by N E. David
He awoke slowly and found himself lying on his back, staring up at a blank ceiling. For a moment he panicked, wondering where he was and how he’d got there. But then it all came back to him – the boat, the Nile, the search for birds, the fact he was no longer employed…
Outside his cabin window it was dark and there was no indication of movement. He looked at his watch. Five to seven already. He panicked and pulling open the side drawer of the dressing table, took out the itinerary he’d put there the day before. In the entry for the day an item was highlighted in red.
6.30pm. Cocktail Reception in the Forward Lounge.
Well, he’d clearly missed that! Then,
7pm Gala Dinner.
And if he didn’t get his skates on he’d miss that too. He cursed silently – there was barely time to change and get spruced up.
He arrived in the dining room ten minutes late and a little out of breath. He’d taken off his neckerchief and rearranged his shirt, leaving the top button undone in an attempt to appear casual. Then he’d pulled on his linen jacket and had selected a formal pair of shoes rather than the slip-ons he’d worn on deck. He still felt horribly under-dressed. Gala Dinner. It wouldn’t have surprised him if Keith had come down sporting a dinner suit and bow tie.
Something new awaited him at the table. He had assumed he would return to the same place as the night before but it was already occupied – by Miss Malaysia. It seemed she’d solved the mystery they’d all been pondering by announcing herself as the eighth member of their party. Blake was horrified.
She’d changed and having dispensed with her jeans and Cuban heels, was now sporting a long silver evening dress. Set against the brown skin of her bare shoulders, it made her look even more attractive. And although she’d retained the same set of earrings she’d been wearing earlier, she’d taken the time to restyle her hair which added to her elegant appearance. In her lap, she clasped a small matching bag. The overall effect was stunning. If he’d not already known who she was, Blake might never have recognised her as the slight Asian girl who’d stared him down that morning.
In his absence she’d taken the opportunity to move up a place, presumably so as to be closer to the middle of the table. If her objective was to become the centre of attention, then along with her choice of apparel she could hardly have done any more, for even allowing for Mrs Biltmore’s continual failure of fashion (she was still in the same dull green top), the rest of the table looked positively drab by comparison.
Blake felt relieved rather than concerned. She could have the limelight – he personally had no desire to shine. If pushed to the front, what would he have chosen to say? No-one wanted to hear him talk about birds.
He pulled out the one remaining chair and took his seat on the end.
“Sorry I’m late,” he mumbled. “Unavoidably detained.”
“No problem,” said Keith. Rather than the dinner suit Blake had feared, he too had opted for something casual. “In fact, you’ve got here just in time. Lee Yong was on the point of telling us all about herself.”
Lee Yong! So she was Malaysian after all. Blake pricked up his ears – this was something he wanted to hear.
“…intend to travel the world,” she was saying. “For a year. Maybe two. It depends.” Although on what, she did not immediately make clear. “Then, I want to go to America to study.”
“America!” exclaimed Mrs Biltmore. “You know what, honey? I am so glad to hear you say that. Why, there isn’t a finer place for learning in the whole wide world than the United States – you just can’t beat it.”
Blake found himself rankled by this assertion. There were other equally good alternatives he could think of but for the sake of maintaining peaceful relations he decided to keep his counsel.
“And we know just the spot, don’t we, Ira?” continued the American.
“Yup,” said her husband. “We sure do.”
After his bout of unexpected freedom that morning, Ira had reverted to his normal monosyllabic self – although with his wife’s bulky presence looming beside him, there was probably little else he could do but concur.
“You need to come to Johns Hopkins, honey,” said Mrs Biltmore. “I guess it must be just about the best university in the country. We sent both our boys to Johns Hopkins and they turned out just fine. We wouldn’t have sent them anywhere else, would we, Ira?”
“Nope,” said Ira. “We wouldn’t.”
“But we do have a little secret.” Mrs Biltmore lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s too kinda bashful to tell you himself, but Ira used to work at Johns Hopkins, didn’t you, Ira?” And then, before he could respond, “How long were you at Johns Hopkins? Thirty-three years, was it, Ira?”
“Thirty-four,” said Ira.
“Oh,” said Mrs Biltmore, taken aback. “I thought we discussed this the other day and you told me it was thirty-three years.”
“Nope.” Ira nailed his colours bravely to the mast. “Thirty-four.”
“Now are you sure about that? We’ve been married thirty-two and I swear you said you’d been there just the one year before.”
Blake sensed that this was about to develop into a repeat of the previous evening and he felt his blood pressure starting to rise. With her continual dominance of the conversation the American had begun to annoy him. He’d spent too long living alone to learn how to tolerate the foibles of others. He no more cared how many years Ira had worked at Johns Hopkins than he did as to whether Mrs Biltmore’s handbag had been lost or whether it had been stolen. What he wanted was to hear Miss Malaysia’s story and he’d have been prepared to interrupt affairs in order to achieve it. Fortunately it did not prove necessary as things moved quickly on.
“Anyways,” said Mrs Biltmore. “I guess it doesn’t matter if it was thirty-three or thirty-four, it sure seemed like a lifetime to me. Good old Johns Hopkins! Well, that’s what I’d do if I were you, honey. And as soon as you’re ready, you just come right over to Baltimore and Ira’ll put in a word for you, won’t you, Ira?”
