The Wishing Trees

by John Shors

  “I’m Mattie,” she replied, dipping her head in return. “And this is my dad. His name is Ian.”

  Ian smiled. “G’day.”

  The Egyptian continued to stand in the sun, his face void of the sweat that dripped from Mattie’s skin. “Did you know, Miss Mattie, that Karnak is the largest place of worship in the world? That it covers two hundred acres and that fifty European cathedrals would sit easily inside it?”

  Mattie glanced around her, wondering what was beyond the towering walls. “I didn’t know that. What . . . what else don’t I know?”

  “That column next to you, Miss Mattie, with the birds and crocodiles, took generations of carvers to finish. Men would work from when they were young until they died on only a section of stone.”

  “So they never saw it finished?”

  “No,” Rashidi replied, gesturing around him. “It took thousands of years to finish Karnak. Do you know, Miss Mattie, that once, eighty-one thousand slaves worked here? Think about that number.” He paused, his smile revealing crooked and stained teeth. “They were slaves, and they were beaten. But people come here from around the world to see what they built. People don’t see what the rich built, with their words. People see what the poorest of the poor built, with their hands.”

  “Oh,” she said, thinking about Rupee, how he was little different from the slaves who built Karnak. Suddenly she felt foolish for crying on the boat, for running from her father. At least she was loved. She didn’t have to swim in a filthy river and look for gold teeth. She had never been a slave and she never would be.

  “Would you like, Miss Mattie, for me to be your guide?”

  Mattie pulled her thoughts to the present, looking from the Egyptian to her father. “How . . . how much will that cost?” she asked, knowing that Holly would expect her to bargain.

  “Whatever you like. I am as old as the sand, and money is of little use to an old man.”

  “Where can we go?”

  Rashidi stood straighter. “Come. I will show you something. And you too, Mr. Ian.”

  Ian thanked Rashidi, happy to follow Mattie, glad that she possessed enough confidence to talk with a stranger wearing a turban.

  As they walked, Rashidi leaned closer to Mattie. “Do you know what ‘Karnak’ means?”

  “No.”

  “It means the ‘Most Perfect of Places.’ ”

  “Really?”

  “Wait and see, Miss Mattie. Wait and see.”

  They rounded a corner and walked past statues of men and animals. “How many statues are here?” Mattie asked, taking her father’s hand.

  Rashidi turned around, squinting, his white eyebrows long and disheveled. “How many statues? you ask. I do not know, Miss Mattie. Maybe ten thousand? The pharaohs loved their statues. They made them of their favorite gods, of themselves.” Rashidi twisted into a narrow roofless passageway full of hieroglyphics that showed armies at war. On the other side of the passageway was an obelisk that had toppled to its side. “I am sure, Miss Mattie, that you will like this.”

  Mattie looked at the obelisk, which was mostly undamaged, despite its great fall. “What does it mean?”

  “More than three thousand years ago, Egypt was ruled by Queen Hatshepsut, who built this obelisk, and the other, which still stands. She ruled for more than twenty years and was one of our strongest pharaohs. She built many temples, planted forests of trees, and made Egypt rich from trade.”

  Ian watched Mattie nod. “I reckon, luv,” he said, “that you should sketch her obelisk.”

  “Which one?”

  “Which one do you think?”

  “The standing one.”

  “Well, then we’ll sit beneath it, in the shade, and you can work your magic.”

  Rashidi stepped closer. “You could draw this?”

  “She’s quite good,” Ian replied. “Queen Hatshepsut would have found a heap of work for her.”

  The Egyptian smiled. “Queen Hatshepsut would have made a statue of her, to celebrate her gifts to the world.”

  Mattie looked over the obelisk, and saw something blue. “What’s that?”

  “You see the Sacred Lake,” Rashidi replied, grunting as he moved forward, his walking stick stirring up dust. “Come, let me show you.”

  The lake, Mattie soon saw, was rectangular and lined with sandstone. At several places, stairs descended into the water, which was indigo and home to a flock of geese. Near a corner of the lake, a group of squat palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze.

