Merging Destiny

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 1

  Agony Sets the Stage

  The Egyptian Desert – June, 1970

  The sun scorched the parched terrain, beating relentlessly down from its seemingly motionless station high above the desert. As far as the eye could see, not a single identifiable feature sprang from the tormented wasteland. Here and there the sand dunes, blown about by the sporadic desert winds, formed into randomly shaped mounds, some small, others enormous in both breadth and stature.

  Along the crest of the most prominent knoll two human forms came into focus, their prone figures unfathomable in the stifling heat of late afternoon. From the peak of the ridge Mustaffa peered at the seemingly inert tiny speck in the distance, heat waves dancing implacably before his field of view.

  Gazing patiently at the object for quite some time, his traveling companion at length murmured in Arabic beneath his kaftan, “Do you think he’s still alive?”

  His attention remaining intent on the distant object, Mustaffa responded distractedly, “Not sure…”

  “Maybe we should leave him,” his companion retorted, “After all, he already paid us.”

  “No, Eissa, we must go see if he is still alive.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, for one thing – although it’s doubtful - he may have more money. For another - if by some chance he is indeed still alive - he may actually be of further use to us.”

  “Oh? In what way?” Eissa responded, “If he has no money, he is surely of no use whatsoever.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not. But if he somehow survives, we can at the very least sell him as a slave.”

  “Oh, right – I see your point. Then we may as well go check him out,” and with that the pair arose and carefully made their way down the shifting embankment.

  Minutes later they came up beside the naked man lying face down and motionless. But to their surprise, he suddenly rolled over and gazed bleakly upwards at them.

  Whereas Eissa lurched backwards in astonishment, Mustaffa strode alongside his prone body and announced nonchalantly, “I can’t believe you’re still alive, after all that son-of-a-bitch put you through.”

  “Water!” the sun-scorched body before him gasped, and then, “Please, water!”

  Mustaffa reached within his kaftan and produced a goat skin. Leaning forward with it in his outstretched hand, he suggested, “Here, but go slow, you’re in really bad shape.”

  The man raised himself to a sitting position with supreme effort and, reaching for the flagon, he took a long drag from within. He then drew his hand to his face and, glancing about in confusion, he inquired, “Where did he go? We have to go after him!”

  “Not so fast,” Mustaffa responded. “Why did he leave, and how did you get him to leave you, anyway?”

  “I slowed my breathing way down. I had to, I was done in, and he was still going strong. I figured if I could get him to think I was dead, he’d wander off so that the two of you could save me – in accordance with my backup plan. So now we go after him and kill him!”

  “I don’t think so,” Mustaffa announced dryly.

  “What! I paid you, you bastard. You must live up to the bargain!”

  “What bargain? We agreed only to follow you and save you if you didn’t outlast him. And here we are. Having saved your worthless life, we’ve most assuredly met our part of the bargain.”

  “Damn!” the prone man murmured in distraught acceptance, “Alright then, I’ll pay you more to go after him with me.”

  “With what? Anyone can see you have nothing of value.”

  Attempting to stand up, he mumbled in denial, “I have more! Lots more…I swear it!”

  “Where?” Mustaffa blurted disinterestedly.

  “In the bank, in Switzerland!”

  “Switzerland!” Mustaffa exclaimed in disgust, “Lot of good that will do you out here in the desert. Besides, we’re not interested in killing people, even way out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  Tumbling back down upon his back, the prone man grimaced and asked in tortured misery, “Well then, what?”

  “We’ll wait until dark, and then we’re going to Libya.”

  “Libya!” he complained, “We’ll never make it that far!”

  “Oh, yes we will,” Mustaffa observed serenely, “Because there is an oasis with camels not ten miles west of here. So rest up, my friend, because you’re going with us to Libya.”

  Boston, Massachusetts – December 22, 1988

  For Elspeth it was a day like any other at Christmas time, the approaching winter a harbinger of that time of year when thoughts turned inward, when physical activity tends to be replaced by mental creativity, at least until the chill wears off in the springtime. Elspeth wished she could have been with her parents on the trip to Munich, but on this occasion she’d had to stay behind, the importance of her schoolwork taking precedence.

  At fifteen, she was well into that stressful phase of life when puberty has already intruded, and the threat of college lies but a scant few years in the future. On this particular day Elspeth was up early, hurriedly preparing for school.

  “Elspeth, are you up?” she heard a voice call from downstairs.

