A Stranger in the Village

by Sara Alexi

  After lunch, his group practise buddy breathing, changing every three seconds. He teams Virginia with Grace and they make a good diving couple. Everyone is making good progress. Another day in the pool and he would be happy to take them for a brief open-water dive.

  By the time they have finished it is mid-afternoon and everyone seems physically spent. He too feels tired – it is a long time since he concentrated so hard. As he sits on the cushions in the tent he is glad of the rest, and his mind goes blank watching the sea and the gulls.

  Plodding slowly along the narrow beach, kicking up a little sand dust, comes a man with a team of three camels. The animals’ short fur fluffs out in the slight breeze and they generally look well cared for; they have no sticks or rings through their soft noses and their multi-coloured halters are tasselled and unrestrictive. The driver, wearing a pristine white jelabiya, stops just level with the tent and strokes the lead animal’s nose. The blue sky behind them throws them into high relief. With a slow movement the lead camel blinks its long lashes and makes a low grunting sound before nuzzling affectionately at its owner’s ear. In response, the man’s hand finds the shaggy fur at the top of its neck, under the jawbone, where he scratches. This seems to delight the camel, who pushes its chin out, elongating its neck and growling gently in appreciation. After a few minutes the man adjusts his keffiyeh and looks into the tent with a broad grin. Polly, Rosie and Paula are wriggling with excitement. Virginia is taking a photograph on her phone.

  ‘You want to ride?’ the man asks with an easy gesture, inviting them closer. The skin on his face is bronzed and clean and glistens in the sun. Rosie is on her feet without hesitation, followed by Paula and Polly, and by the time they are out of the tent and down at the water’s edge the camels are kneeling in the narrow strip of sand, ready for them to climb aboard.

  When the animals stand again the girls sway from one side to the other, giggling and squealing as they grip the animals’ humps, hanging onto tassels and ribbons as the beasts begin to walk. They make their way along the sands, all of them laughing and shrieking at the unfamiliar motion.

  Miltos first came across camels by the pyramids in Cairo. He tries to remember the name of the girl he was with but it doesn’t come. Nice woman, rather young, but just a little too spiritual and naive for him. It was in the early days of running the hotel in Cairo and he was eager to please all who stayed, and he had brought her to see the pyramids. The girl’s pale skin and blonde hair made her a target for every seller of wares or provider of services as they made their way to Giza. They had only just arrived when a boy, not much more than thirteen or fourteen, approached them with his camel. The woman made it clear that she had no money to pay for a ride, but the boy did not seem put out in the least.

  ‘Just sit,’ he offered, ‘only photo.’

  And it was agreed that if the camel did not move, that would not count as a ride, and there would be no charge. So up she climbed, and no sooner was she on top than the boy tapped the animal’s rump and away he and his animal ran. Miltos knew he was expected to run after them, but instead he lit a cigarette and waited, listening to the babble of voices all around him: Egyptian men smoking and passing the time of day, and Americans adjusting cameras and comparing the sights to what they had seen the previous day or what they planned to see the next day. He can remember thinking that the roar of the city in the background was so at odds with the stately grandeur of the pyramids here at the edge of the desert, and that the whole experience seemed too surreal to be true.

  Eventually the camel driver halted his beast, turned it around and headed back, but the boy still would not allow the camel to stop and kneel to let the girl off.

  As he drew near to Miltos he said, ‘Ah, so she had a ride after all, so you pay.’ He grinned as spoke and Miltos could see that he had done this a hundred times before to a hundred other tourists with, no doubt, profitable results. The woman was demanding to get down, and the owner waited for Miltos to pay him.

  Miltos had continued to smoke calmly. ‘I think, perhaps, my friend, that I will sue you for kidnapping,’ he said to the boy, also smiling. At this the boy swallowed hard and tapped the animal to make it kneel, and the woman slid down and hurried back to stand as close to Miltos as she could.

  ‘A joke, my friend,’ the boy said, straightening his jelabiya where it had become caught in the reins. ‘A joke.’

