The Golden One: A Novel of Suspense (42 page)

I’ve known Sabri el-Aziz slightly for years; have spent many boring hours sitting in his office at the taftish. A formal call at the taftish is part of the ritual when one arrives in Luxor. We had made ours a few days earlier, on Sabri’s successor as Director of the West Bank sites. He’d been bumped up since then, to be in charge of all the Upper Egyptian sites.

So I greeted Sabri with an Egyptian kiss (a chaste salut on each cheek), which almost made him faint with surprise. He’d fairly tall and thin, with receding hair and regular features and charming manners. He gave us a slide show "tour" which lasted exactly the proper time, though he had been late because of an appointment with some big shots from the SCA. His English is delightful, larded with favorite words that give it flavor. "Guys," for one. "These guys" who built the tombs and "other guys" who are archaeologists. He was funny, witty, and very informative. Began and ended with a moving statement that the monuments are the heritage of the entire world, not just Egypt. He is in charge of all the monuments of Upper Egypt, and he makes about $7,000 a year.

Jan. 2. One of the reasons why Luxor feels like my hometown is that I keep running into old friends. Yesterday it was Bob B; he was coming into the hotel as I was leaving it, both of us on our way to different places, so he and his wife and I agreed to have dinner this evening.

It’s misty tonight. The western cliffs are almost invisible behind a cloud, and the sun was white before it sank behind said cloudbank, with no pyrotechnical display. Now the lights are coming on along the west bank, including two lonely stars that mark the location of the guard posts high on the hill. Must be a lonely job — and a cursed long climb. What a contrast below, in the twilight. A tourist steamer heads south, lit up like a multi level parking lot (these boats really are awfully homely). Half a dozen feluccas, with their graceful triangular sails, glide by, and the little motorboats chug back and forth. They are gay with bright paint and (rather grubby) cushions and funny insignia.

Tour busses whiz past (well, they go fairly slowly; in fact, the traffic on the corniche includes bicycles, taxis, and carriages); two calechesfilled with Egyptians singing and chanting and beating a drum; the muezzin’s "Allahu Akhbar." I do so love this place. This is the last night in Luxor for this trip.

Later. Had a good time with the B’s this evening; they came to my room at six, with a bottle of wine. Rather than call room service, who had stolen the glasses again, I washed my tooth glasses.

Jan. 3. I seem to have gotten a slight second wind lately, partly because I haven’t done much except sit around, and partly because I am looking forward to spending more time with the Expedition. I will be on the boat with them from Assuan to Luxor, and then we have one more day in Cairo before flying out. (From then on it’s going to be grim — that grisly one-thirty a.m. flight home. All in all I have eight flights on this trip. Have I mentioned that before?)

Had lunch with some of the ladies from the tour and then wandered over to the arcade by Abouti’s to look for a slip. (I lost mine in Cairo — don’t ask how.) No luck of course.

Abouti’s is the best bookstore in Luxor for Egyptological stuff, but its selection of fiction is pretty limited. Have seen my French editions at two places in Luxor, plus one German. None of the English. Transitions are a pain — packing, looking for missing articles, cashing travelers’ checks, paying bills, tipping everybody. The first part of the trip was fine — I even got a smile and a handshake from the grumpy guy at the bank. It isn’t surprising that he is grumpy; some of his customers are rude and unreasonable. He’d been very nice since the time during Ramadan when I walked in to find him reading from the Koran; I immediately stepped back and told him to finish his chapter or whatever, that I could wait. I was rewarded when he asked if I would like him to read aloud. It was beautiful — sung rather than read, in a sonorous baritone. He had studied to be a muezzin.

Later. I’m getting to know Luxor airport (excuse me, International Airport — there are direct flights from Gatwick in England) only too well. The plane was on time, meaning it left only half an hour late. (U.S. lines don’t do any better.) You’re barely up before you come down; flying time is only about twenty minutes. There was an interminable wait for baggage, so Khaled and Bill had been waiting some time and were becoming agitated. I suppose losing mewould be a black mark.

On board. They are very nice to me. The suite isn’t much, a tiny sitting room and bedroom and no whirlpool! — but it’s the best the boat offers. There are some lovely old Turkoman rugs and a TV (can’t get anything on it), and everything is spotlessly clean. Even Amelia would approve. This boat, like many others here, belongs to the Queen Nabila line. We’re right up against the dock, but the boats are lined up side by side as usual, two or three deep, and from my plate glass window I can see — another set of identical windows. For about ten minutes I had a lovely view of the river while one boat pulled away, but another one promptly took its place.