  “Tuthmosis the Third built this lake,” Rashidi said, his eyebrows moving as much as his mouth and dark eyes. “Priests used its water for rituals and would dress as gods and travel across it on golden boats. Also, Miss Mattie, every morning the priests would set a goose free on the lake at sunrise. They did this to please the god Amun. As you can see, the geese are still here.”

  Mattie stepped closer to the water. “Do they ever leave?”

  “No. They were here when I was a boy and will be here long after I am sand.”

  “How . . . deep is the water?”

  “Only Tuthmosis and his slaves know that. But it is deep. Very deep. Some people believe that the dead rise from its waters, late at night, and journey from side to side in their golden boats.”

  Mattie took a step closer to her father. “Can I ask you something, Mr. Rashidi?”

  “Ask whatever you wish, Miss Mattie. My ears wait for your voice.”

  “Do you want to be buried on the west side of the Nile?”

  Rashidi scratched his chin, his fingers unsteady. “When I can no longer work, when I am tired, I will walk west, from the river. I will walk into the desert, far into the desert. And at night, I will light a small fire and look at the same stars that the pharaohs saw. And then, the next day, the heat will carry me away.”

  “But . . . but what about your children? Won’t you want to say good-bye?”

  “I do not have children, Miss Mattie. So I will say good-bye to Karnak, and then I will try to find my god. No one will need to remember me. No tears will be shed.”

  Mattie studied the old man in front of her. Though he was smiling, she felt sorry for him. “I’ll remember you,” she said, nodding, looking into his dark eyes. “I’ll remember what you told me about the queen and the geese.”

  “You are most kind, Miss Mattie.”

  “I’ll think about you . . . when you’re in the desert.”

  Rashidi’s smile broadened. He bent lower, his robe scraping the dusty ground. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a stone beetle and offered it to Mattie. “The scarab beetle is precious in Egypt,” he said, almost kneeling before her. “The beetle comes from the earth, from a pile of dung. It is born, and it walks the desert. It comes from nothing, and it dies, but it always returns, like the sun.”

  When he gestured that she should hold the beetle, she did, surprised by its weight. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Please keep it, Miss Mattie. Now you have something else to remember me by. And when I am in the desert, I will think of you holding it. And that thought will bring me much peace; may God protect and preserve you.”

  AFTER SPENDING THREE DAYS ON THE NILE, and seeing a breathtaking variety of riverside temples and monuments, Ian and Mattie finished their cruise and took a small plane to the resort city of Sharm el-Sheikh, located on the Red Sea. In many ways Sharm el-Sheikh resembled an oasis—materializing in the heart of the desert, surrounded by palm trees and perched on the edge of the vast Red Sea. The city was composed of international hotels, dive shops, casinos, stores, and markets. At the edge of the concrete—where the desert began—colorful Bedouin tents kept the relentless sun at bay. Camels and robed figures stood near the tents, hooves and feet moving back and forth on the hot sand. Several miles in the distance, barren mountains rose to touch the belly of the sky.

  The Red Sea wasn’t red, but a deep blue. It had been navigated for thousands of years, with Egyptians, Persians, Romans, and Chinese using the waterway for a
trade route between Africa and Asia. Moses was said to have parted the Red Sea so that the Israelites could escape the Egyptian army. Napoleon had tried and failed to take control of the Red Sea. Though the waterway had lost some strategic importance in recent times, it was still a major shipping route.

  Reading from a guidebook, Ian had explained the history of the Red Sea to Mattie. Now, as they sat on plastic beach chairs near the water’s edge, Mattie found it hard to believe that men like Moses and Napoleon had seen these same sights. The resort they were staying at seemed so modern—full of businesspeople who worked on laptops and tourists who went scuba diving or parasailing. The four-story hotel was white, with seaside rooms, a lush garden, a disco, and an immense pool.

  The beach was wide and quiet, though filled with hundreds of people. Umbrellas rippled in the wind. Powerboats pulled water-skiers. Families from around the world enjoyed the sun—toddlers playing in the sand, teenagers throwing and kicking balls, parents reading and resting.