  “Yes, Gran,” she called in return, “I’m almost ready. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Moments later she bounded into the kitchen, her bright red tresses bouncily betraying her bubbly demeanor.

  “My, don’t we look gorgeous today,” her grandmother observed from her station at the stove. “I swear, you’re going to break a lot of hearts someday, Elspeth.”

  Blushing in embarrassment, Elspeth replied pleasantly, “I certainly hope so, Gran, but not yet. I’m really not ready for that, you know.”

  “Right, all in good time, my dear. At this moment, the important issue is breakfast. How about a couple of eggs and some toast, my dear?”

  “Sounds scrumptious!”

  “Alright, have a seat, El. I’ll be done in a minute…” but at that moment the telephone rang.

  Grabbing the receiver from the wall, Gran blurted, “Hello?”

  Although Elspeth discerned a voice on the other end, she couldn’t quite make out the gist of the conversation. But what she could observe was a perplexing look on Gran’s face as, responding to the initial intrusion, she replied, “Why yes, I’m her mother. They’re on travel, in Europe. So I’m afraid she’s not here at the moment.”

  Then, the mystifying look fading from her grandmother’s face, Elspeth watched as it changed first to confusion, then what could only be described as denial, and then she suddenly spat into the phone, “But that’s impossible, they’re not in Frankfurt. They’re in Munich!”

  And then the voice responded with more unintelligible gibberish, followed by Gran’s anguished retort, “You’re sure? Are you absolutely certain?” And then, before her eyes, Elspeth watched her sink slowly to the floor, an anguished cry escaping her lips as she did so.

  Rushing to her side, Elspeth cried in confusion, “What is it, Gran? What’s happened?”

  “Oh, God, hold me, Elspeth…hold me,” and reaching for Elspeth as she lunged to her side, she muttered, “Oh, God, Elspeth, they’re gone!”

  “What? Who’s gone, Gran?”

  “Your parents, El, they’ve been killed in a plane crash! Oh, my God, they’re dead!”

  And as she heard the words crushing the spirit from her, Elspeth realized that her world would never be the same.

  Boston - May, 1989

  Elspeth had somehow survived the preceding months - indeed the entire winter – but it had been unending misery. Ever since that fateful day, the day of the Lockerbie bombing, her life had been like a nightmare from which she couldn’t seem to awaken. At first it had seemed that her parents had perished in an accidental crash of Pan Am flight 103 over the small Scottish town of Lockerbie in route from Frankurt to New York. But within days it had become apparent from the wreckage scattered over a fifty-mile area that t
he aircraft had been brought down by a bomb aboard the plane.

  This revelation had been followed shortly thereafter by accusations from Washington that the plane had been bombed by terrorists, perhaps from Iraq or Iran, where a long war had recently come to an end. Still later, Libya had been accused of taking part in the bombing. And throughout the entire nightmare, no identifiable piece of Elspeth’s parents’ remains had ever been found. They had simply been blown to bits by the bomb that had torn through the aircraft, two of the passengers that had never even been identified.

  The resulting funeral service had been extremely dismaying, with Elspeth’s grandmother Sabrina beyond despair throughout the terrible ordeal. Being herself entirely new to such events, Elspeth had only managed to survive by convincing herself that it was all somehow nothing more than a horrid movie, a fictional account of the life of someone other than herself.

  But eventually, Elspeth had begun to allow herself to face reality, a somber awakening that she would never again have the pleasure of her father’s warm and encasing embrace – the memory of that uniquely reassuring scent of Robert Moorehead already slowly disappearing from her consciousness. And the stern look from her mother whenever she had done wrong – oh how she would have loved to see that frown just one more time. It was all too much for a girl of fifteen. Alas, time became her only ally. And with the passage of time, she became ever more introverted, social distance her sole weapon against the recurrence of such a numbing event ever again encroaching on her existence.

  Elspeth eventually promised herself that she would survive, somehow she would put it all behind her in time, but she vowed also to in some way grow, perhaps even contribute, to a world in which such unimaginable events could occur. And in her darkest moments she pledged to herself that she would somehow, someday, gain retribution on behalf of her now deceased parents.

  Edinburgh, Scotland - January, 1991

  Connor bounded into the parlor of the tiny apartment in his inimitable way, always carefree, never at a loss for effervescence, in the process barging directly into his unwary mother.

