"Did Peter find you, then?” Abdul asked, the excessive care with which he was suddenly trying to cut dark meat from a chicken bone pretty much portraying what little interest he really had in the food on his plate.
"Yes, he did,” Gil said. “Thanks for telling him where to find me."
"I suppose I should confess to having, also, told him that you wanted to be alone,” Abdul said. “This means, please note, that I was quite delighted when he insisted he had to see you anyway; I figured, of course, that his barging in might actually annoy you."
Gil's chicken arrived, and he no more cared about it than Abdul cared about his. “You were right, you know, about my feelings for him and vice versa?"
"Fancy that,” the sheikh said. Whatever his feelings, he was putting up a good show of being civilized about it.
"Yes, I think you do see,” Gil replied, glad there would be no ill-will and no scene. “I think you've seen all along and have the intelligence, now, to see that it would be a big mistake for you and me to proceed beyond mere friendship."
"Yes, of course,” Abdul said. The solicitous waiter approached, and the sheikh had to take a brief minute to explain that their chicken was just fine but that Gil and he just weren't hungry.
Gil would have felt guiltier about Abdul if the Arab hadn't always made it a point of emphasizing that hope shouldn't be held out if there really was none. “You're a wonderful man,” Gil said. “You're handsome, charming, witty, fun to be with, and you've loads of power and money.” The last bit got a smile out of Abdul. “You're everything most any man or woman could ever possibly want in a lover. Unfortunately, I'm just not the man for you."
"I seem to have rotten luck landing men I really like,” Abdul said with a note of sincere regret. “Oh, there seem to be plenty of the others available, mind you."
"There's nothing that says we can't still be friends, is there?” Gil asked, knowing it was difficult for some people to make any permanent transition necessitated by frustrated hopes. He really did like Abdul, and he would have hated for the sheikh suddenly to exit forever, but Abdul might very well feel that total separation was necessary for his own well-being. Gil was better able to adjust, because he had always known, down deep, that there would never be anything serious between them.
"I really don't want you just as my friend,” Abdul said, looking down at his plate of chicken, fried eggplant, and French-fried potatoes, all of which were quite cold by now. He looked up and tried his best to give a smile. “But if it's all I can hope for, I suppose it will have to do, won't it?"
"I'm glad you feel that way,” Gil answered with an inward sigh of relief.
"We're all civilized people, are we not?” Abdul said. “That we have momentarily been thrown into this silly triangle doesn't mean we can't come through with a little reshuffling of emotional perspectives, does it?"
"Exactly,” Gil agreed. He wanted to reach across the table to touch the sheikh so that Abdul could feel just a part of the sheer joy coursing through Gil's veins at that moment, but he didn't do so.
"And believe it or not, I'm truly happy for you,” Abdul said. “There's nothing more wonderful than the utter bliss of being wanted and someone wanting you in return.” He gave a wistful smile. “Anyway, that's what I hear. I've only managed to be on the delivering end of the deal, although I shall continue to hold out hope of one day entering into a relationship not so one-sided.” His smile widened, and he locked Gil's eyes with his own. “I really didn't want that to come out sounding quite so sour grapes, you know? I'm the first to realize that certain things click between certain people, and it's no personal insult to anyone involved if one isn't one of those certain people. I'll be more than happy to be your friend, Gil, just as I would have been delighted to be your lover. Is Peter, though, going to be as confident of his position to accept my being in the wings, or should I quietly disappear into the backdrop to give you both some breathing space?"
"I think Peter isn't going to want you out of our lives any more than I do,” Gil said. “You and Peter, after all, do have a great many things in common.” At that moment, Gil was feeling magnanimous enough even to forgive both Peter and Abdul their mutual infatuation with falconry.
"Yes, I'd say you were right, there,” Abdul replied, delivering an accompanying sigh of fortified resolve. “And I rather like him. I told you that once already. I should have possibly liked him less. I would have far preferred him being an obnoxious bastard upon whom I could have relished wreaking evil revenge. Someone very dear to me having once told me that love wasn't a game to be won or lost, and I think I shall believe him.” He pushed his chair back from the table. “I'm really not hungry. What about you?"
