The Voyage: Edited by Chandani Lokuge & David Morley

by Silkworms Ink Anthologies

  ***

  As soon as she told Ali what had happened, she realised it was a mistake. For a long time he did not say anything, but gazed over the Nile and stroked his smooth chin. They were in the same fragrant hotel garden, drinking beer.

  ‘Do you know the boy’s name?’

  ‘No. I never asked him.’

  ‘But you could recognize him, I think?’

  ‘Oh, well …’

  ‘I shall find him. He must be punished.’

  ‘Oh no, Ali – I really don’t want that. There was no harm done. He was only trying it on.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘He was only trying to make a boring day more interesting. He didn’t hurt me or anything.’

  Ali was silent again for some moments.

  ‘When I am inspector in the police these things will not happen.’

  ‘You won’t be able to keep your eye on everyone.’

  ‘Then the people responsible will be punished. Some Egyptians are very ignorant. When I am inspector Luxor will be a good place.’

  A few minutes later he put down his glass. ‘Come. We have an appointment with the Magic Man.’

  ‘But Neri and his friends will be here before long.’

  Ali’s mouth tightened. ‘Then you must explain to the Magic Man why you cannot stay. You must tell him you prefer the belly-dancing. It is not good to keep the Magic Man waiting.’

  The Magic Man was sitting by himself at a table in a coffee house, smoking a cigarette. He was fifty or sixty and wirily thin, with greying hair and a high-boned face delicately sculpted with lines. When he saw them he nodded gravely and indicated two chairs.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said. ‘There’s been a muddle. I’m afraid I have to meet some friends now.’

  He seemed to understand, but Ali translated at great length. The Magic Man nodded and exhaled slowly.

  ‘Perhaps we could meet tomorrow instead?’

  He opened out his long hands in a gesture of indifferent agreement, then smiled faintly. Ali said a stream of things in Arabic.

  Walking back down the street she turned to look at him. Two tourists were being introduced by another guide. She followed a glowering Ali to the hotel garden, her aura unpurified, her life unchanged.

  Neri and his friends were waiting for her and did not look pleased to see Ali. She shook hands with them.

  ‘Hi,’ said Neri, fluttering his long eyelashes in a confused attempt simultaneously to flirt and to express disapproval of Ali. ‘Meet my three very good friends Mohammed, Mahmed and Big Hassan.’

  The three very good friends nodded and smiled and cast sidelong glances at Ali, who stared stonily away.

  ‘Is he coming too?’ Neri asked rudely.

  ‘Yes’, said Ali, turning and fixing his stare on Neri, whose bright dark eyes looked insolent. Mohammed said something in Arabic to Mahmed and Big Hassan and the three laughed.

  ‘So. Okay,’ said Neri, looking jaunty again. ‘We will take the ferry and pick up Big Hassan’s car and go to Jojo’s. There I will teach you belly-dancing,’ he said softly to her alone, lightly touching her shoulder. Ali looked thunderous and stalked ahead, his hands thrust into his jeans pockets. Neri nudged her.

  ‘Ali is cross with us. He is a silly boy.’ He giggled. Ali glanced round at them quickly, then strode on.

  They crossed the river almost in silence, with only Mohammed and Mahmed whispering together quietly in the shadows. The Nile slipped beneath then like black ink and the stars glowed yellow and near to the earth. On the far bank they climbed into Big Hassan’s battered jeep and roared off with screeching tyres. The speed and the rush of the warm desert air began to excite her and she started to laugh along with Neri and his friends, even though she could not understand many of their jokes. Ali sat hunched, his arms tightly around his knees.

  Jojo’s place was a derelict half-built hotel at the end of a winding dirt track; it stood entirely alone and the desert lapped its walls. She clambered out of the jeep and was assailed by a strong sweet smell of jasmine mingled with hot sand. Neri led them into an empty room of cement and rubbish and guided them up three flights of crumbling stone steps to a vast dusty space beneath the roof. A handful of middle-aged men sat cross-legged on the floor, smoking and playing cards by the light of an oil lamp. They glanced cursorily at the newcomers, dispassionately assessed her figure, and continued with their game. Neri nodded at them and led his party through to a wide balcony overlooking the hills surrounding the Valley of the Kings, through which she had cycled that morning. Out of the shadows appeared a plumpish, curly-haired young man in a gallabiya; he and Neri embraced and greeted each other volubly. Neri came up to his shoulder and bobbed around him like a marionette.