  “Connor!” she erupted, “Sure noow that’s noo way ta be carryin’ aboot fer a lad of nineteen. The time has coom fer yoo ta be actin’ yer age!”

  “Och, aye, ma, boot it sech a brammer day fer winter, ya kin.”

  “I dinna kin lad, boot Ah’ve some news fer ya. Soo be settin’ yerself doon and listen tae yer ma noow.”

  “Och, awl reet,” and with that Connor flopped into a chair at the kitchen table.

  Her face now beaming with pride, she tousled his hair in that way she adored so much and announced, “The news has coom taday, Connor, my son – ye’ve been admitted tae Harvard University in Boston, Massachusetts of the United States of America. Soo coom September, ye’ll be oof tae Boston, I reckon!”

  “Och, whit’s this pish, ma! Ah’ve true ben admitted tae sech a fine school as Harvard?”

  “Connor, me boy, ye’ve made the Stuart clan moost prood, fer tis all true tae me word, every bit ay it!”

  “Stoatin’!” he exclaimed, and with that he burst from his chair and grabbed his mother in a mighty hug, their shared embrace evolving quite naturally into a gaudy reel of no design whatsoever.

  Cairo, Egypt – February, 1991

  Anna was, as usual, studying for an exam, her uncannily pale blue eyes affixed to the textbook, when her mother opened the door to her bedroom. Glancing up from her work in irritation, Anna murmured distractedly in Arabic, “What is it, mother? I’m studying.”

  “I know, Anna, but this is important.”

  “Yes, mother,” she responded impatiently as she placed her pencil on the desk, “What is it?”

  “Your uncle Alexander – you know, the one I told you about – it seems that he has offered to pay for your college education.”

  “What! Really? That’s wonderful!” Anna stammered in disbelief.

  “Yes, well, there is a catch,” her mother responded.

  “Oh? And what might that be?”

  “It seems he wants you to go to the United States for your studies,” her mother responded in apparent dismay.

  “Wow! That would be awesome!” Anna rejoined excitedly, “Where exactly does he want me to go?”

  “To a place called Harvard University. I believe it is in Boston.”

  “Really! I know all about Harvard, mother. It’s one of the most famous universities in the whole world! But isn’t it terribly expensive?”

  “I’ve no idea, Anna, but your uncle insists. And as we are poor, and there are no other options, I am quite certain we have little choice in the matter.”

  “Choice? Choice! Are you kidding me? I’m ready to go this very minute! But first I have to apply and be admitted.”

  “Yes, well, it seems that he has already done that for you. And not only have you been admitted, he has already secured your student visa. So it appears that, barring some unforeseen circumstance, you shall be off to America in the fall, my dear.”

  “Wow!” Anna squealed in obvious delight but, observing her mother’s reaction, she offered, “I’m sorry, mother. I know this will be hard on you, but I shall be back home with you before you know it.”

  Harvard University Campus - September, 1991

  Elspeth lounged on the outdoor bench, indifferently taking in the pandemonium erupting across the expansive quadrangle. Everywhere she glanced students were racing about, anxiety already apparent in every face, this despite the fact that classes had not yet even begun. If truth be told she too felt it, but after what she had suffered over the preceding three years, little was sufficiently terrifying to faze her in the slightest.

  Fortunately for her, her grandmother had been a rock, somehow keeping her grounded through it all. How anyone could survive the death of one’s own issue, Elspeth hoped she would never have to know, but somehow Sabrina had accomplished it. And in the process she had done a masterful job of preparing Elspeth for college.

  As Elspeth idly contemplated the absurdity of it all, a shadow passed within her field of view, and somewhat obtrusively, an all too handsome male student plunked himself down at the far end of the bench whereupon she herself was perched. Casting a furtive glance his way, she made it clear that she didn’t appreciate his intrusion within her personal space.

  At length, ignoring the stony stare cast his way, her dastardly intruder draped his arms over the back of the bench, languidly crossed his outstretched legs, and observed sunnily to no one in particular, “Reminds me of sheep, going to the slaughter…”

  Startled to detect a foreign accent emanating from her interloper’s lips, she suddenly felt an incongruous pang of interest and, glancing in his direction with a nevertheless stony demeanor, she inquired dully, “My, my…do I detect an English accent?”

  “Indeed you do, but in truth tis Scottish, Miss, er…”

  Eyeing him with an intentionally distant glance, Elspeth murmured suspiciously, “Moorehead, Elspeth Moorehead. And who might you be?”

