-uncle shouted from his far end of the table. ‘You don’t usually say much.’
The boy lowered his eyes and said softly, ‘I was just telling Mother that I heard some boys at school say that your name will appear on the next list.’
‘On what list?’ the great-uncle screamed, sounding stupefied, although he had guessed, of course, what list the boy was talking about.
There was a deathly hush in the room. All eyes were suddenly on the boy, including those of the house servant, who was in the midst of recirculating the first course.
‘The list of sequestrations,’ the boy said with unusual assertiveness, now looking straight at his great-uncle.
‘Nonsense!’ the great-uncle yelled. ‘Pure and utter nonsense! I have my connections! They would not dare!’ And, crimson in the face, he angrily turned his eyes away from the boy.
The look of perpetual amusement on his wife’s face vanished. She looked grim now. Noticing that both guests were shaking their heads with an air of consternation, the house servant hurriedly offered them more of the first course, a dish of potatoes au gratin.
Nobody dared reopen the dreadful subject.
At first it seemed to the boy that his fabricated but plausible story had missed the mark. Yet, as the lunch progressed, the fact that his great-uncle was relatively subdued suggested to him that it might have had some effect – not enough though. He had hoped for something more dramatic. He had hoped to elicit a reaction from his great-uncle that would reveal the man as powerless and vulnerable. That had not happened.
After lunch, when his mother announced that she had to hurry home because she had to give a lesson, even though it was Sunday – a case of helping a mediocre student with last-minute cramming for an exam – his great-uncle walked them to the door. This was unprecedented. Never before had his great-uncle bothered accompanying them to the door. His mother was surprised and embarrassed. He suspected that it had something to do with his little lunchtime performance.
‘Are you sure you heard my name mentioned?’ the great-uncle asked him at the door in a muted voice.
‘I think so,’ the boy replied, putting on an air of concern. For a brief moment, the boy and the old man looked each other straight in the eye. They were more or less the same height. During that brief moment the great-uncle no longer seemed daunting to the boy. He suddenly looked like any old man. The boy felt a tinge of guilt, immediately killed when he quickly remembered the man’s overbearing ways.
‘Well,’ the great-uncle finally said, more softly than the boy had ever heard him speak, ‘will you, please, double-check for me?’
A wonderful feeling of satisfaction surged up within the boy. His great-uncle was asking him for a favour and had even said ‘please’! What a victory! Then, patting the boy’s cheek, the old man promised, ‘You’ll get a reward for your efforts, some money, more than usual.’ The boy hung his head, once again full of loathing for the old man.
The next day at school the boy volunteered his services to raise Egypt’s flag before the assembled student body, and to lead the chorus of ‘Long live the United Arab Republic’ chanting that took place, every morning, before classes started. Because his social background was too old-regime and too Westernised, he was uncertain whether he would end up amongst the chosen few to whom this task was regularly delegated. But, at least, he would have tried.
He has Aged
John Harman had flown from Chicago to Amsterdam, given a talk and stayed overnight, then, at the crack of dawn, on to London for another talk and, a couple of hours after that, on to Cairo to catch a train to go to Luxor. In less than three days he had been catapulted from blustery, cold Chicago to sunny Luxor. It was March. An archaeologist, in theory he was in Luxor to size up the prospects of a dig. In reality, he wanted time to breathe. His marriage had become a war zone, to the point where hardly a word was uttered without hostility and defensiveness, on both his and his wife’s parts. This had been going on for at least three years. Before that there had been tensions but also the occasional goo
d times. Now there was only acrimony.
He was past trying to figure out what had gone wrong in a marriage that had looked promising at the outset. His few-and-far-between flings, which his wife sensed? Hers, whose existence he sometimes doubted, as she seemed to throw them right in his face, clearly to pique his jealousy? All he wanted now was to get out of the marriage in a decent fashion, but that was unlikely, since the bitterness between them had reached massive proportions. To think that they had promised each other, when they got married, that they would never sink to the level of mutual recriminations and, should things not work out, they would call it quits before the marriage got ugly! Yet, still married, they were mired in ugliness. Their three children, ranging in age from fifteen to twenty-one, all assumed that it was only a matter of time till one of them walked out. The older two had let it be known that they were thoroughly fed up with their parents’ scenes.
