EGYPT
We were over Cairo at about a quarter past ten. I looked eagerly out of the window trying to pick out familiar landmarks but could not distinguish much in the darkness despite the city lights. The emotions of my return were varied and confused but there was little doubt at that moment that I was heading back home. A peculiar home, this Egypt, where I both belonged and not. Which I both loved and not. In which I felt both welcome and not and where I felt that at some point in my life I would abandon. Leave it, because it would no longer tolerate me: me the foreign implant. The intolerance increasingly reciprocal. I was the only son of a Greek family living in Egypt for three generations. There was a sizeable Greek community in the country trying to survive and retain its culture with churches, Greek schools, newspapers and clubs but the shrinkage of the community, although slower than other foreign ones, was inexorable.
The city was sparkling and the sight of it from up high was very pretty. It took almost another half-hour for the plane to make the right approach and land. We filed out of the plane and into buses waiting below the aircraft. My heart was beating. As I was exiting the customs area, I spotted my parents a little further behind the people who were crowding the exit and ran towards them. We kissed long and tenderly. We left the airport with my father driving.
'What happened in America, Michael?' he asked after a short silence. 'It came as a shock, this abandonment of your studies.'
'What happened, father, was simply that I went to a top-notch university and I just wasn't ready for it. I was unprepared in my educational level and I had not learned to work as hard as was required. When I realized this, only a few weeks had passed but it was already too late. In colleges of this caliber, one does not fall behind. If you do, it's all over.'
'Your mother mentioned a girl.'
'She was not the cause. I got involved only in the last few days and as far as I can see, it's over.'
Our apartment was in the city center. It was reassuring to enter the familiar ambiance. I went into my room. I had never before been away for so long. I looked around. Went to my bookshelves, said hello to my books and told them how much I had missed them. The rest of my belongings were not so precious. My books were special. As I was looking at them, it struck me suddenly that the change in my surroundings, the intrusion of my other loves, the physical distance that separated me from Lizzie was numbing my pain. The perspective had altered and now I could believe the impossible. That in time, the pain of separation would lessen and then disappear. My love would fade away more gradually but never entirely cease. It would remain forever a bittersweet memory and would not stop haunting me.
In the morning, I dressed and went down to the street for a stroll. The weather was cool. On the small courtyard outside the building, shopkeepers and people of the neighborhood had collected money and built a tiny mosque. The Egyptian obsession of God and religion ubiquitous. The streets as usual were crowded with people and vehicles, the buses packed to the point of impenetrability. On the front and back entrance steps, people hung like bunches of grapes. The bus itself sometimes leaned so much to the side that in extreme cases the tires would rub on the metal underside of the bus. What is touching and even tells you something about the Egyptian character is that one often sees a bus stop at the station for a few seconds. People desperately try to get a foothold on it and the driver with complete disregard for the passengers suddenly moves off. Some people run alongside it in a brave and desperate attempt to get on it. There is always a hand that will be outstretched to help add another grape to the bunch. When a car has a flat tire, a man faints or an accident occurs, a hundred people will rush to help.
On the sidewalks, street vendors display their wares on rickety tables and most of them holler promoting their merchandise. Cairo is the city of noise. Pass a sidewalk café and you will hear a radio blaring full blast with either song or incessant talk. As you hurry away from the noise before it damages your eardrums, you notice the clientele inside this cyclone of noise sipping and enjoying their tea unperturbed. On the street, the driving is so undisciplined that unavoidably it results in a cacophony of car horns. The people themselves are noisy. There is an exuberance of temperament, a lack of self-consciousness and of course, a set of well-trained vocal chords in the Egyptian man-in-the-street that makes him a very loud human being. It is quite usual to see friends walking side by side talking to each other at the top of their voices, completely indifferent that fifty other people might be listening to them. If you happen to be a regular eavesdropper, you will be aware that in eight out of ten times the dialogues are about misunderstandings and quarrels.
