by John Shors
On the Nile, a mighty rust-stained barge sounded its horn, shooing feluccas away. She lifted her binoculars and watched the barge force its way up the massive river. “Daddy?”
“What?”
“I’m sorry I’ve complained on our trip. I’m trying not to. Even though I don’t always like the food or all the mosquitoes or saying good-bye to my friends.”
“You don’t need to—”
“Thank you for taking me.”
He put his hand on her knee, stroking an old scar, remembering how she had fallen off her bike. “You’re welcome, luv. And thank you. Thank you for being a perfect traveling companion.”
“Can we go down and check your e-mail? Maybe there’s a message from Rupee or Holly. Or maybe Leslie sent us another picture from Nepal.”
Ian finished his wine, and hers, then glanced at the river, wondering what Kate would think of it, wishing she had seen it. She had always loved water, whether it was salt or fresh, blue or brown.
After putting on his shoes and grabbing his wallet, Ian followed Mattie out the door. She walked down the hallway with purpose, eager to see if her friends had written. Ian knew that she wasn’t as content with their situation as she pretended and figured that she was embarrassed by her breakdown at the zoo and was trying to act older.
The main floor of the hotel was populated by people from all over the world. Men in Western-style suits or long tunics sat in front of low tables and talked business. Women, some wearing a head scarf and some not, soothed babies and kept track of giggling children. An adjacent, ornately decorated room revealed groups of men surrounding giant water pipes, know as hookahs, which were made of silver or brass and had bowls at the top that contained smoldering tobacco. The men sucked on colorful hoses, clouds of smoke escaping from between their lips.
The business center contained several desktop computers, chairs, and a printer. Ian and Mattie sat at the farthest monitor from the door, and Ian got online and opened his e-mail. He, too, wondered if anyone had written. To his disappointment, there was no e-mail from the orphanage’s director, which caused his stomach to clench. He didn’t understand why the director wasn’t responding and vowed to make a phone call the next morning, to call and call until he heard that Rupee was fine.
Balancing out his mood was an e-mail from Georgia. He opened her message and moved aside so that Mattie could also read it.
Dear Mattie,
This is Holly, and I am typing on my mom’s computer at her office. We’ve been home two days now, and I miss you and Vietnam. I wore my new dress again last night, and the necklace that your dad had made for me. I showed his necklace to my friends at school and they loved it. I do too.
I wish we could go swimming again in the ocean. There are beaches here, but not like what we saw in Vietnam. And there are almost no stars in Hong Kong. The city lights make them go away.
I asked my mom if we could travel to New York someday to visit you. She said if my grades were high that we could probably go. Maybe at the end of the summer. I plan on working hard because I want to see you again.
My fingers are tired from all of this typing, so I am going to say good-bye. My mom attached some photos from our trip. They make me smile. Please send me a drawing from Egypt. I have never been there.
By the way, my mom says hello to your dad. She had a good time with him, I think.
Your friend,
Holly
Mattie reread the e-mail, then asked Ian to open the attached photos. First was an image of Mattie and Holly ankle deep in the ocean. Next came a shot of the four of them at the Temple Club in Ho Chi Minh City. The third photo was of Mattie and Holly chasing fireflies. And the fourth was of the girls in their new dresses.
Mattie leaned forward. Ian did likewise, seeing how Mattie smiled in the photos, how she looked more like a little girl than she did at the moment. He also appeared happy in the photo at the restaurant, seated beside Georgia. He saw Georgia’s hand on the table, remembered holding it, remembered the warmth of her skin against his.
After replying to Holly, and sending the orphanage’s director another message, Mattie and Ian went back to their room, put on their pajamas, and climbed into bed. He told her a story about a little girl who nursed a battered falcon back to health. Then he kissed her good night, smiled when she put her head on his chest, and tried to convince himself that everything was going to be all right.
