By Monkey

Chapter 45

Cairo

     The rusty, dilapidated, old Mercedes bus pulled to a stop in Cairo’s Tahir square and opened its doors.  The passengers, grateful that the hot and dusty trip down from Alexandria was finally over, eagerly stepped out and into the crowded streets and blazing, afternoon heat of Egypt’s capitol.

     As one Arab couple alighted, the man turned to his wife and gave his hand to assist her down.  He wore a white turban wrapped about his head in the style of the Bedouin, with a full length, white ‘aba’ cloak to match.  She wore a traditional, ankle length, black ‘abaya’.  Beautiful, dark, almond eyes stared out through the small slit between her black ‘hijab’ head covering and translucent black ‘niqab’ face veil.  Like most of the passengers they each carried a small suitcase of belongings.

     They proceeded through the square and entered the market place.  In keeping with tradition the woman kept several paces behind her husband as she walked.  As they entered the market they had to step aside several times to allow passage to Bedouin merchants and their camels, laden with jars of palm oil, and baskets of oranges and date figs.

     In the market place the couple made their way past all manner of little shops selling brassware, leather goods, and cheap, phony imitations of antiquities.  Some of the fly-by-night antiquities shops even advertised powdered ‘mummy’; a favorite of some of the European tourists, who attributed everything from longevity in life to sexual prowess, to the so called ‘drug’.  More often than not the sought after ‘ancient’ powders turned out to be nothing more than ground up animal bones, or worse, ground up human remains that were anything but ancient.

     As they continued on, the man strode purposefully, and with a knowledge of the streets that was borne of experience.  They zigzagged through alleyways and passed through several narrow avenues before reaching the outskirts of the market where the streets became somewhat wider.  Here and there were small pastry shops where fez covered men sat sipping tea and eating flakey, honey covered sweets as they sought solace away from the blistering, Cairo afternoon sun.

     Eventually the couple made their way out of the center of the city and entered a residential neighborhood where after a time the man drew to a stop before a two storey apartment building.  He paused and cupped his hand over his eyes as he gazed up the stairway and squinted at the familiar door to the second floor apartment.

      “This is it,” he said to the woman.

     She angled her head to gaze up at the rather ordinary looking dwelling, “This is where the best digger in all of Egypt lives?” She said through her veil.

      “He and his whole tribe,” he responded.

      “Tribe?  What do you mean, tribe?”

      “You’ll see, come on,” he gestured for her to follow as he ascended the stairs to the apartment and gave three solid raps on the door.

     The door was answered by an attractive and cheerful looking middle aged woman.  Following along behind and around her was a multitude of children of various ages, from toddlers to teenagers, who curiously studied the two strangers for a moment before their mother recognized the man standing before her in full Arab, Bedouin dress.

      “Indy!  Indiana Jones!” She exclaimed as she reached out to him with hands that were beautifully decorated in traditional patterns of henna.  She drew him towards her and gave him a big, affectionate hug.

      “Uncle!” Some of the children shouted as they also recognized the man.  They came forward and reached out for the archaeologist they knew so well as the good friend of their father Sallah, whom Indiana Jones often referred to as the ‘best digger in all Egypt’.  Jones affectionately patted the children on the head.

      “Now I see what you mean by ‘tribe’,” Vadoma said quietly.

      “Oh Indy!” Sallah’s wife, Emira, said with an edge of concern in her voice, “Sallah and Marcus, they are so worried about you!  We were all so worried about you!”

      “Marcus is here?!” Jones asked excitedly.

      “He was,” Emira answered, “but they left this morning, Sallah, Marcus, and that other man.”

      “Agent Elliot from MI5,” Jones said, identifying the third man, “…Emira, where did they go?” He asked her with urgency in his voice.

      “They left this morning on the ‘Queen of the Nile’.  They said they were going up river, all the way to Aswan, and Philae Island,” she said, then glanced over at Vadoma, and then back at Jones, “But please, you must come inside.  I’ll fix some cold tea. It is so hot today…please come in.”

     Jones and Vadoma stepped inside.

      “Oh, Forgive me, allow me to introduce you to my friend,” Jones gestured over at Vadoma, “Emira, I’d like you to meet my friend Vadoma Maniskelko.”

     Vadoma removed her veil.  She gave a quick glance over at Indiana Jones, sending a brief message with her eyes that it was OK for him to have introduced her to Sallah’s wife using her Gypsy name.  Then she smiled warmly at Emira.

     Emira smiled back just as warmly.  She was quite taken by Vadoma’s exquisite beauty; appreciating it in the way that such a warm and generous woman as herself can appreciate the beauty of another woman.