  ‘Meet Jojo,’ he said to her. ‘Jojo is my very very good friend. He owns this place. He is a good man.’

  Jojo smiled at her and glanced around at the others; when he came to Ali he paused and she thought she saw him fleetingly raise an eyebrow at Neri, who gave a tiny shrug. Then Jojo slapped Neri on the back and said something, grinning.

  ‘Jojo says he is honoured to offer us his hospitality. We must sit down and drink with him.’

  They sat down and Jojo brought out glasses and a bottle of Greek brandy. The brandy was strong and sweet and its fumes mingled with the smell of flowers and desert and cigarette-smoke. Light-headed, she leant back on her elbows and looked up at the burning stars; out of the corner of her vision she was dimly aware that Ali was watching her and drinking heavily. She closed her eyes.

  Some time later she became conscious of music and laughter and a rhythmic beat. Opening her eyes she saw the others sitting in a rough circle clapping their hands while in the middle Jojo gyrated his ample belly to a crackly cassette. The older men playing cards looked on with indifference. As the music gathered speed Jojo began to writhe and moan and roll his eyes in a parody of a woman and Neri and the others clapped faster and faster and gave little cries. She joined in, laughing.

  ‘I do not know how you can.’ Ali came and sat beside her, clearly very drunk.

  ‘What’s the harm?’

  ‘It is cheap and vulgar. Women should not watch it.’

  ‘But I want to see Egypt.’

  ‘Belly-dancing is not Egypt. And this is a very bad place. When I am inspector such places as this will not exist.’

  ‘And what will exist when you are inspector? I think Luxor will be pretty empty. You say Neri and Jojo won’t be welcome. I get the feeling tourists won’t be welcome either.’

  ‘Travellers will be welcome. There is a difference.’

  ‘Oh? And which am I?’ She was also fairly drunk.

  ‘You are a tourist. Of course.’

  Neri came up and nudged her. ‘You want me to show you how to belly-dance? I am a very good teacher. The best.’

  She glanced defiantly at Ali. ‘Yes. I do want.’

  As she followed Neri towards the stairs she looked back and saw Ali watching her with eyes full of pain.

  Neri led her into another completely bare room on the floor below and shut the door. The room was lit by a single naked light bulb, dangling precariously. Plaster was peeling off the walls and in the corners lay small heaps of rubble. Neri pranced into the centre of the room and posed.

  ‘Why don’t you like Ali?’

  He looked surprised. ‘Like I said, Ali is just a silly boy. Now, stand opposite me.’

  ‘Why is he silly? What has he done?’

  Neri shrugged. ‘He is a little bit crazy, I think. Very old-fashioned. He is not popular here.’

  ‘Have you ever been unkind to him or anything? He doesn’t seem to trust you very much.’

  ‘Oh,’ Neri looked evasive. ‘Maybe we tease him a little now and then. Nothing bad. Now, move your hips like this.’

  He began to rotate his neat hips and pelvis in a slow rhythmic motion, gradually increasing speed. She tried to co
py him but her hips would not give and her stomach did not seem to possess the right muscles. He considered her lower limbs with unnerving coolness..

  ‘No, no – you must relax. Watch me.’

  His gyrations grew more fluid than ever. He had brought a radio with him and he now turned it on and matched his movements to the throb of Radio Luxor. Though his body was relaxed, however, his face was not: his heavily-lashed dark eyes shone with concentration, and beads of sweat began to run down his forehead. His breath came out in sharp little grunts and he occasionally glanced at her to see how she was reacting. The air in the room was sticky and old and she noticed grease marks on the walls that looked like fingerprints. Neri ground his pelvis faster and faster. The radio juddered, her head swam, she remembered the pain in Ali’s eyes. She had to get out.

  ‘You see,’ he said, panting. ‘It is easy. Just follow me.’

  She gave up even trying to copy him.

  ‘No, it is not easy. Let’s go up.’

  On the balcony Jojo, Mohammed and Mahmed were talking in low voices and working their way through a second bottle of brandy. Big Hassan lay flat out, snoring. Ali was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Where’s Ali?’ Her voice was slightly slurred.

  Jojo looked up with huge, innocent eyes.

  ‘Oh, he had to go.’ She had not been aware that he spoke English, but in fact he spoke it quite well. ‘We tried to persuade him to stay but he had to go. He was insistent. Would you like some brandy?’

  She stared out over the railing into the thick night.

  ‘No. Thank you. I also have to get back.’