ABOUT FIVE HUNDRED MILES SOUTH OF CAIRO, and only a few miles downstream from the massive dam at Aswan, Mattie and Ian sat on the top of a weathered hundred-passenger cruise ship. The roof held a few tables and chairs, as well as green synthetic grass similar to what would be found at a miniature golf course. The grass was faded from the unrelenting sun, as was the rest of the ship. Little more than a white rectangle with a pointed bow, the vessel was two stories above water, featuring private river-view rooms and a large dining and entertainment area. A belly dancer amused passengers below, while other tourists were gathered on the roof—taking pictures, sipping drinks, holding their hats in place as a warm wind buffeted the ship.
The Nile near Aswan appeared far different from the way it did in Cairo. The river here didn’t look bigger, but the water seemed deeper and was the color of twilight. About a half mile wide, the Nile was flanked by a verdant landscape full of fields and palm trees. This area, watered by millennium-old irrigation systems, extended a stone’s throw from the river. Where the irrigation systems stopped, the desert immediately began, lush fields turning to sand within a handful of paces. Barren hills, brown and crumbling, rose in the distance. Though sandstone homes, as well as farmers and fishermen, could be seen along the river, nothing appeared to exist in the hills. They were as dead as the Nile was alive.
Scattered over the water were feluccas, which looked to be as ancient as the five-thousand-year-old civilization that still flourished there. The feluccas were wooden, their single masts sprouting forty feet high and holding narrow canvas sails. Though the boats looked ungainly and were cluttered with ropes and supplies, they prowled the Nile gracefully, sailing up- or downstream with ease. The boats didn’t appear all that different from the camels at the river’s edge—both were brown creatures, burdened with gear, worn and frayed and yet a part of the desert landscape.
Though Mattie had enjoyed the pyramids, which were immense and magnificent, she preferred to be on the Nile, looking out over the desert. The pyramids were full of tourists, hustlers, and security guards holding automatic weapons. While she had marveled at the sights, she’d also felt rushed and harassed, and hadn’t experienced any desire to pull out her sketch pad.
On the Nile, though, she felt as if she had truly stepped back in time, more so than at any other point on their trip. The Nile must be as old as the world itself, she was certain, watching camels drink from a distant bank. She thought of the Ganges River and remembered how the Hindus pushed the ashes of their loved ones into its waters, so that the journey toward rebirth could begin.
“Do the Egyptians put people’s ashes in the Nile?” she asked, turning toward her father, glad that they would spend several days and nights on the ship, traveling north back toward Cairo and stopping at famous temples and tombs.
He tilted his traveling hat higher, so that he could see her better. “No, luv. I haven’t heard that.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. But I reckon that the river is still sacred to them. They’ve worshipped it for thousands of years. The ancient Egyptians had a god that governed its waters.”
Mattie leaned forward in her chair, thinking about her mother. “What else?”
“Well, I read somewhere that the pharaohs believed life began on the east side of the Nile, and ended on the west side. That’s why all the tombs are on the west side.”
“Why would they think that?”
“Because of the sun. It’s born in the east, and it sets in the west.”
Mattie lifted her binoculars and scanned the horizon for tombs, w
ondering if her mother might also be in the west. “Maybe the ancient Egyptians were right.”
“Maybe, Roo.”
Mattie continued to search the horizon. “Why did Egyptians build wonderful tombs for the people they loved, and back home we don’t build anything?”
“I—”
“Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal for his wife. The Japanese have their shrines, right in their houses. But we didn’t do anything for Mommy. All we did was bury her. And I don’t think that was enough. I don’t think that was enough at all.”
Ian moved his chair closer to hers, putting his hand on her knee. “Easy on, Roo. We loved your mum as much as we could. As much as anyone has ever loved another person.”
“Then why didn’t we build anything for her?”
“Shah Jahan was the emperor, luv. He could spend whatever money he wanted to build the Taj Mahal.”