  “Name’s Connor, Connor Stuart,” he grinned, and there it was again, that irritatingly unflappable sunny disposition.

  Her annoyance growing even more apparent, she spluttered, “Oh, good grief! You’re a Stewart, too? My grandfather was a Stewart!”

  “That I am, Miss Elspeth, but tis sure we’re not related, for you’d most likely have eyes of blue like mine. And besides, mine’s spelled S-T-U-A-R-T. I’ll wager a spot of haggis your family spells it differently.”

  Glancing away in feigned disinterest, she snarled, “Right you are, and that is indeed reassuring, since I intend to have nothing whatsoever to do with you, sir.”

  Now grinning effusively at his mysterious but as yet indeterminate effect on her, he cajoled, “Oh, come now, Miss Moorehead – sittin’ here all alone - I’ll wager you’re new to campus just as am I. And if so, I’ll be wagerin’ still more you’re in need of a friend, just as am I.”

  Turning
to face him directly at this entirely unanticipated line of attack, she found herself caught off guard, prompting her to inquire with newfound interest, “Perhaps so, but what gives you the right to invade my privacy, Mr. Connor Stuart?”

  Apparently buoyed by her change of demeanor, he shrugged his shoulders and responded indifferently, “It’s a free country. I can sit where I please.”

  Irritation welling up due to his sudden coolness, she glanced askance and murmured under her breath to herself, “Well, there’s plenty of empty benches about, so why don’t you take yourself away from here and choose one of them?”

  Having somehow overheard her, he suggested, “Well, there’s an idea but, truth be told, not a single one of them has the likes of a brammer lass such as you seated oon them,” and this time he awarded her with an absolutely stunning smile.

  At this rather presumptive announcement she turned full towards him and gazed quizzically for a moment, then opined, “I assure you, Mr. Stuart, you shall find nothing of interest oon this bench.”

  At her use of the Scottish term oon he burst into infectious laughter and offered, “Noow, why doon’t ye let me be joodge o’ thit, Miss ooh tae brammer Elspeth Moorehead. After all, there moost be more’n two hoondred students within mae field of view, and yoo’re the oonly one seated quietly, and seemingly doin’ naethin’ more’n observing the erupting calamity before the two ay oos.”

  At this rather pugnacious and nearly unintelligible rejoinder her defenses suddenly gave way completely, prompting Elspeth to both giggle and simultaneously parry ineffectually, “My, my…you really are a Scot, aren’t you? And where did that Scottish brogue suddenly erupt from, if I may ask?”

  “I dinna kin,” he retorted gleefully, “Och, weel, in truth it saemed the thing tae doo, if ye get mae meanin’, lass,” and then changing back to normality, he revealed, “I only speak the brogue at home with my ma. I was just funnin’ you. In truth, I believe we two may have the makings of a sort of friendship betwixt us.”

  At this Elspeth actually grinned, and for the first time in months she suddenly felt a sense of elation. Eyeing this strange but nonetheless pleasing black-as-night maned and pale blue-eyed young man before her, she made a split-second decision, murmuring, “Promise not to fun me again, Mister Connor Stuart, and perhaps I shall ponder upon the possibility of becoming your friend.”

  His smile growing impossibly infectious at her entirely unanticipated offer, he blurted, “Why, Ay’ll do noo sech thing, fer Ay’ll wager Ah’ve already captoored yer friendship, and were Ay tae stoop funnin’ ye, the faery tael would caertain coom tae a noon tae happy and quite abroopt endin!”

  By now giggling uncontrollably at his somehow endearing demolition of the English language, she responded, “Tell you what, you crazy Scot - meet me at Nob Hill Coffee Shop tomorrow at three, at which time we shall discuss the necessary terms.”

  “Terms? What terms?”

  “The terms necessary for you to be rewarded with my friendship, ay coorse,” she blabbed, and with that she arose, turned to leave, and over her shoulder she rewarded him with a positively heart-stopping smile.

  Her glance crushing him speechless for a moment, on regaining his senses he could only find the strength to croak to her retreating figure, “Ye kin coont oon it, Miss brammer Elspeth Moorehead!”

  Later That Same Day

  Connor bounded into the apartment building, his mood buoyed by such an impressive encounter with the inimitable Miss Elspeth Moorehead on only his second day in Boston. Halting at the mail drop, he checked to see if there were any messages for him.