  Savoring the scene, Mattie removed her sketch pad from her backpack. Soon her pencils drifted across a blank page, adding forms and colors, highlighting features that most people wouldn’t see. She worked with care and patience, hating mistakes and taking her time.

  Ian adjusted the umbrella that rose between them, tilting it over Mattie, thrusting its pole deeper into the sand. She wore a yellow bikini that he had purchased from a nearby store, and he still wasn’t used to the sight of her in a two-piece suit. Her belly button was exposed, her hips too visible. He didn’t like the thought of her growing up, and the bikini seemed to be a leap in that direction. But its purchase had made her smile.

  Her blue pencil pausing, Mattie glanced around and noticed that he was watching her. “Daddy?”

  “Yeah, luv?”

  “When we were at Karnak, I was thinking about you.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I was thinking about Rashidi and Rupee, and how they didn’t have anyone. How Rashidi was going to walk alone into the desert, and how Rupee was alone in the river.”

  Ian nodded, his body relaxed, his stomach free of pain, and his mind repeating the words of the orphanage’s director, who had finally e-mailed him back, apologized for problems with their Internet connection, and said that Rupee was well. “And?”

  “And I used to feel lonely, and I still do sometimes, but I know that I’ve never been alone, and I won’t ever be.”

  “That’s right, luv.”

  Mattie reached for his hand. “You . . . you know how to make my loneliness go away. And I’m sorry that I got mad at you on the boat. You’re my daddy and I love you so much. Whatever Mommy said to you in those poems, I want to say the same things. I’ll always think the same things.”

  Ian moved to his knees beside her. He kissed her forehead, drawing her tight against him. “Whatever I’ve done for you, luv, you’ve done for me over and over. You know that? If I’ve put a smile on your face, you’ve put one on mine. If I’ve taken your loneliness away, you’ve done the same for me. We’re a team. The best kind of team. And I reckon that’s how teammates work. They lift each other up.”

  “Thanks, Daddy. Thanks for lifting me up.”

  “Thank you, Roo.”

  He kissed her again, full of energy, of life. After reapplying sunscreen to her neck and shoulders, he leaned back in his chair, watching the waterline. Couples walked hand in hand. Naked babies sat in the shallows with their nearby parents. Children splashed one another and found smooth rocks that would be ultimately churned to sand. The weather was nearly perfect—not hot, but sunny, with a dry, gentle breeze that kept insects at bay.

  As Ian watched the families, he was reminded of his day with Mattie, Holly, and Georgia at the pool. They had laughed so much. His sadness was at least temporarily forgotten. A simple game of Marco Polo had made him feel young again, had made him revel in Mattie’s joy. And he had felt close to another woman for the first time since Kate’s death. Georgia had captured him, even though he hadn’t known it. He’d seen the promise of her, seen how his family was made better by the presence of hers.

  Thinking about what Kate had written to him, that he needed to find new memories, he unzipped his day pack and searched for the film canister that he’d placed within it earlier that morning. Finding and opening it, he pulled out the little scroll and unrolled it, skipping immediately to the end of the poem that Kate had written.

  Love like ours never dissipates, never wavers.

  We were one and we will always be one—

  Pages within the same book.

  But life is long and you should not walk alone.

  Please don’t walk alone.

  Find happiness again.

  Find a version of us.

  And within that version,

  Celebrate what we were,

  What we created,

  The path that we took.

  Only through happiness will you ever again smile at the memory of us.

  And I want to watch your smiles from heaven.

  I want to see you reborn,

  Fashioned together with memories,

  With joy,

  And with hope.

  Remember . . .

  Love is a wilderness untamed,

  A river uncrossed,

  A promise unbroken.

  I love you.

  Ian closed his eyes, still holding the paper, repeating Kate’s words, amazed by her foresight and strength. His eyes grew moist and he wiped them, believing that the road to ultimate happiness might start with Georgia and Holly. We shouldn’t leave them, he thought. Not now, not when there seems to be such a lovely connection between us.