“Sure will,” said Ira, reverting to type once more.
Blake wondered what position at the university he might have held. His lack of words hardly seemed to qualify him as a lecturer. So had he been principal – or janitor? No explanation had been given and as he did not wish to delay matters further, he declined to ask.
“That’s very kind of you,” Lee Yong resumed, after the long interruption. “I’ll definitely consider it. But I’ve a lot of travelling to do first.”
“Of course.” Keith had been waiting patiently on the sidelines. “But what do you think you might study?”
“I don’t know yet. That’s why I have to travel to find out.”
Her innocent and unintentional joke provoked a ripple of laughter round the table. Even Joan managed to conjure up a smile. Up until now her face had been permanently sour. Blake thought it was probably because she’d been upstaged in the dress department since her own offering, although eye-catching, was nowhere near as stylish as that of the young Malaysian.
“So where have you been so far?” Keith continued.
“I started off in India – then flew to South Africa…”
There was an enforced pause as the starter arrived.
“You weren’t here so I ordered you a soup,” said Keith in a whispered aside. “I hope that’s alright.”
“Fine,” said Blake. Soup was as good as anything else.
India. Along with his beef consommé, Blake tasted a twinge of jealousy. It was a country he’d always wanted to visit – but like so much else, he’d never got round to it. And yet here was this young woman, this girl (she could hardly have been more than twenty-two or twenty-three) who had already done in a few short months what he had put off for years. He imagined her standing outside the Taj Mahal, her beautiful figure swathed in a sari, scattering flower petals onto a pond – although in reality, she was far more likely to be stomping around in her Cuban heels and jeans.
“…and worked my way up country.”
The word ‘worked’ attracted Blake’s attention. He was certain she’d used it to mean ‘progressed’ rather than engaged in any form of paid employment. Lee Yong did not look like the type who ‘worked’. She was no backpacker – her adventure was prepaid with no expense spared. She no doubt came from a wealthy family. Her father was probably an entrepreneur or industrialist, one of those who had built their empires in the economic boom of the 1980s and early ’90s – cars, steel, computers, it could be any one of a number of sectors. Those who had been clever (or lucky) enough to survive the downturn that followed were still fantastically rich and a by-product of their fortune was the fact that their offspring were now free to roam the world without restraint. And here was one of them doing just that, in style.
Her immediate plan, Lee Yong explained, was to move on to Jordan and visit the rock-cut city of Petra. (Blake felt relieved – this was one place he had been to). Afterwards, she would take in Jerusalem, and possibly Damascus, before beginning a tour of the capitals of Europe – Paris, London, and Rome. Having conquered the Old World, she then planned to take on the New, crossing the Atlantic to America where she would explore the country as a tourist before commencing her studies (whatever they might be). It was an ambitious programme – Africa, Egypt, the Middle East, Europe, the States – the itinerary looked like a journey through time, the history of the world compressed into the space of eighteen months. And as yet, she’d failed to mention Russia, the Baltic, Scandinavia and South America – no doubt she would simply fit these in ‘en route’. Nothing, it seemed, was beyond her. The question was not whether Miss Malaysia was ready for the world – that was obvious – but whether the world was ready for Miss Malaysia.
With the main course served and Lee Yong’s travel plans laid before them, the conversation turned to how she might make best use of her time. There were innumerable suggestions.
“I don’t see how you can go to Italy and not visit Florence…”
“When you get to Paris, there’s a wonderful little bistro in the Rue de Rivoli…”
“Didn’t Ron and Margaret buy a place in Spain? I can get their number for you if you like…”
Sat quietly at the end of the table, Blake reserved judgement. Surely they were missing the point. Here they were, privileged visitors to an ancient civilisation, surrounded by its treasures, and all they could talk about was going somewhere else. This obvious oversight irked him, but it was not until they were halfway through dessert that he was able to bring the discussion back to what he considered was its rightful starting point.
“But what about Egypt? How are you finding it?”
By now Lee Yong should have been overwhelmed by the relentless questioning, but far from it. In fact, she seemed to revel in it.
“I like it very much,” she responded. “Very much indeed.” Then, in an aside meant only for him, as if she were divulging some secret. “You will discover, Mr Blake, that I have a passion for all things Egyptian.”
This casual yet deliberate statement puzzled him. Was she trying to appease him after her performance that morning? Or was there more to it than that? There was something mischievous about her, but before he could get her to elaborate, their têtê à têtê was interrupted.
A hubbub was pervading the dining room. All at once there was a general downing of napkins, a pushing back of chairs and people were standing up and getting ready to leave. This overall movement provoked Keith to enquire as to the cause and very shortly the report came back.
“Apparently we’ve reached the lock at Esna.”
Not wishing to miss whatever spectacle this entailed, they all broke off from their meal and went up on deck.
A dramatic sight awaited them as they emerged into the night air. It was already dark, the sun having set an hour or so before, and the sky was inky black with just a few stars twinkling here and there. In front of them, a massive pair of lock gates rose up out of the water, and to the left a concrete dam spanning the width of the river penned back the upper reaches of the Nile.