So, approached to give the conferences in Amsterdam and London, John had jumped at the opportunity to get away, and had tacked on the trip to Luxor. His wife, an epidemiologist, did a fair amount of travelling herself, mostly in Asia and Latin America. They had both been successful in their professions, which should have helped their marriage, but it had not.
Luxor was a bit like home for him: he had been coming here for years. He still loved it in spite of the hordes of tourists who had started to return after a two-year lull following the terrorist attack in the Hatchseput temple. March was a good month to be in Luxor, warm without being really hot, and relatively quiet.
He stayed at the Pharaohs, on the west bank of the Nile. The hotel was close to Medinet Habu, his favourite complex of funerary temples. Set apart from the other monuments, Medinet Habu was not overrun by tourists. There were times in the afternoons when you could wander through the temples and be by yourself. In the evenings, if you bribed the guards to let you in after-hours, you were guaranteed peace and quiet. Then, the magic of the site would grip you. He was counting on that feeling to bring back traces of his former, better self. In Medinet Habu he hoped he would put his marital problems and even his flings, about which he did feel sheepish, out of his mind. When he dwelt on his unfaithfulness he told himself that the fleeting nature of these furtive encounters – that had meant so little and served only as an escape – should absolve him from too much guilt, though he knew this would introduce another guilt, towards the women involved. It would have been simpler had he fallen in love. One would have thought that he would be seeking happiness elsewhere, when his marriage turned really sour. Oddly though, his constant anxiety about the marriage left little room for love. Casual pleasure was another thing.
Some years earlier Luxor had been the scene of one of his amorous encounters. The woman was staying at the Habu House, the older of the two hotels within walking distance of Medinet Habu: a whitewashed mud-brick building with a lovely roof garden, Habu House had both more charm than the Pharaohs and more insects, with the occasional scorpion, and fewer amenities. He had met her in the garden, at a time when the problems in his marriage were becoming obvious.
More than the woman herself, he remembered what he had thought of her: that she must have been gutsy to be travelling alone. Ursula was her name. A Danish woman from Copenhagen. In her early thirties. Neither particularly attractive nor unattractive. Reserved yet adventurous, and with a thirst for exotica that had quickly got on his nerves.
This time he would avoid romance. He wanted distance from all that was painful. Any romance would remind him of the failure of his marriage.
After he had checked in, he slept for much of the day, but only after the usual long chat with the hotel’s owner, whose father, a doorman in Cairo, had started the business.
In the evening, he walked to Medinet Habu. The guards – a new set of guards – refused the bribe he offered to be let in to the complex after hours: they knew him and simply let him in. It was, they said, his first day back in Luxor, and he deserved a treat.
He was on excellent terms with the locals – the tourist guides, the inspectors, the sheikhs who led the teams of excavators, the excavators who sometimes worked as guides, the temple guards, and even the children who chased the tourists. They all seemed to like him. A sure sign was to be invited for meals at someone’s home. Over the years he had been invited for wonderful and copious meals by several different local families – well-off and humble families.
He skipped going to the hotel’s café/bar and went to bed early that first day. The hotel was fuller than he had anticipated.
The next morning, up very early, he revised his lecture notes in light of the questions asked at the end of his London and Amsterdam talks. He did this in the hotel garden.
Around nine in the morning, before it got hot, he climbed up and over the shoulder of the Gurn, then down along a winding path, into the Valley of the Kings. Tourists were already swarming over the temples. Local guides, inspectors and guards greeted him warmly, expressing the wish that he stay for some time. This seemed an excellent idea: he ought to consider undertaking some major project in Luxor – an excavation, an epigraphic survey or perhaps the restoration of a temple. Something that would keep him in Luxor for a long while, away from Chicago and his life there.
He spent the morning roaming around the temples and talking to government employees.
