“When he struck one of the statues, the earth shook, sending Ramses’ head and torso down to crush him.”
He got his just dues, I thought. The sheer size of the statues was truly amazing.
To give a foundation and backdrop for the cliffs that the temples were positioned against, a gigantic artificial mountain, looking very real, was constructed to place the outer statues and to provide inner chambers for the insides of the temples. Some of the interior of the mountain was occupied by the temples, but most of it was empty space.
The temples ended up facing the same general direction they had been before they were moved.
“We have something similar,” I told them. “Mount Rushmore. About the same size, too, though the statues of our presidents only have heads.”
I recalled another legend about the temple name.
“Abu Simbel” was Arabic, which meant it could not have been the ancient Egyptian name of the temple. The story claimed Abu Simbel was a shepherd boy who led an archaeologist to the site about two hundred years ago to show him a part of the temple that poked out from the sand covering it.
Still staring at the temples and imagining the years and the thousands of workers it took the ancients to create them, I caught a sudden flash of flesh out of the corner of my eye.
Rafi had dived into the lake, naked.
Noor was already down to her panties when I turned in her direction. And then, all skin, she dove in, too.
58
Oh, well, I thought, why not? Like the proverb says, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do” … a perfect way to destress and relax. Besides it was still hot; a swim would be cool and refreshing. Watching their naked bodies gliding in the water also got me excited. So I stripped and dove in.
The top foot of the lake had been warmed by the broiling sun but my dive took me deeper below to water that felt clean, cool, and refreshing.
Rafi and Noor had both swum away from the boat, burning off the grime of the dry desert day, I guess, but I just did a stroke that was a cross between floating and a dog paddle that kept me afloat, occasionally dipping my face in the water, enjoying the moisture soaking into my dry pores. If I lived in this climate, I’d probably be coated with cream all the time. Desert living accelerates the aging process of skin.
None of the Nile cruise ships that often waited off the shoreline after ferrying in guests to watch the light show were present tonight. Most of them reminded me of the old-time Mississippi riverboats.
I couldn’t hear Rafi’s or Noor’s voice and we were too far offshore to hear any activities around the temples.
Floating in the inky water, the limitless dark sky overhead, and no bottom beneath my feet made me feel as if I were floating in space.
I shut my eyes and enjoyed the sensation of being absolutely free of all worldly demands, money worries, fear for my life, and what the future held for me.
The water beckoned, luring me deeper into the black void underneath, and for a moment I wondered what it would be like to just let go, to slowly sink beneath the soft, cool water …
I opened my eyes when I heard Rafi and Noor nearby me, neither their look nor expression giving any indication that skinny-dipping was anything but natural.
A thought suddenly occurred to me. “I just remembered that I saw crocodiles up and down the Nile in the past when I visited Egypt. Are there any in the lake?”
“Of course,” Rafi said, “the lake was formed by damming the Nile.”
“Great. Do they sleep at night?”
“Only after their bellies are full.”
I swam to the boat like a bat out of hell, their laughter floating in the warm night air.
59
I had already made myself comfortable on the long seat cushion with a small pillow behind my neck, the beach towel covering my nakedness, when the two of them leisurely hauled themselves back on deck.
The warm air, refreshing swim, and spiked lemonade put me in a relaxed mood.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you off like that,” Rafi said as he climbed up the boat ladder after Noor.
Both of them seemed much more relaxed with each other.
“That’s okay, I was done anyway.”
“I’ll get us some more ‘lemonade,’” Noor said with a surreptitious glance at Rafi and disappeared to the cabin below.
The light show had just started at the temples as Rafi came and stood in front of me, wiping himself with his towel.
He stood there, unashamedly, knowing full well that I was looking at him.
I couldn’t help but get aroused, the sexual excitement inside my body slowly starting to build. I stared at his muscular chest.
Men always have an irrational compulsion about a woman’s breasts. I could understand the feeling because a man’s breasts have always appealed to me. I didn’t care if they were hairy or waxed; it was the nipples that I loved to tease.
His dark eyes captured mine for a moment and my body stirred again in sexual anticipation of what I knew was about to happen.
He dropped his towel to the side, exposing an erection that grew in size as I stared at it.
I felt the heat in my body surge.
He bent forward and removed my towel, letting it linger a moment as it slipped off my breasts, down my navel, and from the mound between my legs.
I instinctively reached out and grabbed his cock, sliding my hand down his shaft, feeling its power and girth as it swelled in my hand.
His lips hungrily found mine, his tongue probing my mouth. I arched up, responding to his mouth on mine, the sexual urge getting stronger as he kissed me.
I closed my eyes, blocking out all of the world around me, desperately wanting him to enter me. I wanted to grab his cock and jam it inside me.
He pulled away, his mouth traveling down to suck my nipples, teasing the tip of each one with his tongue. The farther down he traveled, the more my body responded to his touch.
I felt a nibbling at my ear.