Gil hadn't touched his food. “No, as a matter of fact,” he confirmed.
"Then, maybe, you wouldn't mind coming down to my cabin for a minute. Unless, of course—"Abdul smiled. “—you fear I may be prepared to do all sorts of horrible things to you in retaliation for you having allowed Peter to steal you away from me."
"Are you planning to do all sorts of horrible things?” Gil asked, coming to his feet with him. Gil's question was a joke, but he was curious as to why Abdul would want to see him in his cabin.
"It's just that I have something I'd like to give you which has nothing to do with the hard state of my dick.” Abdul said. “I'd rather hand it over in private, but I can very well do so in the public lounge if you'd prefer."
"Friends don't spend their lives arranging to meet only in public places,” Gil said. “Do they?"
"No,” the sheikh agreed.
"I think that it would hardly be smart to begin planning our lives that way, don't you?” They had left the dining room and had paused in the space adjoining the small souvenir shop and boutique. “Although I don't think you should be giving me gifts, either,” Gil added.
"Don't friends give gifts?” Abdul asked in challenge. He didn't give Gil a chance to answer. “It's only a little something I knew from the very beginning I might be giving to you—even if as only one friend to another. As I consider it to be something suited particularly to you, I would be deeply hurt, of course, if you were to be so ungracious as not to accept it."
Gil took the sheikh's hand in both of his and held it. “You're a very, very dear person to me, Abdul,” he said with all sincerity. “I don't now if you can appreciate just how dear. Without you, I'd be a far less happy man than I am today. And if you presently find yourself tempted to begrudge me my happiness, because it has deprived you of happiness you had hoped for yourself, I can tell you only that the gift you've already so willingly given is more precious to me than anything else you could possibly offer up now."
"I don't begrudge you anything, Gil,” Abdul said, his eyes velvety pools of darkness. “I don't, now. I have never. I never will. Truly! And you must believe that. You want me as a friend, then, I shall always be there as the friend you want. A friend to you and to Peter. And if ever—ever, Gil—you find yourself in need of comfort or counsel, or hard cock, or tight ass, you know you can trust me to be there for you."
Gil, who had reached the ripe old age of twenty-nine years without finding one man he really cared for, except his father, couldn't believe how lucky he was to have suddenly had two enter his world at one and the same time. One was friend, and one was lover, but that didn't dilute the intense feelings Gil had wrapped up in each of them.
An elderly woman exited the dining room and looked slightly embarrassed at finding Gil so tenderly holding Abdul's hand in the vestibule. The old lady's expression made Abdul laugh, and Gil joined in; which the woman, by her new expression, obviously found even more disconcerting. “Come on,” Gil said, keeping hold of Abdul's hand. “Who doesn't love surprises?"
He was, however, little prepared for this one. In fact, he had to sit down, as if the mere weight of the opened box in his hands was too much. He tore his eyes from the exquisite rope of gold, with dangling gold grape cluster, laid out on plush black velvet. “It's a man's
Egyptian gold snake-vertebrae neck chain, right?” Called snake-vertebrae, because it was composed of a long row of individually and intricately crafted pieces linked to form a spine of jewelry that could hold one or more bends.
"I thought you'd recognize it. So few would, you know?"
"And it looks so familiar, why?” Even as Gil asked, he noticed the two bas-relief engravings at one end: one the Egyptian cartouche indicative of the Roman Emperor Hadrian, and the Latin property of Antinoüs inscription. “Good God, it's the one on the hieroglyph at Antinoöpolis, right?"
The hieroglyph in question was one of but a few discovered during an archeological dig of a small temple dating from just after the time Hadrian had deified his dead lover as part of the ever-expanding Egypt pantheon. The temple-wall engraving showed a newly enrolled Antinoüs, naked to the waist except for the distinctive neck chain, accepting an offering of maze and beer ... from whom remained uncertain, because of a missing chunk of key adjoining sandstone.