  Seeing that there were none, he turned about to depart, and as he did so, he nearly tripped over a young man who had come up behind him, a tall and handsome one at that, and one distinguished by his olive-toned skin.

  “Oh, sorry,” Connor blurted, “I was distracted. Didn’t mean to plow into you like that,” and as the offended party turned to face him he was struck by the nearly identical look of those eyes to his own pale blue eyes.

  A grin erupting across his face, the young man responded politely, “Oh, no harm done. Everyone seems to be in an extraordinary rush today, thus you are indeed not the first to inadvertently intersect my path, sir.”

  Impressed by his proper use of English, Connor replied, “Thanks. I say, you’re not from the United States, I’ll wager.”

  “Actually, no, I’m not,” the young man responded affably, “In truth, I am from Egypt. I’ve just arrived in Boston this very day.”

  Eyes wide in surprise, Connor shot back, “What? You mean all the way from Egypt?”

  “Correct,” the man replied pleasantly, “It is all quite new to me, I’m afraid.”

  “I understand,” Connor responded, “I myself arrived only yesterday – from Scotland.”

  “Really! Then you are perhaps as disoriented as am I,” and with that, he pushed his open hand forward and offered, “I am Farhan Rahman, from Asyut.”

  Taking the outstretched hand in his own, Connor replied, “Connor Stuart, from Edinburgh. Pleased to meet you, Farhan. Do you also live in this apartment building?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I have been assigned to apartment 312.”

  “Excellent! I’m right down the hall from you, in 306. And what, if I may ask, are you studying?”

  “My course of study is chemistry,” Farhan responded.

  “Wow! Too tough for me,” Connor replied, “I’m just hoping to survive political science.”

  “I should think that chemistry is quite simple compared to the vagaries of politics,” Farhan shot back with an impish grin.

  A giggle escaping his lips, Connor posited, “Well, perhaps, but you nonetheless have my admiration.”

  At this, Farhan offered, “Say, what about a cup of coffee? We seem to have a bit of time on our collective hands, and who knows when that will happen again once classes start.”

  “What an excellent idea!” Connor responded, and off the pair went in search of a cup of Joe.

  Once ensconced in the student center coffee shop, the pair struck up their conversation anew, Connor inquiring, “So, you’ve been here such a short time, have you met anyone yet?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I have met someone already. Her name is Anna Morton.”

  “Oh, and what pray tell is she like?”

  “Actually, she’s quite lovely. We met on the plane, on the way over from Egypt.”

  At this Connor arched one eyebrow in surprise and queried, “What? You mean she’s Egyptian? Isn’t that a rather unusual name for a person from the Middle East?”

  “Yes, you are quite correct, but as it turns out, she is half English. Her father’s family name is Morton, but she has never been to England, having been raised entirely within Cairo.”

  “Ah, I see, and you say she’s quite lovely?”

  “Well, she most certainly is to me,” Farhan observed, “But mind you, she was dressed in a traditional burka on the plane, so my initial impression is subject to more detailed observation.”

  “What, you mean she was in one of those encasing black body sheets?” Connor blurted inappropriately.

  At this Farhan arched one eyebrow, shook his head, and responded, “Well, that perhaps provides a rather crude description of a burka, sir, but it is in fact considered quite the proper attire for a Muslim woman.”

  “I apologize,” Connor responded diffidently, “I meant no disrespect. It’s just that, I’ve actually never even seen a woman in a burka. Such things are indeed rare where I come from.”

  “I see,” Farhan responded, “Well, no harm done, I’m quite sure. However, I did have a moment to converse with her on arrival at the airport. She was of course friendly due to our common nationality, and she informed me that she intends to forego the burka in the United States, although she will continue to wear a hijab.”

  “Huh? What the heck is a hijab?” Connor blurted in obvious confusion.

  “
It is a traditional scarf worn by Muslim women, worn wrapped about the head and draping down so as to cover the hair and neck,” Farhan responded matter-of-factly.

  “I see,” Connor murmured to himself, and then, his eyes lighting up, he inquired, “So can we say that there is a good deal more to be revealed when next the pair of you meet?”

  “Precisely,” Farhan responded with a wink of the eye, thenceforth adding his own query, “And you, have you met anyone yet?”

  “Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I have,” Connor observed pleasantly, “Her name is Elspeth, Elspeth Moorehead, and she is quite lovely if I do say so myself.”