  As Miltos and the woman moved on to get a closer look at the sphinx, she clung to his arm as if danger was all around them.

  ‘Have you ever ridden a camel yourself?’ Grace asked, bringing him back to the present.

  ‘Yes,’ Miltos replies. ‘In Morocco. It made me a little seasick if I’m honest.’

  ‘Oh, I think you are brave to go on one in the first place.’ Grace puts down her book.

  ‘A bit high for me,’ Virginia joins in, and Miltos feels relieved that the conversation is not exclusive.

  ‘Not as high as an elephant,’ Grace says, and she is about to continue when Joshua and the boys return looking animated but tired.

  ‘So, who wants to take a day out and go to Petra tomorrow?’ Josh collapses into the cushions. ‘Where are the girls?’

  ‘On camels.’ Grace sounds scathing.

  ‘Oh, okay, I’ll tell you when they get back. No point in repeating myself. Is there any food?’ He looks around for one of the men that tend the camp, cooking the food, tidying the cushions after them. ‘Hey!’ he calls to a man who is hanging out grubby-looking cloths on a line. ‘Any food?’

  The man nods and hurries towards the kitchens. Miltos narrows his eyes at Joshua, who has closed his own as he lies back in the tent.

  ‘I feel sick,’ Rosie says. The camels are back, and their owner is grinning. The girls look a little stunned after their camel ride.

  ‘Me too,’ says Paula.

  ‘I need a drink,’ Polly exclaims, and no sooner have their feet touched the ground than the camels and camel driver are forgotten.

  ‘Hello, you beauties.’ Joshua sits up a little. ‘I was just suggesting that we take a trip tomorrow, to Petra, in Jordan. What do you say? We drive from here to Nuweiba and take the ferry across to Aqaba, and then I can arrange for a minivan to take us to Petra. We can stay overnight, and I have a friend in a hotel who will give us a very good deal, and then back the day after. Who fancies it?’

  The level of excitement in the camp grows and they all talk at once until Joshua shushes them and demands a headcount of who is in.

  ‘Miltos? You coming? It would be your official day off but you’re welcome.’

  ‘No, I’ve been before,’ says Miltos. ‘You guys go and have a good time.’

  The boys put their heads together and talk amongst themselves.

  ‘Nah, Miltos, you should come,’ Skinner encourages.

  ‘Yeah!’ Bryce agrees.

  Miltos is surprised by this invitation and looks up to see them nodding and smiling at him. They want him to go. It is very flattering, and he gets just the slightest sense of belonging, which feels nice, even if it is a little unbelievable.

  Chapter 25

  The afternoon fades into evening and the sky is awash with stars. Between the pinpricks of light are more distant glows, and Miltos leans back against the cushions, looking out past the edge of the tent roof. He stares into the relative darkness between the stars, picking out another layer of stars or glowing planets.

  The men who work in the kitchens come out with a cauldron of ful medames, aromatic with parsley, chilli, garlic, onion and lemon juice, all competing for dominance. More large metal dishes are brought out, piled high with flatbread, fried eggs and curd or yoghurt, and the guests gather round hungrily. Miltos is not particularly interested in how the camp is run, but he notices Joshua writing in a tatty book, each page curled and dirty. He is close enough to read what is being recorded: who is eating and who has had drinks from the bar. Josh catches his eye.

  He leans over and whispers close to Miltos’s ear. �
�The trip to Petra is a good little earner. I make the money on the hotel, the hotel makes the money on the minivan. That leaves you, if you want, to make a markup on the crossing. It’s easy to haggle the price down for a party of five or more, and easy to tell this lot whatever price you want. Don’t overdo it though – else they might complain and find out how much it normally is. Still, haggle hard when you buy the tickets and it will give you room to manoeuvre.’ He nods encouragingly, grinning.

  ‘The bar is yours as well?’ Miltos asks.

  ‘Sure. Buy a bottle, sell it by the glass, keep everyone happy with shots. It’s a win–win.’