"So nice to find a hieroglyphically knowledgeable young man; it makes the present-giving so much more meaningful. Just as I suspected."
"This can't be the real artifact, can it?"
"Can't it? Ahhhh,” Abdul seemed to experience a sudden epiphany, “you anticipate difficulty in getting any genuinely archaeological piece out of the country. I've covered that contingency by providing you with paperwork, beneath the velvet, that has a major Cairo jeweler's affidavit swearing that the piece is custom-ordered and executed by way of special commission specifically by yours truly."
This didn't really answer Gil's question, and they both knew it.
"I doubt I'd ever have anywhere to wear it,” Gil said instead.
"Of course, I was originally thinking maybe you could wear it to bed with me."
"I think not,” Gil said, shutting the case; there was an expensive and distinctive click as the fastening mechanism engaged.
"Ahhhh,” Abdul complained, seemingly all innocence. “You don't like it."
"Who could not like it?” It would have been ridiculous for Gil to deny that he, or any other man or woman, wouldn't like it. “It must be worth a fortune."
"A fortune compared to the resources of whom?” Abdul asked. “Of the kid from the Cairo slums who's lucky enough if he can beg food, or of me for whom the cost of obtaining this admittedly exquisite trinket is no more than a drop in the proverbial bucket? Look upon it as a wedding gift for you and Peter."
"No matter how good you are at providing rationalization, I can't possibly accept this,” Gil said. “I will, however, be forever flattered that you made the offer.” He laid the case on Abdul's bed and stood up.
"You can leave it here, or you may leave it wherever else you may please,” Abdul said stubbornly, “but it's yours from this moment on."
"No, Abdul,” Gil replied, shaking his head and wondering if he could make the sheikh understand. Maybe it was par for the course for rich men to give expensive gifts that had no strings attached to them. Gil had heard of wealthy oil-rich Arabs giving out thousand-dollar bills as tips to bellboys in hotel lobbies, of others members of the jet set renting whole fleets of 747s for parties on the other side of the world. Gil was, however, also, aware that, along with all of the other good reasons for Gil, here and now, not to succumb to greedy temptation, was how Peter would certainly wonder what Gil had done to warrant such a costly gift from someone known so briefly.
Abdul called out to him when Gil crossed to the door to leave. Gil thought the sheikh was prepared to be even more insistent that Gil take the neck piece with him; he turned back to Abdul who only said, “I want to thank you for being gracious enough to come back to the ship to break the news to me personally about you and Peter. Dear John letters are so infinitely lacking in class."
"You're welcome,” Gil said, remembering once again how tempting it had been for him to stay with Peter in Luxor, to drive with Peter to Hierakonpolis from there. It would have given them an extra day together. Abdul, though, had deserved far more than a hurriedly scribbled note. Besides, what was one day without Peter when they would have the rest of their lives together? That is, if Peter really planned on them having the rest of their lives together. “I really wish I could love you,” Gil told Abdul who smiled the sad smile of an experienced man who could be suave even in defeat.
Gil stepped into the hallway and pulled the door gently closed between them. He physically stopped and took a deep breath, realizing just how tempting it had been to make that piece of possibly ancient Egyptian artwork his very own. Even the very thought of wearing it caused his cock to swell in belated hardness.
He didn't sleep much that night, even after multiple masturbation and several creamy climaxes, with accompanying I'm wearing the gold neckpiece of an Egyptian God, Hadrian's lover fantasies. He was one of the few passengers up and on the top deck when the ship reached the locks at Isna in the pale light of morning. He watched men use brute strength to open and shut gates that would have been operated by electrical or diesel power in more industrialized countries. Here, labor was cheaper even than tapping the abundant energy supply made readily available by the High Dam at Aswân.
The ship docked shortly after clearing the locks. Gil went to breakfast, not because he was hungry, but because it would provide him a bit more time with Abdul. When Abdul didn't show up, though (probably for the best), Gil went ashore with one of the ship tour groups to see the Temple of Khnum that had been constructed in Ptolemaic times on the ruins of another temple built by Thutmose III; it proved an unsatisfactory and unsuccessful distraction.