A loud, quarrelsome people, the Egyptians. Also, gentle, polite and gracious. Hypocritical too sometimes, and a nation where lying is widespread. There is an Egyptian saying that advises: Lie, until you get to the truth. A wise saying indeed! Walk down any street in Cairo and you are bound to come across a quarrel or a fight. Fights rarely end with injuries. Bystanders usually defuse them. More often than not, they will get involved, inquire into the details of the quarrel, offer advice and insist on reconciliation. So, can the contradicting characteristics I gave the average Egyptian be reconciled? Generalizations on the go are risky and often unfair; moreover unscientific. Therefore, I reserve my statements and urge each to his own conclusions.
Next day, after breakfast, I phoned the Hilton Hotel. It took two or three calls before Mrs. Ingard could be located. She said she was just about to leave with a group of colleagues for Saqqarah. She was very friendly and we fixed a dinner date for Tuesday evening at nine.
On Tuesday, by eight thirty, I was on my way. Took the car from the garage and drove to the Nile Hilton, which was only a two-minute drive away. When I entered the hotel, it was ten to nine and I sat down on an armchair in the lobby to look at the people. People watching in Boston came to mind and the discussions on physiognomy I had with Lizzie. Many foreigners were milling around as well as the wealthy Egyptians who had come for a drink or dinner at the various bars, cafeterias and restaurants. A few Arabs were also present with their traditional robes. They come to Egypt and Beirut for the nightclubs, women and mainly to consume alcohol, which their religion forbids and is unavailable in their country.
At nine sharp, I saw Mrs. Ingard come out of the corridor by the elevators. She came out slowly and looked around in search of me. She was an imposing presence, especially in Egypt where people tend to be shorter than Europe and America. She wore dark red trousers with matching jacket and a white shirt with a high collar, which was unbuttoned and showed a small silk scarf tied around the neck. She also wore a pair of semi high-heeled shoes and held a handbag to match. She had cut her long, blond hair short and had used a touch of makeup. Overall, it was a considerable improvement in looks from the day of our arrival. Her attire was both casual and elegant. I got up and moved towards her and when she spotted me, she smiled.
'Good evening Mrs. Ingard. I am happy to see you again.'
'Good evening Mr. Makris. It's good to see you too.'
'You are looking very well. Egypt has been good for you.'
'Well, I have had a fascinating time, professionally speaking of course.'
'And your new hairstyle suits you. You seem to have acquired a new personality.'
'Personalities don't change that easily Mr. Makris. I decided to shorten my hair because I was spending a lot of time in the open air and wind. Long hair is very cumbersome and needs a lot of fuss to keep in shape.'
'Is there anything special you'd like to eat or do Mrs. Ingard?'
'Oh no, Mr. Makris. This is your invitation. We do whatever you say.'
'Please call me Michael.'
'In that case, you call me Corina. I hope I am not too old for this familiarity to incommode you.'
'Of course not. I see, though,' I said smiling at her, 'that a woman, even one as serious as you, is not reluctant to ask to be complimented. You are very attractive, Corina, and an attractive woman is never old or young. She is always the right age.'
'Touché, Michael, and thank you.'
'Anyway, what I propose is this. We go have a drink at the Safari Bar on the roof of the Hilton and then we can go to the Mena House Hotel at the pyramids for dinner. It is an attempt to enjoy food in a unique setting.'
We entered the bar and walked along the three sides of the glass façade, which surrounded the bar instead of a wall and we admired the view for a few minutes. Then we sat down at the bar and ordered our drinks
'That's quite something,' said Corina. 'At night, Cairo is a gorgeous city. At least, from this particular spot. The majestic Nile, its bridges, the clubs beyond on the island of Gezira and the Cairo tower. It is quite spectacular.'
As we were sipping our gin and tonic, we started an easy conversation that endured the whole of the evening without the uneasy pauses that usually bedevil the small talk of strangers. Two people of different generations, of obviously different backgrounds and education, of perhaps similarly introverted character, found enough common interests to let their guard down and talk intimately. Undoubtedly, to use a modern terminology, the chemistry was good.
I asked her of her impressions of Egypt.
