water into it. Tiny beads of perspiration appeared on either side of her nose, above her upper lip, on her forehead. She stretched her foot out and turned off the tap with her big toe.
Arabella reached out to the table next to the bath and picked up a terry-cloth-covered neck rest and put it behind her. Stretching out, soothed by the heat of her fragrant bath, she closed her eyes and let long-forgotten memories return.
* * *
Arabella remembered standing up in the open horse-drawn carriage and waving good-bye to her friends after promising to meet them in Cyprus four days later. It occurred to her now how rarely she thought of her beau at the time of that cruise, Sam Waterman. Sam was a brilliant young medical student from Johns Hopkins. She could still picture his long face of disappointment at their parting.
He had been a sweet lover, a sensitive young man with whom she had had a friendly romance for two years. She had never expected to stay with him even that long, but it had been easier than breaking up. And he was nice enough. She remembered the pang of real loneliness she had felt sending him away, the fear of the unknown before her and the knowledge that she would miss him in bed that night.
Their last conversation together came back to her as if it had happened only yesterday. The others had all kissed her good-bye and boarded the yacht.
Sam had kissed her and said, “Why do you want to leave the group? Why break us up? We’re all on vacation together.”
She had answered, “I’m not breaking us up, Sam. I’ve fallen in love with this fantastic, erotic city and I haven’t seen enough of it. It’s been a wonderful vacation but I’m tired of island hopping, of seeing everything superficially, of glimpsing Crete and waving at Sicily and barely touching the shores of Turkey. I can’t do that with Alexandria. Anyway, don’t look so sad. What’s four days’ time? We’ll be together again in Cyprus and, besides, you can still stay — you don’t have to leave.”
“But I want to. All I see here is dirt, poverty, and weirdness. I don’t have the need to stay that you do.” He kissed her again and went on. “I just don’t feel the same. I want to go on with the others. I’ll see you in Cyprus.”
That evening, dusk came to Alexandria like a big deep bruise. The sky turned pink, pale yellow then lavender, until finally a deep purple before the black of night. ForArabella it was a moment of depression, sadness. Until dusk in Alexandria, she had never been aware of the death of a day.
She sat in a carriage driven by the big, soft-looking Egyptian in his gray galabeah and large white turban. Around her were cars of every vintage and shape, hooting and tooting the pushcarts, bicycles, dilapidated lorries, donkeys pulling flat carts loaded with fruit, vendors, and people. Masses and masses of people.
By early nighttime, Alexandria was lit up by a soft yellow from a million dim light bulbs. The Corniche looked like a chain of twinkling diamonds. The city glowed on a low voltage and high atmosphere.
The dappled gray horse with his sway back clopped along the pavements, swinging his haunches like some seductive charmer to the tinkle of his own bells hung along a harness studded with charms against the evil eye. They worked. Arabella arrived safely back at the Hotel Cecil, that wonderful, old-time hotel. The Cecil, with its pale-pink facade of soft stone punctuated by latticed balconies under skimpy dark-green awnings. It overlooked the square of drooping old palm trees, worn-out grass, and the eastern harbor. The sweet and homey Cecil with its comfortable elegance and unprepossessing entrance was a welcome sight to Arabella. She went into the dark, old-fashioned lobby, where the ceiling fans lazily circulated what little cool air there was. There were dusty and tired potted palms, gigantic spiky green-and-white striped plants called mother-in-law’s tongue, and in the slightly seedy-looking, overstuffed
Arabella reached out to the table next to the bath and picked up a terry-cloth-covered neck rest and put it behind her. Stretching out, soothed by the heat of her fragrant bath, she closed her eyes and let long-forgotten memories return.
* * *
Arabella remembered standing up in the open horse-drawn carriage and waving good-bye to her friends after promising to meet them in Cyprus four days later. It occurred to her now how rarely she thought of her beau at the time of that cruise, Sam Waterman. Sam was a brilliant young medical student from Johns Hopkins. She could still picture his long face of disappointment at their parting.
He had been a sweet lover, a sensitive young man with whom she had had a friendly romance for two years. She had never expected to stay with him even that long, but it had been easier than breaking up. And he was nice enough. She remembered the pang of real loneliness she had felt sending him away, the fear of the unknown before her and the knowledge that she would miss him in bed that night.
Their last conversation together came back to her as if it had happened only yesterday. The others had all kissed her good-bye and boarded the yacht.
Sam had kissed her and said, “Why do you want to leave the group? Why break us up? We’re all on vacation together.”
She had answered, “I’m not breaking us up, Sam. I’ve fallen in love with this fantastic, erotic city and I haven’t seen enough of it. It’s been a wonderful vacation but I’m tired of island hopping, of seeing everything superficially, of glimpsing Crete and waving at Sicily and barely touching the shores of Turkey. I can’t do that with Alexandria. Anyway, don’t look so sad. What’s four days’ time? We’ll be together again in Cyprus and, besides, you can still stay — you don’t have to leave.”
“But I want to. All I see here is dirt, poverty, and weirdness. I don’t have the need to stay that you do.” He kissed her again and went on. “I just don’t feel the same. I want to go on with the others. I’ll see you in Cyprus.”
That evening, dusk came to Alexandria like a big deep bruise. The sky turned pink, pale yellow then lavender, until finally a deep purple before the black of night. ForArabella it was a moment of depression, sadness. Until dusk in Alexandria, she had never been aware of the death of a day.
She sat in a carriage driven by the big, soft-looking Egyptian in his gray galabeah and large white turban. Around her were cars of every vintage and shape, hooting and tooting the pushcarts, bicycles, dilapidated lorries, donkeys pulling flat carts loaded with fruit, vendors, and people. Masses and masses of people.
By early nighttime, Alexandria was lit up by a soft yellow from a million dim light bulbs. The Corniche looked like a chain of twinkling diamonds. The city glowed on a low voltage and high atmosphere.
The dappled gray horse with his sway back clopped along the pavements, swinging his haunches like some seductive charmer to the tinkle of his own bells hung along a harness studded with charms against the evil eye. They worked. Arabella arrived safely back at the Hotel Cecil, that wonderful, old-time hotel. The Cecil, with its pale-pink facade of soft stone punctuated by latticed balconies under skimpy dark-green awnings. It overlooked the square of drooping old palm trees, worn-out grass, and the eastern harbor. The sweet and homey Cecil with its comfortable elegance and unprepossessing entrance was a welcome sight to Arabella. She went into the dark, old-fashioned lobby, where the ceiling fans lazily circulated what little cool air there was. There were dusty and tired potted palms, gigantic spiky green-and-white striped plants called mother-in-law’s tongue, and in the slightly seedy-looking, overstuffed
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