He had lunch at the Pharaohs, a Greek cheese sandwich, olives and an orange: to be safe, he avoided greens and tomatoes.
In the afternoon he walked to Medinet Habu, lay on a stone in the shade and had a nap. The guards did not disturb him. He dreamed that he was with his children, in the Cairo Museum.
That evening he went to the Pharaoh’s café/bar. Not much of a drinker, he enjoyed an occasional cold beer – a Stella – particularly if it was served with fresh-tasting peanuts. As soon as he entered the room, a group of three young, handsome Egyptian men seated in one corner, sipping tea, spotted him, got up and called over to him. He had known the three men, Omar, Tarek and Ali, since they were adolescents. Now, they were grown-up men in their late twenties. Omar and Tarek were married and had children. Ali had already acquired the reputation of being a confirmed bachelor, though his mother had not given up on finding him a suitable wife. The three worked as freelance tourist guides and excavators, depending on the season and the availability of jobs. They were hard-working, lively and quick-witted, with many good jokes to tell about the Supreme Council for Antiquities and about Cairenes in general. They had grown up together, and behaved like brothers. Used to his colleagues’ competitive ways, John Harman was still surprised, even after years of spending time in Egypt, at the relative lack of competitiveness amongst Egyptian men. It was, he thought, an appealing trait.
He embraced each one of the three young men: it turned out they had been waiting for him. They had heard that he had arrived in Luxor and was staying, as usual, at the Pharaohs. The three were smoking and, though they knew he did not smoke, out of politeness they offered him a cigarette. He told them that his cigarette days were definitely over, but he would gladly have some mint tea. They wouldn’t have minded his having a beer, but he thought it more courteous to drink tea, since they were drinking tea.
In English and with the occasional word or phrase in Arabic, the conversation began with chat about the Supreme Council for Antiquities, and the new directives it was issuing – in the young men’s opinion, all misguided. The question of the appointment of new temple guards also cropped up and the odd ways the new appointees had secured their jobs.
‘I hope your wife and children are in good health,’ Omar said to John.
‘They are doing well, thank God. And how are Samiha and the children?’ he inquired.
‘Samiha is Samiha. You know her. Always worrying about the children. Too much! Hamada goes to school now. He’s a big boy.’
‘And how’s your mother? Better?’ Tarek asked John.
That Tarek remembered his mother’s heart problems touched John.
‘Much, much better, t
hank God,’ John said. ‘And how is your father? How is his back?’
‘He’s getting old, but he thinks he’s young,’ Tarek said.
The four men laughed.
John was thinking that Tarek’s father was not so old. Only in his sixties. Yet, to Tarek, Omar and Ali he was an old man. Did he too seem like an old man to them? He wondered how they viewed a man about to turn fifty.
‘Did you hear about the new rules for getting excavation permits?’ Ali asked John in a tone that spoke volumes of what he thought of them.
‘I don’t think so,’ John said, careful to sound neutral. He was well aware that, while the young men relished criticising their government, they might take offence, if he, a foreigner, did the same.
‘Ali, don’t upset John tonight by telling him about those crazy rules. Let’s have more mint tea,’ Tarek interjected. ‘This isn’t the time to get upset; let’s be happy.’
Ali, however, did not drop the subject of excavations, asking John, ‘Do you plan to do excavation work soon?’
The thought crossed John’s mind that Ali might be looking for work. He was a great employee. Reliable and eager to work long hours, as long as the pay was good. Some said Ali was greedy. John had employed him a couple of times and had been happy with his performance.
‘Perhaps,’ John answered. ‘I’ll certainly let you know if I do.’
‘I hope you do, then you’ll be staying with us for a while,’ Ali said, apparently genuine.
‘So you must have met the new guards at Medinet Habu!’ Omar stated, with an edge in his voice.
John knew that the new senior guard came from a family that had had feuds with Omar’s family. ‘I did,’ he said, refraining from offering any comment. He didn’t much mind the new guard, though was none too keen on his parents, with whom he had had some dealings.
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