  Ian took off his sunglasses and looked up into the cloudless sky. How did you know, my luv? he asked, thinking about how Kate, on her deathbed, had sent him toward another woman. And how did you do it? You’re so bloody strong and selfless. I wouldn’t have been stout enough, if things had been reversed. I couldn’t have survived the thought of you with another bloke, even if he would have brought you joy. I’m so sorry, but it’s true. I would have failed you.

  He wiped his eyes again. I love you so much, he thought. You are, and always will be, the love of my life. As I’ve told you a heap of times, I don’t put much trust in God. To me, he’s been about as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike. But they say Moses parted these waters, and maybe he did, because someone brought you to me. Someone brought you to me, and that was the greatest gift of my life—because the crossing of our paths gave me you, and you gave me Mattie. And without the two of you, I’d be nothing.

  “Daddy?”

  Ian looked down, glanced to Mattie. “Yeah, Roo?”

  “Are you crying?”

  He shook his head. “No, luv. Just . . . a bit of sunscreen in the old eyes. Stings like the bite of a fire ant.”

  “Maybe you should wash it off. In the Red Sea.”

  “Will you go with me?”

  “Sure.”

  Ian picked up their masks and snorkels, took Mattie’s hand, and walked toward the water. It was cooler than he expected, contrasting with the fierce sun and nearby desert. Continuing to hold Mattie’s hand, he waded deeper into the water, small waves tumbling into his calves, then his thighs. He handed Mattie her mask and snorkel, glad that her freckled face still looked young.

  She put on her equipment. “Where should we go, Daddy? Do you think they have a Shark Point here?”

  “No, luv. I reckon not. But let’s . . . let’s find something beautiful. Something for Holly.”

  “And we’ll mail it to her? Maybe something each for Holly and Rupee?”

  He adjusted the top of her bikini, trying to cover more of her flesh. “How about giving it to her, Roo? Would you fancy that?”

  “Giving it to her? You mean, next year, when we come back?”

  “I mean next month. When we return to Hong Kong.”

  “What?”

  “Do you still want to go back, luv? I could work there, for a few ticks of the
old clock, and we could see what happened. We could leave Egypt, go back to the States, say hello to our mates and loved ones, and then buzz off for Hong Kong.”

  She took off her mask. “Really? Really, Daddy?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  Mattie dropped her mask, jumping up through the water, wrapping her arms around his neck. “That’s what I want. It is. It is.”

  “I reckoned as much,” he replied, holding her out of the water, her body so light against his.

  “But is it . . . is it what you want?”

  “Aye, aye, First Mate. And I think your mum wants us to go back too. I think that’s one of the reasons she sent us on this walkabout.”

  Mattie looked around. “Which way is the west, Daddy?”

  He pointed, still holding her. “Over there.”

  “Can we swim in that direction? I think we’ll find the most beautiful things over there.”

  “Let’s swim to the west.”

  “And when we swim . . . will you hold my hand? Like you always have?”

  “I won’t ever stop holding your hand, Roo.”

  “You won’t?”

  “No, luv. Not ever.”

  “Promise?”

  He wrapped his pinkie around hers. “Promise.”

  Smiling, Mattie reached down, picking up her mask and snorkel from the sandy bottom. Soon she was swimming, holding her father’s hand, watching green and blue fish, looking for treasures that she would find for Holly and Rupee, and that she would place in a wishing tree, a tree that stood on the west side of the Nile, where spirits rested, where her mother could easily see what she had done.

  MUCH LATER, AFTER THE SKY HAD DARKENED and the moon arisen, Ian sat on the balcony of their hotel room. Mattie was asleep inside, and Ian had drawn the curtains and stepped into the night air. He had propped a flashlight on a chair beside him, and it cast a weak light on the notebook he held. As he wrote, he glanced at a large tropical tree that brushed up against the balcony. The tree must have been present long before the hotel. Its thick branches were gnarled and needed trimming. Yet fresh leaves emerged in places, as if the tree’s will to endure was as strong as, or even stronger than, ever.