“So? He still did it. And we have money too. I’ve got more than four hundred dollars in my bank account. And I know that you have a lot more than that.”
Ian leaned forward, kissing her brow. “You fancy the thought of building her a shrine, right in our home, like the Japanese?”
“Yes. Just like them. With her picture, and a place for us to kneel and pray for her.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do, luv, when we get home. We’ll build her a lovely shrine.”
She nodded, removing her great-grandmother’s ring from her pocket, a dash of sunscreen still visible on her freckled cheek. “Thanks, Daddy.”
“Thank you, luv. It was your idea. And it’s a keeper.”
Mattie rubbed the ring, wishing that her fingers weren’t so small, wanting to wear what her mother had worn. A felucca passed in front of their ship, drifting toward the western shore, its captain a young man dressed in a white tunic. The sight of him and his boat, with the palm trees and desert behind him, prompted her to put the ring on her thumb and pull out her sketch pad. Within a minute she was drawing with a blue pencil, creating an outline of the Nile.
Ian watched her work, loving their moments together but also understanding that she needed more than just him. And, if he was honest with himself, he needed more than just her. She was his life, for certain, his reason to arise each morning. But one day she would grow up, fall in love, and leave him. He wanted her to be happy, of course, but the thought of that day saddened him. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, to remain loyal to Kate, he didn’t want to be alone. And when Mattie grew up, he would be.
As Mattie began to sketch the felucca, Ian thought about Georgia. He missed her. She had a steady, calming influence on him. She’d wanted to hold his hand, to touch him. She wasn’t intimidated by his enduring love for Kate. On the contrary, Georgia respected that love, and his efforts to honor it. She hadn’t pursued him, even though a part of her obviously wanted to.
Reaching into his day pack, Ian withdrew an antacid and popped it into his mouth. The Nile was widening as they headed farther downstream. The ruins of sandstone structures dotted the distant shore, and Ian found himself wishing that not only could Kate see the sight, but that Georgia and Holly could also share in it. He looked to the west and shook his head. Why, luv, he thought, did you send us on this walkabout? To bond? To make new lives? To spend time with Georgia and Holly? Did you want me to fancy her, like you said in your poem? I know you wrote those words, that your strength, your will put them on paper. But is that how you really felt? I started to fall for her, but then I saw our bridge, where you tried to write your poem. I can’t stop thinking about that bloody bridge. Was it a sign? If it wasn’t, will you please give me one? Will you let me know what to do? I know Roo wants to see them again. And a part of me does too. But I’m not ready to step away from you, my luv. Even though I enjoyed holding Georgia’s hand . . . kissing her hand . . . I can’t let go of yours.
Mattie finished her sketch and held up the paper so Ian could see it. “That’s a real masterpiece,” he said, seeing how she had brought the river to life, and how the desert loomed above everything else. “I fancy the boat. It seems to be sailing.”
“Thanks, Daddy.”
“Good onya, luv. You’ve got heaps of talent, you know. And you didn’t get that from me. Not that kind of skill. I was born with ten thumbs.”
Mattie nodded, putting her pencils away. “Daddy?”
“What?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Tell me what you’ve been thinking.”
“I don’t want to go back to New York in a week. That sounds terrible.”
Ian lowered her picture. “Terrible? Why would it be terrible? Our home is there. Our mates. It’s a beaut of a city.”
“I don’t want to see our home, or my friends. That’s too many memories for me.”
“I feel the same, luv. I understand. I do. But we don’t have a choice. We’ve been gone too long and we have to go back. I need to find a new job. You have to go to school.”
“But we could do that in Hong Kong. Like Holly and her mom.”
He dropped to his knees, setting her sketch pad aside and holding her hands. “We have to go home, Roo. Hong Kong isn’t home for us. It’s a place to vacation, to see our mates. And we’ll do it again next year.”
“That’s too far away.”