Jan. 4. Most of the gang went to Abu Simbel this morning. They had to get up at four-thirty. Need I say I did not go with them? (Been there.) Shopped the suk with Bill and Nancy instead. Suk is more authentic than Luxor, but I fear the good local handicrafts are fading out, to be replaced by t-shirts and junk. Bought spices and three embroidered pillowcases, not nearly as nice as the ones at Luxor just last year. Work is cruder, colors gaudier.

After lunch (the food is fatteningly good and hard to resist), we took feluccas to Elephantine Island. More damned wobbly eight-inch gangplanks! The old museum, once the home of the engineer who designed the first dam, looks odd with its Victorian trim and wide veranda. We visited it a couple of years ago, poor shabby neglected place, and the curator was pathetically grateful for company. So I didn’t go in. Most of the good stuff has been removed to the new Assuan Museum. Wish I could say something sensible about the excavations, which were closed to visitors last time I was here; they are extensive and fascinating, but it was a maze to me. There’s no guidebook and the only publications are in obscure (to me) German professional journals.

Jan. 5. Went to the Assuan Museum alone; I had never seen it. On entering whom should I see but John and Debbie — I love these serendipitous encounters; they only happen to me in Egypt! But John was all bandaged and battered from an accident: A truck ahead of them turned a corner too fast and dumped a boulder on the front of the Land Rover, shattering the window and more. You see trucks like that on the road all the time, overloaded and without tailgates. It’s a miracle more people aren’t injured. (Maybe they are.)

It’s a splendid museum — beautiful architecture, objects well displayed — and John and Debbie were wonderful guides. We went back to town about eleven and found a place on the corniche — lower level, actually on the water. They had lunch and I kerkedah— a deep red, sweet, ice cold drink made from stewed hibiscus blossoms. Resisted the urge to purchase the blossoms in the suk this year — in Egypt it is delicious, when I make it at home it tastes awful! The boat was to sail at 12:30. I figured I might have some difficulty finding it, since I had been warned it would be moved, preparatory to sailing. I was right, but we did find it eventually. John and Debbie saw me to the gangplank of the innermost boat (docked where ours had been this morning) where we met a couple of other people from the tour, who greeted me and I them with shouts of joy. We had to go through three boats to reach ours; they tie them up so that the lobbies adjoin, and it’s kind of interesting to see what other boats are like.

I’ve gotten to know most of the people by now and have chatted with most, though I will never get everybody’s name straight; I’m hopeless about names. This is a great bunch. Phil and Kathe came back from shopping with a bottle of gin for me. That’s what you get when you expose your vices and complain aloud (there is no gin at the bar of the boat.) It’s Egyptian gin and probably quite vile, but what a sweet thought — n.b., I brought it down to the bar next night and made everybody sample it. Tasted like grappa or anisette! After I had swilled some down someone told me I shouldn’t have because sanitation is questionable; but I figured 90 proof alcohol would kill most everything.

Lunch on the upper deck, then departure. I do like sailing. The weather is perfect, sunny, and not too windy. My window faces east. There’s not much village life, only lots and lots of palms, with the golden brown hills behind. Road and railroad on this bank from Hammadi south; sometimes they run close to the river, so you can see a car or a train.

Jan. 6.We arrived at Edfu last night and tied up, if that is the phrase. Bill had the gang off the boat at seven a.m. to see the temple. I watched them complacently through a slit in my curtains as they got into carriages. It’s a bustling, busy scene. Across the street, shops display the conventional tourist stuff, galabeeyahsand those gaudy sequined shifts, shawls, and scarves. Racks of Baraka bottles, Coke, and soft drinks; a cafe with plastic chairs of red and yellow. The occupants of an apartment building across the street have hung their bedding and clothes out to air, over the edge of the balconies. Two elegant old wrought-iron Victorian style lampposts flank the top of the stairs that lead up to the street from the waterfront. The steps are crumbling and uneven, and sometimes, depending on where the boat docks, you have to pick your way over broken concrete and stones to reach the steps.

It’s all part of the Egyptian experience. . .