They were not by any means alone. Ahead and astern of them a dozen or more cruise ships were vying for position in the queue to pass through the lock, their deck and cabin lights shining out through the gloom, and the sound of calling voices echoed across the water.
Close behind Blake, the laboured puff of Mrs Biltmore’s breathing preceded her onto the deck as she slowly hoisted herself up the set of steep steps, towing Ira in her wake. Further down toward the bow, Janet and Keith had already joined David and Joan and all four were relaxing against the ship’s rail as they watched the show.
Blake retreated to the shadow of an overhanging sunshade and waited for events to play out. He found himself speculating as to what Lee Yong might make of it all – the boats, the lights, the hustle and bustle of the quayside. No doubt there were similar scenes in her own country, and if such things were commonplace to her he imagined she might chide her companions for their casual waste of time. If not, then perhaps this was part of the international culture she seemed so keen to experience. He searched amongst the crowd at the front of the sun-deck and round the swimming pool in the hopes of finding her but failed. He couldn’t recall seeing her come up on deck with the others – perhaps she’d gone straight to her cabin rather than risk the cool night air.
Eventually he caught sight of her, leaning on the rail at the stern of the ship, her slight form unmistakable even in the darkness. His first thought was to join her – but then he held back. He had no idea what he might say and besides, someone else was already standing in the shadows next to her. From his bulky outline Blake recognised the Egyptian tour guide. He’d been right about the chill of the evening for as he watched, the young man removed his jacket and draped it round the Malaysian’s shoulders. Surely they were not still debating the whys and wherefores of tombs and temples? Had they not had enough of that earlier in the day? It hardly seemed the time to be talking shop.
But whatever they were discussing, the heat had gone out of their argument. Their demeanour was much more relaxed and they must have reached some form of agreement. To Blake that meant only one thing – Lee Yong had emerged victorious. She was not the kind who would easily give up, even when pitted against a professional – the ‘passion’ she had mentioned at dinner would guarantee that.
Blake found himself sympathising with the Egyptian. He was not the only one who had been subjected to the force of her character and had been obliged to bow before it – they both now bore the scars. But his pity soon evaporated as a pang of jealousy tugged at him. Whether he had won or lost, the young man was fortunate to have the sole attention of this remarkable girl. She was young, bright and beautiful and seemed happy to be alive – and for all her forward manner and lack of inhibition, the confidence and innocence she’d shown were to be much admired. The mysteries of the world lay in front of her, she had yet to be tainted by it and that in itself was something to be treasured. How exciting her voyage of discovery would be Blake could only imagine, and at that moment there was nothing he would not have given to share it with her.
A cloud passed over his heart. When had he last stood next to such a woman and inhaled the heady scent of beauty bound to intellect? He struggled to recall. Once perhaps, many years ago…But it was too far in the past for him to want to remember and he grieved at its passing as if some part of him had died and had left him incomplete. Lee Yong had her ‘passion’ and he had his, but now it was only for birds of the feathered kind. Moments such as the one he was witnessing would never come his way again and it saddened him to think of it.
Toward the concrete dam, a quiet calm had settled over the waters of the Nile. The calling of the boat crews and those on the shore had abated and in a moment the others would come looking for him. But the sight of Lee Yong and the young Egyptian had already become too much for him to bear and before his companions could return and glimpse his sorrow, he decided to go below and
take himself to bed.
Chapter Eight
The following morning Blake woke early and rather than go out on deck, he decided to head straight down to breakfast. The dining room was deserted and the cold buffet of fruit, ham and yoghurt lay as yet untouched in its covering of clingfilm. From somewhere in the adjacent kitchen came the strangled wail of a popular Egyptian song as blithely unaware of his presence, a member of staff sang happily while he worked.
This time Blake chose to sit by the window (or rather, porthole, as it was barely above the surface of the water) where he could watch the Nile glide peacefully by and reflect on yesterday’s events. He’d brought his notebook and a pen with him with the firm intention of completing the bird list he’d begun the previous afternoon. He risked being disturbed, but preferred the openness of the dining room to the confines of his cabin and had determined that even if the others arrived, he would stick doggedly to his task.
He used the word ‘others’ as if there were already some form of relationship between them and to an extent he supposed it was true. Personally, he was not finding it unpleasant. In fact, it was a major point of interest – they all had characteristics he could readily observe and before long he found himself wondering that if they were to come back in another life as birds, just exactly what birds they would be. Soon, he found himself gazing dreamily out of the porthole and his mind began to drift as if mesmerised by the steadily flowing water.
Suddenly, he came to as the voice from the kitchen re-erupted. On the table in front of him his notebook lay open, his pen next to it. So far, he’d been there for a good ten minutes and had managed only the one additional entry. But instead of Spur–winged Plover, as he’d originally intended, two quite different words stared up at him as he realised he had written down the name of Lee Yong. Annoyed with himself and embarrassed at his mistake, he crossed it out and determined to start again. But try as he might, he could not bring himself to remember what other birds he had seen and he was forced to admit that it was the Malaysian girl rather than any avian life that had been on his mind.