'I have visited Egypt before. A few years back with my husband. We traveled to Luxor and Aswan and to some smaller towns of Upper Egypt with antiquities. It was a fascinating trip for me although I am not a specialized Egyptologist. Of course, two weeks do not suffice for a conclusive opinion of the country. One just about gets a rough idea. Egypt is a country in transition. From near feudalism to full fledged socialism. I do not believe it is the best way to development but for now it is perhaps the only way. Despite the inefficiencies and injustices of the system. The country is poor and this strikes the visitor hard. We certainly have poverty in Europe and the States but the abjectness one sees in the Egyptian village is shocking. But this is a country with immense problems. Some of which are beyond the control of the government, as is for instance the population explosion. The religion with its fatalism and its constant reference to a God intimately involved in the lives of the people does not help. Everything is in the hands of God and this makes the problem unmanageable.'
'I see you have been giving these questions some thought.'
'Well, I have had many discussions with my husband especially since it is far from being a problem related solely to Egypt. It concerns more than three-quarters of the countries of the globe.'
'What about the people?'
'It is of course dangerous to generalize about national characteristics. But because you ask, I shall give a purely personal opinion. Egyptians seem to me a gentle people. Basically polite and hospitable. In the cities the world over, you get the ill mannered and the cheats. And I remember an Egyptian intellectual, who, deploring the new manners and morality, said that Egyptians should return to the values of the village. I bring this up because we passed through a few villages and the friendliness and hospitality we encountered there touched us. One thing that keeps Egypt peaceful is the patience of the average poor Egyptian. He is reconciled to his fate and feels no envy for the better off. Ask him about it and he will lift to your face the palm of his hand and say, 'Are all our fingers the same? God has created us different. Different and yet similar, just like our fingers. A rich man does not eat ten times as much as I do. He just eats a share. We are the same in most things that matter. We all kneel and pray barefoot to Allah.''
'My goodness Corina, these are attitudes I should have been telling you. Not the other way round. But now I suggest we cut short our most interesting discussion and move on or else we'll find the restaurant at the Mena House closed.'
We went down to the lobby and out of the back entrance to the car park. When we exited a pack of hawkers charged us with cries of, 'taxi, taxi?' and 'change money?' and 'you want papyrus?' We took the car and I drove quite fast towards Giza, about fifteen kilometers away, to the Mena House sitting practically in the shadow of the big pyramid of Cheops.
The Mena House is perhaps the most famous hotel in Cairo. It stands on the side of a sand hill at the foot of the plateau of Cheops's pyramid. Built in stone, its furnishings inside are in an arabesque style. On the outside, the balconies and the main entrance are wooden constructions elaborately worked. The novelty in the area was a lighting system that illuminated the pyramids at night. It was, indeed, a grand spectacle.
We sat on the patio near the entrance of the hotel. The restaurant was inside the main building. The food selection available here was limited but our eyes feasted on the pyramids. I explained this and Corina agreed that the feasting of the eyes had a priority over the feasting of the palate.
The waiter appeared and we ordered kebab with rice and salads and the local brand of beer for a drink. Corina's eyes were transfixed on the Pyramids.
'I have seen the pyramids many times,' she said, 'and I always get this feeling of awe. So many unanswered questions about their construction. Such an immense enterprise for its time. All for the immortality of one man.'
'A pharaoh, nonetheless. Considered a God.'
'Yes. The pharaohs lived in a relatively anxiety-free agricultural society. A life with a slow, measured, unchanging pace. Their lifestyle encouraged their quest for immortality. For us, one lifetime seems enough. Who wants to live an eternity of problems, anguish and disappointments.'
'You must have seen some extraordinary tombs in Saqqarah.'
'Oh, absolutely magnificent finds.'
'I have read on occasion in the papers and even in foreign magazines about the new excavations in Saqqarah. The French have a permanent presence in the field of archaeology in Egypt.'
'Yes, indeed, and many institutes and museums in the States are interested in establishing a similar foothold in this country where the prospects for further discoveries are unlimited.'
'How do you come into the picture?'
