[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Alphonse started us, and people do go out into the desert. I ve had Eddie give it out that our destination
is the Khargeh Oasis a place as unknown to most of these river fellahin as the Tower of London.
Stephen grinned, London Bridge is falling down, but Khargeh Oasis is just across town.
Jenny tried to smile at his joke, but Neville saw her shiver, her gaze fixed on the distant landmark.
It seems to be watching us, doesn t it? she whispered.
Neville turned involuntarily to look. Across the reddened sands the massive clump of rock returned his
gaze with one that had watched since long before the time of the pharaohs. Its perspective seemed older
than Egypt, older even than the gods.
14
Riskali
Early the next morning, Eddie and Neville took the Mallard s lighter to shore. Eddie had wanted Neville
to remain behind, but Neville insisted on going.
We re going to have to go ashore sooner or later, he said. I promise not to cause you any trouble. I ll
speak only English, and act dumb as a post.
Eddie hesitated.
Despite what I told Jenny, I m not comfortable drawing too much attention to ourselves, even here.
The camels, Neville insisted, will have drawn attention.
Eddie surrendered. Very well.
As they drew closer to the village, it became evident that it was unremarkable, even for an Egyptian
peasant village. The houses were roughly rectangular structures built from mud brick, brightened here and
there with a bit of painted woodwork or a curtain. Goats and semi-feral dogs roamed the twisting
alleyways that passed as streets, and the mosque was distinguished only by being slightly taller than the
other structures.
The fields surrounding the village were adequately tended, but did not show any great ambition in their
planting. The irrigation ditches were minimal. Only a few shaduf were spaced along the banks;
apparently, the villagers were willing to settle mostly for what the Nile gave them. This morning, even the
shaduf were idle; the men who should have been tending them stood along the riverbank, gaping at the
dahabeeyah.
Almost as soon as the lighter bumped against the bank, an elderly man in surprisingly spotless white
robes came striding out of one of the largest houses. His aura of confidence and the retinue that trailed
him marked him as the village headman. In an isolated place like this, he was probably the religious as
well as the civil leader. He might pay token heed to the national government and the regional governors,
but doubtless the fact that he knew that, from a practical standpoint, his rule was absolute, accounted for
his haughty demeanor.
Eddie and Neville stepped ashore, warning the sailors to be ready to depart at a moment s notice. Then
they turned to face the headman.
He greeted them in formal Arabic, and Eddie replied with the same, his own words flawlessly mimicking
the dialect of the region. The old man raised a bushy white eyebrow in surprise, but otherwise did not
comment.
I am Riskali ben Ali, he said, headman here.
I am Ibrahim Alhadj ben Josef, replied Eddie, stressing the alhadj just slightly.
Riskali was appropriately impressed. Although all good Mohammedans were enjoined to make the
pilgrimage to Mecca, in such an isolated place as this, few would have actually achieved that goal.
You are with the dahabeeyah?
The dahabeeyah is with me, Eddie replied. I am seeking my friend Daud who was to meet me here.
Riskali s expression became guarded. Daud? Let me think.
Eddie did not move. Neville knew that the natives had become conditioned to expect an extensive series
of gifts bribes, really from any Europeans. Eddie was doing his best to convince the headman to
accept him as another son of Islam. This would not make him immune from the need to offer gifts, but it
would mean that the villagers would need to honor any agreements they made with him.
Fleetingly, Neville regretted forcing himself on Eddie. Then he dismissed the thought. The presence of
Europeans aboard the Mallard could not have been concealed, and his deferring to Eddie, no matter
how subtly, would give weight to the other man s claim to be the master of the expedition.
After several moments during which the flies buzzed counterpoint to the silence, Riskali sighed gustily.
I cannot think of anyone by that name, he said.
This was an invitation to jog the headman s memory with a coin. Judging from the excited shuffling of
some of the younger members of the retinue, they knew this as well. What had begun as a simple
exchange of information was now revealed as a contest of wills.