“No, it’s—”
“You just want to be sad,” she replied, shaking her head, pulling the ring off her thumb and holding it tight. “That’s why you want to go home. So you can be sad. And you can work all the time, like you did before.”
“So I can be sad? What are you talking about, Mattie?”
She pushed his hands away and stood up. “You don’t want me to be happy. You want me to be sad like you. That’s why we’re going back to New York.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Not a bloody word of it.”
“You’re wrong! I do know! It will be the same as before, only now I won’t have Mommy. I’ll be all alone!”
“Mattie.”
“There will be no one!”
“What—”
“You’ll have your meetings and your business trips and your stupid phone, and I’ll be all alone!”
“No. That’s not—”
“Let go of me!” she shouted, pushing his hands away, running from him toward the staircase leading below.
He started to call after her but saw that one of her tears had landed on the back of his hand. It glistened in the Egyptian sun, the sight of it wounding him, causing his aches to rise up as if they’d been doused with gasoline and set afire. In her tear he saw the failures and heart-aches in his life, and worse, in hers.
Picking up her sketch pad, he hurried after her, heedless of the stares of other travelers, of the wondrous temple rising to his right.
THE FOLLOWING DAY, MATTIE AND IAN WALKED over a gangplank from their ship to a stone pier at the edge of the Nile. Their ship had docked at the ancient city of Luxor, which was famous because of Karnak—a colossal complex of temples, obelisks, sphinxes, and chapels, some of which were almost four thousand years old.
As Mattie and Ian walked hand in hand toward Karnak, she did her best to act excited. Though she had been angry the previous evening, she had later heard her father in the bathroom, in the middle of the night. He’d remained there, with the lights off, for more than two hours, and she hadn’t slept until he finally returned to bed. Guilt had consumed her about getting mad at him, about running from his outstretched hands. She’d made him retreat to the bathroom, where he was always miserable.
Mattie had apologized the next morning, but he told her not to worry, which made her feel even worse. It would have been better if he’d gotten angry, cast his frustration on her in the same way that she’d attacked him. But he hadn’t. Instead he hugged her and told her that it was all right for her to get upset, that in some ways it was good. He had kissed her forehead, held her tight, and she had felt about two inches tall.
Now, as they neared Karnak, Mattie led him forward, mo
ving faster than the other tourists from their boat. The main gate soon materialized—an immense rectangle of sandstone with a hollow middle. As her father paid for two tickets, Mattie continued to hold his hand. Soon they were inside Karnak, and all thoughts of her guilt and sadness fled—replaced by awe and reverence.
Karnak rose from the desert floor like a mirage or, better yet, a miracle. The complex was so massive and ancient and wondrous that it looked prehistoric. The thick walls were covered in hieroglyphics that depicted life on the Nile millennia ago, and were still faintly highlighted by green, blue, brown, and yellow hues. Between the walls ran dozens of towering stone columns, each as thick as a redwood tree. The open-aired room was larger than anything Mattie had ever seen, even Grand Central Station. In the distance, rows of ram-headed sphinxes looked ready to spring to life. An obelisk the height of a ten-story building cast a long and pointed shadow.
Mattie wanted to sketch something from Karnak, but where could she possibly start? The place was too immense, with too many spectacular sights. She could spend a year sketching here and still not draw everything she wanted. Looking at a hieroglyphic, which showed a bird with outstretched wings, she wiped her brow and tried to understand the magnitude of what she was seeing.
As Mattie imagined someone carving the ancient bird into the column, an Egyptian man slowly approached. He carried a sun-bleached walking stick and was dressed in a dirty blue robe that fell from his shoulders to his ankles. A white turban shielded his face from the sun. The man’s wrinkled skin was much darker than the nearby stone, though his eyebrows were white. “Hello, kind sir and miss,” he said softly in English, bowing. “My name is Rashidi. May I ask yours?”
Ian started to speak, but thinking about how Georgia encouraged Holly to interact with the locals, he motioned for Mattie to answer him.