Opening my eyes, I saw Noor lean close to me; her lips were just a kiss away and I could feel her heat.
“This is how Bedouin wives pass their lonely nights when their husbands are with their other wives,” she said before she passionately kissed me, giving me a taste of her sweetness. Pushing her breasts in my face, I caressed each of her nipples, and then she did the same to mine.
I was ready to climax at any moment.
Noor guided my hand down between her legs. I gently fondled her clit as she sucked on my nipples again.
My blood fired as Rafi opened the garden between my legs and began to massage it with the tongue of a lizard.
I let out a gasp and then a scream as I vibrated from the passionate explosion inside my body.
60
After satisfying our sexual needs, the three of us filled our stomachs with more hard lemonade and stuffed ourselves with food from a large platter that contained several different types of hummus with pita bread for dipping, olives, and stuffed fried pastries filled with meats and cheeses. A dessert tray was filled with a variety of fruits, figs, and honey-drenched baklava.
I stared dreamily at the golden temples as I ate, imagining that they were lit by torches and awaiting the arrival of Ramses to inspect the colossi of himself.
I also learned a little more about the surprising relationship between Rafi and Noor. She was the twin sister of Rafi’s ex, who had married a rich French man and moved to Paris. Amir had been Rafi’s best friend at college.
I wondered what Freud’s analysis would’ve been of Rafi fucking his ex-wife’s double who was married to his best friend?
Rafi caught me staring at a big scar on his left side.
“Crocodile,” he said.
* * *
BACK AT THE HOUSE, I had just finished combing my hair when Noor came out of the shower.
“I need to tell you something,” she said, “but don’t say a word to Rafi. He would kill me if I told you.”
“Sounds serious.”
/>
“It is—for him. That scar you saw on his side?”
I knew it wasn’t from a crocodile.
“He had a kidney removed.”
“Cancer?”
“Yes, but not his. He sold a kidney.”
“No. Why?”
“Dalila’s condition is terminal unless she gets treatment only available in Switzerland. It’s very expensive. Rafi doesn’t have the money and my bitch sister won’t help and doesn’t care because Dalila likes living with her father rather than her.”
“My God—he had to sell one of his kidneys to get money for Dalila’s treatment? That’s … that’s insane.”
“That’s life on this part of the planet,” Noor said. “It’s not uncommon for poor Egyptians to sell a kidney to an oil-rich Saudi or a Dubai real estate baron. The money can get someone out of debt and even into a better life, though most people end up so sick afterwards from the backroom operation that they end up dead … or wishing they were dead.
“You can live with one kidney, until it gives out, of course. Rafi recovered from the operation better than most people, probably because he was in superior physical shape to begin with.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Like everyone else in America, I was frustrated and angry at the outrageous cost of medical insurance and the way the insurance companies provided benefits. But to sell body parts to get treatment for a child?
Thinking about little Dalila slowly dying and her father selling off body parts made me sick.
“I wish you hadn’t told me,” I said. “I liked the crocodile story much better.”
“I told you for a reason. Selling his kidney got Dalila a trip to a specialist in Zurich and started on a medical regimen, but Rafi can’t keep up the costs of further treatment on his salary.”
She paused and gave me a concerned look. “He’s planning on selling a piece of his liver.”
Jesus. I grabbed the edge of the dressing table to keep myself from running out of the room. This couldn’t be true.
“What the hell could someone do with a piece of liver except feed it to their dog?” I asked her.
I wasn’t trying to be facetious but I just couldn’t believe anyone doing something like that.
“They can take part of the liver from a living donor and use it for a person dying with liver disease. But it’s a much more serious operation, and the person giving up part of their liver often dies or is incapacitated.”
Her voice quavered as she continued. “You have to understand that selling organs is illegal in Egypt, so the operations are not done in the best hospitals and under the most sterile conditions. People who give up part of their liver receive a great deal more money than kidney donors, but…”
She couldn’t finish.
I waited a moment and then asked, “Why are you telling me this?’
“Because I’m worried. For Rafi, and for Dalila.”
She suddenly grabbed ahold of my arm.
“Rafi has been acting strange lately. He’s always been worried about Dalila … always desperate to save her. And he’s more bitter than most people in my country about the lack of universal medical care because he has traveled to the rich countries and sees children like Dalila getting good care.”
She took a peek out the door to make sure we weren’t being overheard. “I’m afraid he might do something irrational … something out of pure desperation,” she said.
“Does he realize what could happen to him?”
“Of course. Rafi knows he may die from the liver procedure or just as bad, he may be so weak he can’t work.”
“What do you think he’s planning to do?”
I really wanted to ask if the act of desperation had anything to do with the Heart of Egypt.
It seemed pretty obvious that whoever took the scarab from Fatima had inside information about the transfer. Rafi’s position as the chief investigator of the scarab was perfect for getting that sort of information.
“I don’t know,” she said. She hesitated and then gave me a look of defiance. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. I don’t know why I even shared this much with you.”