  At this, Farhan seemed to suck in his breath in surprise and, arching one eyebrow, he inquired pointedly, “Interesting. And is she as appealing as is the sparkle in your eye when you say her name?”

  “Yes, well actually – no.”

  “How so?” Farhan interrogated.

  “Well, she is quite lovely in appearance, but there is a bit of a barrier there, I’m afraid.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I should think that she is quite introverted for some unknown reason,” Connor observed thoughtfully, but then, his demeanor brightening noticeably, he added, “But leave it to me, I shall break down her defenses. She is of Scottish descent, after all.”

  “Oh, how do you know that?”

  “She has bright red hair, and her eyes are green. Those are the indelible marks of a Scot. I simply couldn’t pass her by when I spotted her sitting on that campus bench.”

  “Ah, I see,” Farhan responded and, suddenly changing the subject he inquired, “So I take it you already noticed that we two share the same blue eyes?”

  “Yes, in fact I did. It’s quite unusual, being a recessive trait, but there it is nonetheless.”

  Now changing the subject yet again, Farhan suggested, “Sooo, it appears that the two of us have something in common.”

  “Oh, and what might that be?” Connor queried.

  “Well, I should think it obvious,” Farhan responded, “First off, we have similar eyes. Also, we live in the same apartment building, on the same floor in fact. And then there is the reality that the both of us are foreigners who have already met young ladies of similar cultural backgrounds to our own.”

  “Oh, my, I see your point,” Connor posited and, shrugging in concurrence, he suggested, “Well then, suppose we do something about it?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Farhan responded, “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, er, suppose we both attempt to line up our newfound friends for a spot of pizza this weekend, before our studies become too challenging. How does that sound to you?”

  “Excellent,” Farhan replied, “I shall get on it straightaway. Shall we try for Saturday night?”

  “Perfect,” Connor put in, adding, “Now, suppose we both get down to the challenge ahead – school!” And with that the pair rose and departed the shop on quite comparably daunting quests.

  The Following Day

  Connor rushed into the coffee shop, an inexplicable knot throbbing within the base of his throat. Still breathless from his harried race to avoid being late to his appointment, he searched about the crowded space for his intended rendezvous, but to no avail. Checking his watch, he realized that he’d only arrived a couple of minutes late, despite the fact that that arrogant prig of a professor had kept the class ten minutes too long. By the time class had ended, he had become so frantic to leave that he’d tuned out the lecture altogether.

  Regaining his senses, he thought to himself, “What was he blabbing on and on about, anyway?” Well, no matter. Better things to concern himself with at the moment, such as whether the winsome Miss Elspeth Moorehead had in fact stood him up.

  There was nothing for it but to anxiously await her anticipated arrival, thus he positioned himself at the trailing end of the line and decided that he would exercise patience, something that he had somehow never managed to master. Still, advising himself to be patient, whether successful or not, somehow seemed a step in the right direction. As if on cue, the line pressed forward at a snail’s pace and, his patience quickly abandoning him, he scrutinized his watch at least a half dozen times.

  But then the door suddenly popped open, and there she was, her entrancing green eyes meeting his own for just a fraction of a second. She seemed to tug self-consciously at her gorgeous red hair, and then she was at his side, blurting abruptly, “I’m so sorry Connor, am I terribly late?” And there it was again, that breathtaking smile of hers.

  Under the circumstances, all attempt at severity disappeared immediately, prompting Connor to respond completely out of character, “No problem, Miss Moorehead - I mean – Elspeth; I just arrived myself. My class ran long, you know.”

  “Yes, mine too! What is that about – I ask you?”

  “Priggish profs, I should think,” he responded, this time futilely attempting to match her entirely matchless grin.

  For her part, she copped a perplexed look, tilted her head sideways, and murmured, “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, nothing,” he blurted defensively, “They’re just caught up in their own world, I suppose. Imagine what you’d discuss in class if you’d been reading books in some musty old library for two-thirds of your life!”

  “Ah, I see,” she responded pensively, “You have the gift of putting yourself in other’s places. I must say I’m quite impressed!”

  At this unexpected compliment he actually blushed but, covering it with a swipe at his own locks, he rebutted, “Oh, I don’t know about that, but I will say this – I’m here to learn. For it seems that without knowledge one is destined for failure in life.”

  “Well said,” she complimented yet again, “And what do you plan to learn?”

