THE JOURNEY BACK
In a daze, I went through all the formalities. In a daze, I went to the waiting room where the passengers collected for boarding. In a daze, I got into the bus and boarded the plane. When I took my seat, I opened my handbag and reached for the envelope with the pictures. I knew it would not help but I had to see my love. I had to look at her face. Her lovely smile; her slim and perfect body. A tall, distinguished looking woman interrupted my reverie. She wanted to get to the window seat on my right. She thanked me with a reserved half smile. There was an empty seat between us. She gave no sign of friendliness or sociability.
I closed my eyes and tried to think. I felt as if I had taken a good thrashing. Like a beaten dog, who cowers and has not the intelligence to figure out the reason. My last glimpse of Lizzie haunted me. Standing by the gate, looking at me and crying. My beautiful darling. One thing that moderated my distress was the precariousness of our situation. Would her infatuation with me have lasted? Would it have withstood the wear and tear of daily life? Even though she was strong minded and unconventional our age difference was forbidding. It would have created real problems. From whatever angle one looked at it the chances of a successful cohabitation were remote. All these thoughts calmed me down a bit. I just lost her sooner rather than later. Did losing her sooner give me a chance for later?
The plane taxied on the runway and took off. There would be a refueling stop at Gander, Newfoundland. I took out the envelope and opened it. There were five pictures in it. One was a formal portrait taken at a professional photographer. Probably a few years ago. The others were snapshots. Americans are forever smiling in their photos. In the portrait, she was smiling in her delightful way. I could imagine the photographer smiling back while he took the picture. One of the snapshots was on her eighteenth birthday, '18th birthday' written on the underside. A lovely young woman smiling in the midst of her friends. Another was obviously a recent photo indoors. She was sitting in an armchair, legs crossed, smiling again; breaking hearts. The fourth, on the beach in a one-piece bathing suit, in the same league as Aphrodite, Helen of Troy and Phryne. Lastly, a picture with my virtuous cousin Ted. This must have been her sense of humor. They were in front of Ted's car. He was yelling something at the camera with his arm pointing at it and she was smiling. I looked at the pictures until I tired of them. Put them down for ten minutes and picked them up again. That went on all the way to Gander.
Between Gander and London, we slept a couple of hours. I enjoyed my ninety- minute stay in London very much. I just loved the English accent, the understatement, the stiff upper lip. I stood around for a while eavesdropping on assorted conversations. Before leaving the airport, I bought a pocket book called The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. I started reading it as soon as the plane took off. On the back cover, I read that it was about a great but ultimately doomed love of a man for a woman. It aroused my curiosity given the situation I was in. From the very start, it absorbed me and the writing was superb.
An hour's flight later, it was Paris and then it was Rome. It was on the flight to Rome that my neighbor deigned to talk to me. My book caught her eye and at a moment when she put her book down and sighed, I looked at her and she smiled.
'That's a lovely book,' she said.
'Yes. From the very first pages I read I could tell it was very good.'
'Have you read anything else by the same author?'
'No. I haven't even heard of him before.'
'He's a great American writer of the twenties.'
'They write on the cover that this is his best book.'
'Yes, I think it is. Forgive me if I'm being indiscreet, and please don't answer if it bothers you, but I am curious about something.'
'Yes?'
'I could not help noticing you at the airport in Boston with that very beautiful girl. Was she your girlfriend or perhaps your fiancée?'
'Neither. She was a girl I was in love with.'
'She seemed to reciprocate your love. She was crying when you parted.'
'I think maybe she did. We were friends for a time and we fell in love just when we had to part.'
'Oh, that's too bad. I wish you luck and happiness.'
'I noticed you are reading The Dead Sea Scrolls. Is it interesting?'
'Extremely interesting. Especially for someone in my field. I am an archaeologist.'
She gave me a few details on the book and we resumed our reading.
It was about noon when we reached Rome. One felt it that one had reached the Mediterranean. Not only because of the change in climate. There was a noticeable increase in human decibels. The Italians were noisy in their talk, extroverted in their laugh and if their hands, gestures and grimaces emitted sound, the decibel count would have been deafening. We disembarked for an hour. I strolled slowly looking at the shops until I found the newspaper stand with postcards. I searched some time before I found the exact picture I wanted. It was the picture of a statue of Julius Caesar. I would have preferred a statue of Brutus because Brutus uttered the beautiful phrase I had in mind. Of course, it was not even he. It was William Shakespeare in his play Julius Caesar. I wrote to Lisa,
Dear Lizzie,
In Shakespeare's play Julius Caesar, Brutus and Cassius take leave of one another before going into battle where they might die. Brutus tells Cassius,
If we do meet again, why we shall smile;
If not, why, then, this parting was well made.
Our parting was well made, my love. It remains for us to smile when we do meet again.
Michael.
From Rome to Athens, I read almost continuously. At times, the fatigue seemed intense and I would close my eyes for a while but I rarely fell asleep. My mind was working overtime. When it was not Lizzie, it was my return to Cairo. I was wondering how I would adapt to my new life. Almost certainly, I would enter my father's business. I wanted to get on with life. Would Lisa ever be a part of it? I often wished I had never left for America. It had complicated my life by bringing new variables in it. New needs and emotions.
At the airport, I started strolling looking at the shops. The ones in Paris and Rome were of another class. As I was walking, I bumped into my neighbor.
'Hello,' I said, 'I thought you'd leave us in Greece.'
'No. I am on my way to Cairo. I also thought your destination was Athens.'
'No, it's Cairo.'
'Quite a coincidence. Do you live there?'
'Yes.'
'But you're not Egyptian.'
'No. A Greek born in Egypt.'
'Doesn't that make you Egyptian?'
'No. In Egypt we don't lose our identity.'
'I suppose the gulf of cultures is bridgeless.'
'Precisely. Will you be going for tourism?'
'No. The French Archaeological Institute invited me. The French are actively involved in archaeological excavations and they want to announce their new finds.
American universities and other institutions also want to participate in archaeological research in Egypt. I'm here to explore the terrain.'
'How long will you be staying?'
'About ten days. Mostly in Cairo but we might take a day or two off for field trips. I'll be staying at the Nile Hilton.'
'That's quite a long time. Do you think we can have dinner together sometime during those ten days?'
'Why, yes. I would like that if I have a free evening.'
'Good. I'll be looking forward to it. My name is Michael Makris.'
'And mine, Corina Ingard.'
We shook hands. A nice firm handshake from a woman at least my height or maybe slightly taller and a pleasant smile from a serious face.