Bill has certainly kept the gang busy. When they aren’t rushing around at odd hours seeing sites, they are being entertained. The first night at Aswan it was Nubian dancing — a lot of horseplay (pun: part of it was two guys in a horse suit) — but some was quite splendid and the drums and tambourines were expertly played. For one song a little old gent in a turban strode in and tootled on a pipe along with the drums.

Part of the fun is dragging the tourists up to dance — I’m sure the locals find it very funny — and I finally got dragged up too and made, I am sure, a perfect idiot of myself, but I got lots of applause. I wore my Nubian lady’s black dress with a deep ruffle around the hem. Everybody was supposed to wear Egyptian garb, and some of the outfits were great. These people are really good sports — they’ll try anything.

Next night was Victorian night, in honor of Amelia, and I made an exhibition of myself again trying to waltz with Phil. Stepped all over his feet. The dear person whirled most of the women round the floor to Strauss waltzes. None of the other men danced, poor shy things. Last night was Bill’s mystery, featuring stolen antiquities and a gold dagger and a corpse on the bed in the spare room. Bill was very funny as Lord Carnivore, in plus fours and Holmes hat, stick, and huge calabash pipe. Everybody entered into it with great good spirits, but we didn’t solve the mystery. We were having such a good time we failed to notice the suspects sneaking out of the room at important moments. There are a few other groups on the boat — French and Spanish, I think — who must think we are mad. We take over the saloon every night and carry on outrageously. There is a lot of talent in this bunch. They sing, they dance, they write skits and perform them, all with an engaging lack of inhibition.

Some of these nice people have brought books all the way from the states for me to sign. Others packed voluminous fancy garments — Victorian gowns and Edwardian blouses and extravagant hats — so they could participate in the various entertainments. People get confidential in such surroundings and I’ve heard more than once that a particular book "helped me through a bad time." I’m so pleased if that is true. I just wrote the way I felt, not with any aim in mind except entertainment, but it makes me feel great to hear such comments.

Several of them have done Amelia tributes during our amateur talent hours; one, a Gilbert and Sullivan takeoff, got huge cheers (esp. from me) and I hope I get a copy of it, as I requested. Another time a bunch of them got together and did a "sound and light" performance, with friends in the audience shining flashlights, and deep voices intoning "Emerson! Peabody!" from the shadows. It was marvelous. I laughed till I cried. The gang is divided into three groups for purposes of site-visits, each under the supervision of Bill or a cohort. Leaders of all such groups carry signs or umbrellas or something, as a rallying point; Bill’s people carried signs reading "Ramses," "Amelia," or "Emerson." I love it.

Last day of cruise.I think I’ve managed to chat privately with everybody, including the very shy ones. Also gave two talks — "conversations," rather. The second one had to be postponed, for a rather interesting reason: I was preceded by a talk by the four guides, two handsome, intelligent guys and their pretty, intelligent wives, discussing Islam. The group was immensely responsive, curious, and open-minded, and it was going so well that when Bill interrupted to introduce me, I stood up and said I thought it would be a pity to stop the discussion. I would talk another time, whenever they wanted. So it went on for over an hour, and was continued next morning, on deck. One would like to think, wistfully, that a few lines of sympathy and communication have been opened. My talks were the usual — all about the books.

The locks at Esna are the big sticking point for boats traveling between Aswan and Luxor. Low water levels and congestion make it impossible to schedule arrivals at Luxor. We got through late at night, and were in Luxor next a.m. After some strolling and (guess what) shopping, we left for the airport to catch the ten p.m. flight. Arrived in Cairo about eleven but didn’t get out of the airport for a long time; they are very touchy about security, esp. for large groups on buses. We had to sit while they collected an escort, or swept the surrounding streets, or something. Nice room at the Nile Hilton — my usual — balcony on two sides, overlooking the river.

I was wakened next a.m. at nine-thirty by a call from Salima and made a date to meet her at the Museum after noon. Accompanied by a few chosen souls, I inspected the animal mummies room, which is Salima’s specialty, and then started looking for her office — where I had been a number of times. Could I find the damned place? Of course not. A knowledgeable guard finally set me straight, and we spent a few minutes looking at some fun things, including several of the royal mummies that are awaiting their fancy new cases, and then wandered the museum for a while looking at some of my favorites. The back entrance of the hotel is just across the street from the Museum — very handy.