***
The next morning she left the hotel just before dawn to catch the ferry across the Nile. The water was silky and calm and the white houses and date palms shimmered in the milky early morning light; she stretched out luxuriously on a bench and gazed up at the pale pink sky, savouring the quiet. On the far bank she hired a clattering bicycle and set off between sandstone hills as the sun rose red over the peaks. The day was sweet and fresh and young.
The Tombs of the Kings in the City of the Dead were none of these things. She clambered down into five or six of them and then decided to make her way over the hills to the Tombs of the Nobles. It was now nearly 10.00 and the valley was a like a kiln; she stared up at the steep slope to the south, trying to discern a path in the haze. Perhaps she would need some help – to begin with, anyway. Her gaze fell on a boy of about twelve who was looking at her impassively: for a few piasters he could presumably point her in the right direction.
‘Excuse me, could you show me the path to the Tombs of the Nobles?’ She indicated on her map where she wanted to go.
‘There is no path. It is very far. I show you fine tombs here.’ He seemed listless and bored.
‘It doesn’t look that far.’ She stared up at the hills and saw a small group trudging in the direction she thought she wanted. ‘Look, those people appear to have found a path.’
He eyed her narrowly, then shrugged and abruptly changed his mind. ‘O.K., I take you there. I show you Tombs of the Nobles, Tombs of the Queens. Very fine tombs’, he repeated mechanically.
‘Oh, I only want you to point me the right way. I haven’t really got enough money for a proper guide.’
‘Money is no problem. I am very rich.’ He produced a thick wad of notes from his gallabiya. ‘The Americans give me much money today. You give me what you want.’
‘Well, it’s very kind of you but I don’t think – ‘
‘No, no, I finish here for the morning. I have enough money. I will show you my beautiful country.’
The boy pounced after they had been walking for about thirty minutes. She had already noticed that they were going in what appeared to be entirely the wrong direction, but when she had mentioned this he simply said, ‘I show you something very special, very old.’ Eventually they had rounded a corner and been confronted by a few heaps of stones, possibly arranged in some sort of order.
‘Look, Roman villa. Very old stones.’
‘The stones in the Tombs of the Nobles are a lot older.’ He had managed to look hurt.
He leaped on her about five minutes after that. She was hardly surprised, but not much perturbed: he was slight and did not look particularly evil, and besides, she carried pepper and an alarm.
‘Now we make love,’ he said, knocking her water-bottle out of her hand.
‘No thanks.’ She pushed him away. ‘How old are you anyway?’
‘I am fourteen. I am very good. You will be surprised.’
‘Sorry, no chance.’
He backed off a little and looked up at her with glowing eyes. ‘No sex?’
‘No sex.’
‘No sex, no guide.’ And he disappeared into the alchemical air.
The Voyage: Edited by Chandani Lokuge & David Morley Page 28