'I am an assistant professor in Archaeology at Boston University. I have very close connections with a very rich, up and coming museum in California. The Ball- Betty museum. I act sometimes as a consultant for it. In this case, when I received an invitation to attend a seminar at the French Archaeological Institute in Cairo, I needed a sponsor to finance the trip. Of course, I could have paid for it myself but there are so many funds available for this sort of thing that we rarely bear the costs ourselves. I called the curator of the Egyptology department, who is also an ex-colleague, and asked him if the museum would be interested, in view of the invitation I had, for a preliminary unofficial contact with the Antiquities Authority on the possibilities of its participation in archaeological work in Egypt. In return, of course, for my expenses and a modest fee. Well, that's how things work and here I am.
'I have already been in touch with one or two highly placed bureaucrats of the Antiquities Department and we discussed a few things. Mind you, I am doing this behind the backs of the French who would not relish competition in a field, which they have so far monopolized. You see the intrigues? Well, it's half the fun. When I go back to Boston, I must write a detailed report to the museum hoping they will consider their money well spent so I can look forward to future mutual back scratching. If in the future, negotiations take place between the Egyptians and the museum I shall be out of the picture as the Betty people will take over. On the other hand, there is a possibility that they may need me for something unofficial where they do not want to be seen. And it will mean a little extra income and another trip or two to Cairo.'
'How interesting. I suppose, in life, you have to be prudent and crafty at the same time.'
'Absolutely. In any organization whether it is a university, a government department or a private company, the name of the game is politics and connections. By the way, have you had any news from your girl?' She asked with an inquiring look.
'No, I haven't. It's still a bit early.'
'How are you feeling?'
'A little numb. The pain is gone. But a dull sense of loss, an emptiness in my life remains.'
'Just be patient. In a little while, everything will be over. Forgotten.'
'But I don't want everything to be forgotten.'
'I have had some hard blows in my life and I have learnt to be tough and realistic. I weigh things and try to see without sentimentalities where a certain situation is likely to lead. I then take my decision after a realistic assessment and stick to it however painful it might be. I get on with my life. I cannot have a dozen unlikely possibilities floating around distracting me from the issues that finally count. But perhaps I shouldn't be talking this way especially since I don't know the issues.'
'Well, my priority is to build my life here in Egypt. But I cannot just cross her out of my life. Out of my dreams.'
She looked at me with a tender, understanding smile. A mother indulging her naïve little boy. I looked back. Her new hairstyle suited her. It made her less artificial and distant. I was already feeling familiarity towards her and the beginnings of friendship. She finished her food and said that she enjoyed it very much although, in truth, it was nothing special.
When we entered the car, instead of turning towards the city, I drove up the slope to the pyramids. We toured slowly around them and then descended the steep incline down to the Sphinx. At its base, we got out of the car to get a good look. The area was deserted. The Sphinx proud and impassive was looking east. A gaze lost in space and time. With the royal headdress of the pharaohs known as the nemes, with its broken nose, and minus its ceremonial beard and the small cobra that adorned its forehead, one wondered whether it would last another hundred years after surviving five thousand. Pollution and encroaching humanity were threatening it. Would its creator be also its destroyer?
We were soon on the Giza road driving back to town. It was free of traffic at this hour and I drove quite fast.
'What is your program for the next few days?'
'Tomorrow is a full day. In the morning a seminar at the Institute and in the afternoon, a field visit. On Thursday, we leave for Alexandria where we shall spend the night and we shall return on Friday. Friday night is the official dinner invitation at the Institute and I leave early Sunday morning. If I ever come to Egypt again, I want to go to the Sinai. To St Catherine's Monastery. What a pity they did not arrange for a trip there instead of Alexandria, which I've already seen.'
'Corina, I have a suggestion. Can you skip the trip to Alexandria or is it something you cannot avoid?'
'I suppose, I can get out of it. Why?'
'We can go to St. Catherine's together.'
'Are you sure?'
'Yes, why not? I don't start work until Saturday. We can leave for Sinai after tomorrow, spend the night at the monastery and return Friday.'
'Do you think so Michael? That would be wonderful. Could you just call me tomorrow so we can confirm the arrangements?'
We reached the Hilton after one. Corina thanked me for a very pleasant evening and said she was looking forward to the Sinai