  ‘Who owns this place then?’ Miltos suspect the owners are in Cairo, or further away still.

  ‘Him.’ Joshua points to the man in a dirty jellabiya, who is taking a pan from the kitchen to wash. ‘Him and his brother, but they don’t speak a word of English. So I book in the tourists, give them the price for the rooms and the food, and everyone is happy. Before me it was a man called Davie, but he went off windsurfing in South America and left me in charge. When I get itchy feet I guess you’ll be in charge. That’s the only rule, you have to leave someone in charge or you can’t go. It’s just polite, you catch my drift?’ With this, he closes his notebook and rolls to his feet to get some food.

  After they have all eaten, the group lie in various states of repose, hands on stomachs.

  ‘I think I might burst,’ Skinner says.

  ‘Hey, James, man – I think we need a little after-dinner toke,’ says Bryce, and James busies himself, taking things from the pouch that is tied around his waist. Miltos recognises the familiar ritual. He must have seen the men in the Cairo hotel perform this ceremony three or four times a day – or more, even – and it no longer interests him. When the performance is complete, James hands the carefully rolled oversized cigarette to Skinner, who accepts it and applies a lighter. It’s a long time since he was in Cairo with those two jokers, running the hotel – around thirty years now – but the smell of tobacco and herb that begins to fill the tent takes him straight back there, as it always does.

  The girls sit up and take notice of what is going on. The boys grow increasingly languid as they pass the herb between them. Bryce takes a long drag and offers it to Grace, who curls up her nose and becomes even more engrossed in her book. He passes it to Virginia instead; she takes it with little interest, and after a couple of puffs she passes it on to Rosie and Paula and Jess who are sitting upright, waiting. They giggle as it makes it to their quarter of the tent. The joint then travels round to Josh, who offers it on to Miltos. Miltos shakes his head. The world is an amazing place; why would he want to cloud his view? He leans back to look at the stars again.

  ‘Told you,’ Skinner says, but it is not clear to Miltos what he is talking about or to whom, and nor does he care. He has eaten well, his eyes are full of stars, and the night is as warm as the day. He wants for nothing.

  As the cigarette makes a second round, the girls start to giggle uncontrollably, and Joshua uses this moment to move a little nearer to them. If Miltos were to hazard a guess, he would say Josh is interested in Paula. She is feisty and just a little unpredictable. Following Josh’s lead, James and Bryce move in as well. Skinner is flat on his back in the corner, staring up at the roof of the tent with a blank expression on his face.

  ‘I think I’ll say goodnight,’ Grace says, getting up, but no one acknowledges her except Miltos.

  ‘Goodnight,’ he offers but makes a point of not looking at her, keeping his focus on the stars.

  ‘There are ten billion galaxies in the observable universe.’ Virginia moves so she too can lie with her head back to see beyond the roof of the tent. She swallows audibly before adding, ‘And in each galaxy there are a hundred billion observable stars. Which is a heck of a lot of stars, but I can’t do the math for you.’

  ‘That is a lot,’ Miltos says. ‘It puts my life into perspective.’ He chuckles a little but it is not easy to laugh lying like this on his back, with his neck extended and his head too far back.

  ‘Makes me think how unimportant my little day-to-day choices are. At the time, they seem so important. There is not one star out there that cares if I wear a blue T-shirt or a green one. It does not alter anything at all in the universe, so why do I struggle with such a decision for half an hour each day?’

  ‘Ah well …’ Miltos starts slowly. ‘The thing is, if you wear the blue T-shirt when the moon is new and it rains in the night, then you will marry someone who appears to be the love of your life but will actually wear you down to nothing, and you will give birth to the person who eats the last ever fish to swim in the sea.’

  ‘Oh no!’ She sounds genuinely horrified and Miltos hurries on.