I wondered that myself. “Why did you?” I asked.
She broke out in tears. “Because I love Rafi and don’t want to see Dalila die.” She ran by me and went to her room.
I left the house and went for a walk in the desert, not giving a damn if I stepped on an Egyptian cobra or a big scorpion or whatever other nasty things lurked in the desert.
Noor’s sharing of Rafi’s efforts to save Dalila had gotten under my skin.
What kind of world is it when you have to part yourself in order to save someone you love?
I hoped to hell Rafi hadn’t done something stupid and gotten himself involved in the scarab theft. But I had a feeling that that was exactly what he had done.
Which meant that Kaseem might have guessed that also.
And was coming after both of us.
61
I slept hard and woke up the next morning before the break of dawn. After I made some strong coffee, I grabbed a piece of baklava and walked out into the tranquil garden barefooted, keeping an eye out for scorpions, cobras, and whatever else enjoyed the desert climate.
The rising sun stirred the desert, whipping up a little breeze that ruffled the palms in the garden. As I sat on the edge of the fountain with my feet in the cool water, I tried shaking off the horror of what Noor had revealed to me about Rafi selling a body part. It was on my mind when I hit the bed and my first thought when I woke up.
A price on life … that’s what kept coming back around at me.
How do you feel when you know you can’t afford the cure to save your life? Or the life of a loved one?
A parent selling parts of themselves for medical care for a child?
What the hell kind of world is that? That Rafi had to resort to that kind of horror was hard to stomach.
I had to do something to help Dalila.
I didn’t know exactly what, but there had to be a philanthropic organization in New York I could approach when I got home. I’d raise the money to help her somehow, starting with tossing a big chunk of what Kaseem paid me into the pot.
Knowing I would do something to help her relieved my mind and let me think about my present situation.
Isolated in the desert, I felt like a prisoner and wondered if that had been Rafi’s intent, but dumped that idea. He couldn’t have known that I would end up running wildly through the streets of Cairo with killers after me.
He had to be up to his neck in the scarab thing, that was a given as far as I was concerned. And not just in his role as an antiquities cop.
I mulled over my involvement with Rafi—a couple of brief sexual encounters that hadn’t required any emotional connection—and my own state of mind concerning men.
I found myself becoming more and more of a hedonist, seeking the pleasure of the moment rather than a permanent connection with anyone. I wasn’t a loner. I’d had a brief marriage that broke up when our careers split us geographically and our love wasn’t strong enough to span a continent.
Having experienced what was supposed to have been a permanent relationship, I was ready for another, one that I hoped would last the rest of my life, but over the past decade that I’d been single, I had only met one man who felt like the right fit with me, and he had died in my arms.
In the back of my mind I still hoped to find my soul mate, the person who would make my life complete. I knew he had to be out there somewhere. Everyone needed a soul mate.
I liked Rafi, was definitely attracted to him sexually, and found pleasure in his arms. Maybe if he lived in New York I would have the sort of casual, sexual friendship I have with Michelangelo, that booty thing, but I didn’t have that sense of everlasting affinity with either of them.
My rumination on men was cut short by the sound of a car pulling up outside the walled house.
I got up and opened the ga
te to see who had arrived so early in the morning.
It was Lana, arriving on the heels of a wind shear that swept across the desert, raising a cloud of dust in its wake.
An ill wind had arrived.
“Where’s Rafi?” she snapped.
“Use that tone of voice on someone who cares,” I said.
She stormed by me, giving me the sort of stare that Medusa had used to turn people into stone.
Her glare at me was a reality slap reminding me that I wasn’t just a prisoner in the desert … Egypt was going to be my personal supermax if I didn’t get back my passport. And she could definitely sabotage it.
I followed her into the house to make sure I knew what was coming down.
In the living room, she confronted Rafi who was coming in from a hallway. He looked like he had just woken up.
“Your phone has been off!”
She made it an accusation.
“You could have turned it back on after coming,” she said, speaking in English to make sure I knew what she was complaining about.
They reverted to angry bursts in Arabic and I caught that it had something to do with Dalila.
Rafi reacted as if she had slapped him in the face.
Noor came into the room behind him and started wailing at whatever was being said.
I had picked up a little Arabic over the years during my travels in the Middle East, little more than telling a taxi driver where I wanted to go, but caught nothing of the rapid-fire exchange.
Rafi suddenly bolted back down the hallway with Noor running behind him, yelling something.
The room was suddenly quiet as Lana turned to me. Her features were cold.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Is Dalila okay?”
Lana gave me a long, appraising look, as if deciding whether to answer me or squash me like a bug.
I guess sleeping with the boss who she had a thing for didn’t endear me to her.
“Kaseem has her.”
“He has Dalila? How—”
“Amir handed her over to him while Rafi was fucking his wife—and you.” She gave me a malicious grin. “That makes all of you responsible if anything happens to her.”
The Curse Page 21