sit in the front seat where she would have the best view, then took Caron’s hand and coerced her into the back row with him. Peter and I took the middle seats. Bakr slid thedoor closed, then hoisted himself into the driver’s seat and looked back at us.
“Mr. Rosen and Mrs. Malloy,” he said, “Chief Inspector Mahmoud el-Habachi sends his regards and wishes all of you a pleasant day. There are bottles of water in the seat pockets, so you must please to help yourselves. Behind the last row is a box with fruit, potato chips, and—”
“Let’s go,” Alexander said cheerfully.
As we drove south, the corniche gave way to a typical city street of stores, hotels, and restaurants. Some of the men on the sidewalks wore long robes, others Western attire. The women had scarves on their heads and drab, ankle-length skirts, but some had cell phones plastered to their ears. Groups of girls giggled as they window-shopped. Horse-drawn carriages impeded traffic, eliciting shouts and blaring horns. In a vacant lot, a donkey pulled a cart piled to a precarious height with some sort of fresh produce, while men squatted in the shade, smoking brown cigarettes. There was a sense of modest prosperity; poverty was well concealed from the tourists.
Eventually we left the congested traffic and drove past fields, unadorned buildings, and houses ringed by palm trees and dusty yards. I relaxed and sat back, aware for the first time that Caron and Alexander were having a quiet conversation. Before I could turn around, Peter opened a bottle of water and gave it to me.
“First impression?” he asked.
I thought for a moment. “It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced, yet not overwhelming. Trucks and cars whizzing past donkey carts that must have been using this route for thousands of years. Satellite dishes on the roofs of houses built out of mud bricks. The greenery here, with the contrast of the barren mountains just beyond—two diametrically different ecosystems.” I leaned forward and tapped Inez’s shoulder. “Seen any camels?”
“Two so far. I’m going to keep a tally. Do you think a baby camel should get a full mark or just a half?”
Bakr glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “The youngmiss will see a few camels, but they are not so useful for farming. To the west is the sand and the oases, where there are many camels. Mrs. Malloy is comfortable? Should I turn up the air conditioner? Would you like to listen to music? Something to eat?”
“I think not,” Peter said. “Mrs. Malloy is much tougher than she looks, Bakr. She can be as formidable as a falcon, as sly as a jackal, as dangerous as a cobra. In an earlier life, she was the wife of a powerful pharaoh, but on his death she seized the throne and ruled the land with an iron fist.”
“Why, thank you,” I said. “Did I decorate my tomb with taste and charm?”
“It was featured on the cover of
Better Homes and Burial Chambers.”
I ignored the snickers from behind me. We drove across the bridge spanning the Nile, and then alongside flat green fields. White egrets circled above, looking for promising picnic spots. Children stood at the edge of the road or rode on donkeys. Laundry flapped on lines around houses without doors or windows, while goats and chickens wandered nearby. Bakr managed to navigate the rough streets through a small town, where men sat in front of cafés, their eyes tracking our progress. The garages had piles of discarded tires, and rusty metal signs written in Arabic that probably advertised soft drinks. It had the same ambiance as rural towns back home.
When we’d reached the far edge of town, Bakr pulled over. “We stop now at the
taftish
to purchase tickets. Will you be wanting to visit the Ramesseum and Medinet Habu?”
“The Ramesseum was built by Ramses II,” Inez announced. “He was nineteenth dynasty, and lived to be ninety-six years old. He had over two hundred wives and concubines, including Nefertari. One colossus of
“Mr. Rosen and Mrs. Malloy,” he said, “Chief Inspector Mahmoud el-Habachi sends his regards and wishes all of you a pleasant day. There are bottles of water in the seat pockets, so you must please to help yourselves. Behind the last row is a box with fruit, potato chips, and—”
“Let’s go,” Alexander said cheerfully.
As we drove south, the corniche gave way to a typical city street of stores, hotels, and restaurants. Some of the men on the sidewalks wore long robes, others Western attire. The women had scarves on their heads and drab, ankle-length skirts, but some had cell phones plastered to their ears. Groups of girls giggled as they window-shopped. Horse-drawn carriages impeded traffic, eliciting shouts and blaring horns. In a vacant lot, a donkey pulled a cart piled to a precarious height with some sort of fresh produce, while men squatted in the shade, smoking brown cigarettes. There was a sense of modest prosperity; poverty was well concealed from the tourists.
Eventually we left the congested traffic and drove past fields, unadorned buildings, and houses ringed by palm trees and dusty yards. I relaxed and sat back, aware for the first time that Caron and Alexander were having a quiet conversation. Before I could turn around, Peter opened a bottle of water and gave it to me.
“First impression?” he asked.
I thought for a moment. “It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced, yet not overwhelming. Trucks and cars whizzing past donkey carts that must have been using this route for thousands of years. Satellite dishes on the roofs of houses built out of mud bricks. The greenery here, with the contrast of the barren mountains just beyond—two diametrically different ecosystems.” I leaned forward and tapped Inez’s shoulder. “Seen any camels?”
“Two so far. I’m going to keep a tally. Do you think a baby camel should get a full mark or just a half?”
Bakr glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “The youngmiss will see a few camels, but they are not so useful for farming. To the west is the sand and the oases, where there are many camels. Mrs. Malloy is comfortable? Should I turn up the air conditioner? Would you like to listen to music? Something to eat?”
“I think not,” Peter said. “Mrs. Malloy is much tougher than she looks, Bakr. She can be as formidable as a falcon, as sly as a jackal, as dangerous as a cobra. In an earlier life, she was the wife of a powerful pharaoh, but on his death she seized the throne and ruled the land with an iron fist.”
“Why, thank you,” I said. “Did I decorate my tomb with taste and charm?”
“It was featured on the cover of
Better Homes and Burial Chambers.”
I ignored the snickers from behind me. We drove across the bridge spanning the Nile, and then alongside flat green fields. White egrets circled above, looking for promising picnic spots. Children stood at the edge of the road or rode on donkeys. Laundry flapped on lines around houses without doors or windows, while goats and chickens wandered nearby. Bakr managed to navigate the rough streets through a small town, where men sat in front of cafés, their eyes tracking our progress. The garages had piles of discarded tires, and rusty metal signs written in Arabic that probably advertised soft drinks. It had the same ambiance as rural towns back home.
When we’d reached the far edge of town, Bakr pulled over. “We stop now at the
taftish
to purchase tickets. Will you be wanting to visit the Ramesseum and Medinet Habu?”
“The Ramesseum was built by Ramses II,” Inez announced. “He was nineteenth dynasty, and lived to be ninety-six years old. He had over two hundred wives and concubines, including Nefertari. One colossus of
Similar Books