  “No idea,” he blurted far too quickly and, covering his gaff, he continued with, “That’s why I’m here – to discover my place in life.”

  “My, my…” she murmured, “The self-assured Scot admits he’s clueless…” and then, turning towards the counter, she blurted, “I can see this is going to be quite an interesting friendship. Suppose we get a cup of coffee and encourage this magic moment to unfold.”

  Staring at her in wonder, he stammered, “Well…er…that sounds…uhm…I mean – yes, of course!”

  Grinning at her own uncanny ability to wrest the upper hand, she tugged yet again at her hair and observed, “I must say, that was exceedingly eloquent, even for a Scot!”

  Another uncontrollable giggle escaping his nervous lips, he countered, “Given the opportunity, I have every intention of dazzling you with my brilliance, Miss Elspeth Moorehead.”

  Smiling in her own turn, she actually winked at him, following it with, “All in good time, my newfound friend, all in good time!”

  And from that moment the two were in fact friends, their friendship destined to go to whatever lengths allowed by unfolding events. But that would surely all be in good time.

  Antonio’s Pizza Parlor – Friday Night

  Elspeth and Connor meandered into the restaurant and, spotting their dining companions in the far corner, they waved simultaneously and made their collective way to the table in question.

  On arriving tableside, Connor chirped breathlessly, “Hi, Farhan!”

  Arising from his seat, Farhan responded pleasantly, “Hello, Connor. How are you?” and, not waiting for a response, he added to Connor’s companion, “And you must be Elspeth. Connor has told me all about you.” Thenceforth, turning towards his own companion, he announced, “This is my friend, Anna. Anna, meet Elspeth and Connor.”

  The introductions having been completed, the four got down to the extremely difficult but all-important challenge of forgetting for the moment how they were in fact going to survive the rigors of the coming semester. Although things were a bit awkward at first, perhaps in no small part due to the widely disparate cultural backgrounds of the four, by the completion of a large pizza supplement
ed with an abundance of draft beer, the four were well on their way to conviviality, not to mention blissfully distracting inebriation.

  Setting her mug down after a long drag, Elspeth suggested inquisitively, “I’m from Boston, which explains why I am at Harvard. But what brought the pair of you all the way to Boston from Egypt?”

  At this Farhan proffered proudly, “I received a grant from the Egyptian government. They are quite difficult to obtain, but I graduated at the top of my class in Asyut.”

  “I see, and what must Asyut be like?” she asked presumptuously.

  “Hot, dusty, but a wonderful place to live. It’s far up the Nile, you know. And as such, it is completely dependent on the river for everything.”

  “So it’s surrounded by desert?” Elspeth asked inanely.

  “Yes, it is. Three kilometers from the river on either side there is nothing. That is, nothing but the beating sun and sand dunes,” he responded knowingly.

  “Do you miss it terribly?” she inquired.

  “Not so much, although when winter arrives in Boston, I expect that I shall,” and with that he awarded her with his most impressive smile.

  Squirming in obvious embarrassment at the ruggedly handsome face before her, she turned to Anna and asked, “And what brings you here, Anna?”

  At this Anna responded shyly, “My family isn’t wealthy, you see, but I did well in school, so my uncle volunteered to send me to Harvard. He is British, as was my father.”

  Then why did he not send you to Oxford or Cambridge?” Connor inquired.

  “I’m not sure,” Anna replied, “My mother seems to think that they were both too expensive.”

  “Ah, I see,” Connor agreed, “They are indeed quite expensive, but I assure you, Harvard is not only less costly, it is also a better university.”

  “So they tell me,” Anna responded pleasantly, “But the truth is, I’m just happy to be away from Egypt.”

  At this Farhan turned towards her, frowned, and queried, “Why ever for, Anna?”

  Glancing briefly at him, Anna subsequently stared morosely at her plate and murmured, “Oh, you wouldn’t understand, Farhan. After all, you are a man.”

  His eyes flashing ominously at her, Farhan responded, “Perhaps this subject is better taken up at another time, Anna.”

  “Yes, of course,” Anna blurted, but it was clear that she was quite embarrassed for some unknown reason.

  After that the conversation got onto lighter subjects, with the four of them eventually discussing topics ranging from The American Revolution to the Boston Red Sox. And although the discussion was lively and engaging, by the end of the evening it was apparent to Elspeth that her newfound friends had a lot to learn about their newly adopted home.