Eddie did not look as if he would be the one to give way, but the deadlock was broken by the
emergence from one of the huts of a lanky Arab with a short beard. He wore expensive robes of elegant [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl fopke.keep.pl
Alphonse started us, and people do go out into the desert. I ve had Eddie give it out that our destination
is the Khargeh Oasis a place as unknown to most of these river fellahin as the Tower of London.
Stephen grinned, London Bridge is falling down, but Khargeh Oasis is just across town.
Jenny tried to smile at his joke, but Neville saw her shiver, her gaze fixed on the distant landmark.
It seems to be watching us, doesn t it? she whispered.
Neville turned involuntarily to look. Across the reddened sands the massive clump of rock returned his
gaze with one that had watched since long before the time of the pharaohs. Its perspective seemed older
than Egypt, older even than the gods.
14
Riskali
Early the next morning, Eddie and Neville took the Mallard s lighter to shore. Eddie had wanted Neville
to remain behind, but Neville insisted on going.
We re going to have to go ashore sooner or later, he said. I promise not to cause you any trouble. I ll
speak only English, and act dumb as a post.
Eddie hesitated.
Despite what I told Jenny, I m not comfortable drawing too much attention to ourselves, even here.
The camels, Neville insisted, will have drawn attention.
Eddie surrendered. Very well.
As they drew closer to the village, it became evident that it was unremarkable, even for an Egyptian
peasant village. The houses were roughly rectangular structures built from mud brick, brightened here and
there with a bit of painted woodwork or a curtain. Goats and semi-feral dogs roamed the twisting
alleyways that passed as streets, and the mosque was distinguished only by being slightly taller than the
other structures.
The fields surrounding the village were adequately tended, but did not show any great ambition in their
planting. The irrigation ditches were minimal. Only a few shaduf were spaced along the banks;
apparently, the villagers were willing to settle mostly for what the Nile gave them. This morning, even the
shaduf were idle; the men who should have been tending them stood along the riverbank, gaping at the
dahabeeyah.
Almost as soon as the lighter bumped against the bank, an elderly man in surprisingly spotless white
robes came striding out of one of the largest houses. His aura of confidence and the retinue that trailed
him marked him as the village headman. In an isolated place like this, he was probably the religious as
well as the civil leader. He might pay token heed to the national government and the regional governors,
but doubtless the fact that he knew that, from a practical standpoint, his rule was absolute, accounted for
his haughty demeanor.
Eddie and Neville stepped ashore, warning the sailors to be ready to depart at a moment s notice. Then
they turned to face the headman.
He greeted them in formal Arabic, and Eddie replied with the same, his own words flawlessly mimicking
the dialect of the region. The old man raised a bushy white eyebrow in surprise, but otherwise did not
comment.
I am Riskali ben Ali, he said, headman here.
I am Ibrahim Alhadj ben Josef, replied Eddie, stressing the alhadj just slightly.
Riskali was appropriately impressed. Although all good Mohammedans were enjoined to make the
pilgrimage to Mecca, in such an isolated place as this, few would have actually achieved that goal.
You are with the dahabeeyah?
The dahabeeyah is with me, Eddie replied. I am seeking my friend Daud who was to meet me here.
Riskali s expression became guarded. Daud? Let me think.
Eddie did not move. Neville knew that the natives had become conditioned to expect an extensive series
of gifts bribes, really from any Europeans. Eddie was doing his best to convince the headman to
accept him as another son of Islam. This would not make him immune from the need to offer gifts, but it
would mean that the villagers would need to honor any agreements they made with him.
Fleetingly, Neville regretted forcing himself on Eddie. Then he dismissed the thought. The presence of
Europeans aboard the Mallard could not have been concealed, and his deferring to Eddie, no matter
how subtly, would give weight to the other man s claim to be the master of the expedition.
After several moments during which the flies buzzed counterpoint to the silence, Riskali sighed gustily.
I cannot think of anyone by that name, he said.
This was an invitation to jog the headman s memory with a coin. Judging from the excited shuffling of
some of the younger members of the retinue, they knew this as well. What had begun as a simple
exchange of information was now revealed as a contest of wills.
Eddie did not look as if he would be the one to give way, but the deadlock was broken by the
emergence from one of the huts of a lanky Arab with a short beard. He wore expensive robes of elegant [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]