      “You are quite lovely Vadoma,” she said, “please sit down and I will pour some tea.”

      “Thank you,” Vadoma said, as she and Jones entered the parlor and sat down on a long, padded sofa. Emira returned in a few moments with three glasses of cold tea.  She set the tea down on the low parlor table and then sat down in the chair opposite her two guests.

      “Run along children,” she gently urged her impressive brood.  The numerous, but obedient children of the house of Sallah immediately obliged their mother, and left the room to go back to their play.

     After the children left the room Emira turned back to Jones and Vadoma and looked upon them curiously for a moment, “But tell me, why do you dress in the style of my people?” She asked, gesturing at their Arab dress.

      “Well,” Jones paused, “I guess for the same reason that you all were so worried about me,” he said, and then glanced down at the floor, “You must know that I’m in a little bit of trouble with ….the authorities.  It’s all a misunderstanding, but it’s going to take a lot to clear it up.  Until then I’m kind of a….’wanted’ man.”

      “Yes …yes I know that Marcus and Sallah discussed that you were in some trouble, and that you were missing.  We were all so worried,” Emira said sympathetically, “but I’m not sure I understand fully.  With what authorities are you in trouble Indy, the British?”

     Jones gave a wry half smile and scratched the back of his head through his turban, “Well, I think it would be a shorter list if I was to tell you who I’m NOT in trouble with.  But yeah, I thought it might be best to travel incognito for the time being.”

      “I understand,” Emira said as she nodded.

     Then Jones shook his head a bit dejectedly, “But I was hoping I could catch up to Marcus, or find Sallah to help me.  Now it looks like I’m too late for either,” he looked up at Emira, “you say that they left this morning?  …On the ‘Queen of the Nile’?  …What time?”

      “Very early,” she answered.

      “Damn!” Jones mumbled, “Looks like I’m a day late and a dollar short again.”

      “Maybe not Doctor Jones,” a young woman’s voice spoke.

     Indiana Jones looked up to see Sallah’s oldest daughter, Bassira, enter the room.

      “Hello Bassira,” Jones said as he assessed the young woman, “you sure have grown since last time I saw you.”

      “Next year I will go to Princeton, to study archaeology like you Uncle….er, Doctor Jones,” she smiled with pride as she spoke.

      “And I’m sure you will make your father very proud.  He must be very proud of you already.  But what do you mean…maybe not?”

      “My father, Mr. Brody, and the other man left this morning on the ‘Queen of the Nile’,” she said, “but she is not a very fast boat.”

      “Yes?” Jones said.

      “My friend Malak, her uncle operates the ‘River Goddess’.  The ‘Goddess’ is far faster than the ‘Queen’,” Bassira paused for a moment while Indiana Jones listened intently, “of course the ‘Queen’ goes all the way beyond Aswan…all the way to Abu Simbel, while the ‘Goddess’ she is mostly for the tourists, and only operates between Luxor and Cairo.  So you would have to…”

      “…I would have to catch up with them sometime before reaching Luxor,” Indiana Jones finished the young woman’s sentence for her, then glanced at his own watch, “they’ve got a twelve hour head start…” he said to no one in particular.

      “Yes,” Bassira concurred, then glanced at the clock on the wall, “but you must hurry, the ‘River Goddess’ departs Cairo before the sun goes down today.”

     Jones stood up, “Do you think we have time?”

      “…If we hurry!” Bassira said as she tied on her head scarf and proceeded towards the door, “Come, I will take you to the ‘River Goddess’.” 

     Emira smiled proudly as she watched her daughter take charge of the situation, then she stood up and spoke to Indiana Jones, “Go. Go with Bassira.  Good luck!  Find Sallah and Marcus.  They will always help you Indy, you know that.”

     Jones downed the rest of his tea and then gave her a hug, “Thank you Emira.”

      “May Allah go with you!” Emira said as she embraced Jones, and then Vadoma.

A few minutes later they were speeding through the crowded streets of Cairo in a taxi cab, trying to reach the Nile waterfront before the river boat ‘River Goddess’ departed for its weekly round trip to Luxor and the other temple complexes of the New Kingdom on the upper reaches of the mighty river.

     Bassira sat in the front seat, speaking in Arabic and directing the cab driver while Jones sat in the back and spoke the language of money; promising a large tip if they could reach the boat before it left.

     The driver took a twisted, tortuous route at breakneck speeds through impossibly narrow alleys and crowded main thoroughfares alike, before finally arriving at Cairo’s waterfront district.

     But they arrived just in time to watch as the ‘River Goddess’ cast off the last of her lines and gracefully began to move south, up river.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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