The boat didn't stay long at Isna, because while the temple, of which only the hypostyle hall remained, presented some interesting columns with stylized foliage and complicated geometrical designs, it made for decidedly anticlimactic viewing after the more extreme grandeur of Luxor, Karnak and Thebes. Besides, the ship was scheduled for Idfu that afternoon, and that site offered the Temple of Horus, the greatest temple in Egypt outside of the one at Karnak. When the ship sailed, still no sign of Abdul, Gil returned to his cabin to do his packing. It only took him a few minutes to put his things, including a small box of dried rose petals, into his suitcase. He was finished and contemplating what to do next when Abdul knocked on his door.
"Ahhh,” Gil greeted. “I was beginning to think that you, like Hadrian's Antinoüs had slipped away into the Nile."
"I didn't sleep all that well last night,” Abdul admitted. “Probably unrequited love and all of that."
"I didn't sleep all that well, either,” Gil admitted. Along with everything else, he was always a little apprehensive before any new dig.
"Maybe having second thoughts about accepting the neck chain?"
"More likely anticipating meeting up with new people at the archaeological site, knowing that there are always personality differences to be sorted out and details to be attended to. Everything needing to be done in quick order for maximum use of the surprisingly little time we have available at a site as extensive as Hierakonpolis."
"Why not just stay on-site longer?” Abdul asked. They had gone to the lounge and had found empty seats by one window.
"Government red tape,” Gil said and glanced toward shoreline vegetation that was funneling to narrower and narrower parentheses of the Nile as the ship pushed farther south. At Aswân, the river's green edges would peter out almost completely, fertile soil giving way to bedrock. “There's an unimaginable amount of paperwork that has to be done months, sometimes years, in advance for one of these undertakings. There are security checks on every member of the group so that there's little chance of any of us walking off with a valuable artifact if we find one, and there are just the pure mechanics of getting eight to twelve people together at one spot at one and the same time, due to conflicting schedules and a work force of college kids who can get away only during summer vacations.” They continued with the small talk but, even by the time they went to lunch, Gil's inner turmoil had not abated. Pessimistically, he couldn't
help but wonder what could and would go wrong when he disembarked at Idfu.
Nor was he reassured by Peter's greeting upon the Osiris docking. Granted, Peter shook Gil's hand with reassuring firmness, and he accepted Abdul's congratulations with obvious good humor, but there was a certain reserve about him, a certain aloofness that remained even after he was alone with Gil in the Land Rover, and they had left Abdul and the Osiris behind them in a cloud of dust.
The road north to Hierakonpolis was not a good one. Its rutted unpaved surface made the highway, running along the east side of the Nile, seem like a freeway in comparison. The Land Rover tipped precariously one way and then the other as one wheel after another disappeared into deep pockets of dust. Vehicles passed from the other direction, looking like filthy monsters emerging suddenly from a miasmic haze.
"We could possibly make better time, but there's a little trouble with the transmission on this baby I'm driving,” Peter said, the road momentarily smoothing (a misnomer) into a washboard surface that sent Gil's teeth chattering. “Actually, its shocks aren't all that good, either,” Peter added, his voice garbled.
Gil knew the ride wouldn't be quite so uncomfortable if he were only able to get the knack of rolling athletically with the jarring motion of the vehicle, except he failed in his every attempt. As a result, his back and head ached; his nose and mouth were desperately dry; he ate, and continued to eat, grit.
"Our group lucked out in renting a house close to the dig,” Peter said after successfully weaving the Land Rover through a maze of two oncoming cars and a camel cart overloaded with sugarcane. “It saves everyone having to make this drive every morning for the next two months."
That was welcome news, but it really wasn't what Gil wanted to hear. He wanted something said to clue him in as to why Peter was so suddenly so professional and downright cool. Why was Peter confining his comments only to the dig and not to his meeting up with Gil again?
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