  ‘But if you wear the green one when the moon is three quarters full and the wind blows to the west, you will meet the love of your life and bear children, one of whom will save the world from global warming.’ He pauses for Virginia to release her tension by laughing, which she does. ‘So …’ – he draws the word out to pique her interest – ‘it is very important which T-shirt you wear.’

  ‘Ah, how well you understand the world,’ she replies. ‘How wise you are. I think I might throw away my blue and green T-shirts and just wear white from now on.’ Virginia seems to be enjoying the conversation.

  ‘Ah, but if you wear white a wise man will whisk you away on a round-the-world trip to see all the sights and you will have the most amazing time.’ Miltos wonders if he is being too obvious.

  ‘Then my decision to wear white could be a good one.’ She does not miss a beat with her reply. He would like to look over at her now, to see if he can tell how much of this is fun and games or whether they are really connecting. It is all in the timing. He must appear to be uninterested, let her think she must do a bit of running, but all the while he will be carefully reeling her in.

  ‘Yes, it might be very daring to wear white – tempting fate, perhaps?’ He continues his theme.

  ‘Are you going to come with us tomorrow then?’ she asks.

  ‘You think I should?’ Reel her in, little by little.

  ‘Why not? It will be fun.’ With this, she scrambles to her feet and wishes everyone an easy goodnight. Skinner is now snoring and Rosie is staring at the back of her hand, but the rest wish her peaceful sleep.

  Miltos waits a suitable length of time and then he too goes to his room. It is nice that they are all asking him to come with them tomorrow, and he is looking forward to the day ahead. He falls asleep quickly.

  Usually an undisturbed sleeper, tonight, in his dreams, he is back in the village. The car is still not fixed and before him are Marina from the corner shop and Vasso from the kiosk: they are reaching out to him, trying to grab him, pull him back to the square where a party is being held. A woman with golden hair, obviously not Greek, is holding them back, protecting him. He wakes, sweating slightly.

  Chapter 26

  The next day comes too soon and the group gathers in the yard by the main gates half-asleep. Only Josh is full of energy as he directs a minibus that is backing into the compound. The owner, the man in the dirty jelabiya whom Miltos had seen asleep on his first day, begins to deposit boxes and canteens near the van.

  ‘Food for now and for later. We sell it,’ Josh explains as he begins to load the food into the minibus, pushing the boxes under the seats. Polly, Rosie, Paula, Jess, Skinner, James, Bryce, Virginia and Grace all climb on board, where all of them, apart from Grace, who is reading, close their eyes and wait, drifting back off to sleep.

  As the bus leaves the town, the open, featureless desert valley stretches before them; the road, flat and straight as far as the eye can see, is bordered by arid stone mountains. For a second Miltos experiences a rush of excitement at the thought of the journey into the unknown. But then he remembers he was on this same road thirty years ago, when he was as young as these kids around him. There is nothing here that he hasn’t already seen. The road meanders through the barr
en hills without break or change. Where is the excitement in that? Isn’t he just repeating himself?

  Josh grins at him and lifts one hand off the wheel to rub his fingers together, miming the word money. He, at least, seems excited by the possibility of what the day will bring. Miltos could make a tidy sum too, but for him money lost its charm long ago, when he realised he would always be able to make what he needed, but would probably never be rich.

  That realisation came to him in Tel Aviv.

  After he left the kibbutz he moved to a work hostel in the capital. Phone calls offering work came in to the hostel every morning, and if you were up early you had the pick of the jobs, which ranged from labouring to washing up, to painting and decorating.

  Miltos’s first job was washing up in a fancy restaurant. After a week there, working long hours late into the night in the heat of the kitchen, he came down with a fever that made his head spin and his bones ache. He struggled through till the final sitting but could not manage to stay any later than that. A day or two later, when the fever had subsided somewhat, he returned to the restaurant, but they had a new man in by then and it was clear that he was not going to be offered wages for the week he had worked, on the basis that he had not worked till closing time on his last day. The owner ignored his pleas and continued with preparations for the evening ahead. When Miltos hassled him for his money the man became irritated and told him to leave and pointed to the front door.