The Twelve Rooms of the Nile (51 page)

After the festivities ended and Hakim’s parents had departed, the travelers decided that they would not eat again until morning. The camel drivers built a fire and withdrew to care for their animals, grateful for the gift of fodder the Ababdeh had brought—dried zilla stems they’d collected en route.

As the sun fattened on its downward arc through the western sky, Flo, Gustave, the consul, Hakim, and Trout lounged on blankets around the campfire. Gustave smoked his chibouk, making sure, it pleased her to notice, that some part of him—leg, foot, hand, elbow, or shoulder—was always in contact with her. The consul stoked his French briar pipe and drew a long breath. “This is not a simple matter,” he warned.

“Fine, but you must tell us everything,” said Flo. “I shall translate for Trout.”

He nodded.

Hakim might as well have arranged for the sun to rise in the west instead of the east, Père Elias said, for all the confusion he had caused. In the end, only the boy’s cleverness had prevented a tragic outcome, for the situation was more complicated than he had yet allowed.

When Hakim’s father was unable to convince Hakim to marry, he faced the threat of being deposed by his first cousin. For a while it seemed the father might have to kill the cousin. Later he offered him the dowry of Hakim’s sister, though not the girl herself. The cousin refused. Hakim’s parents implored him to reconsider marriage, but by
now, friendship and employment with the consul had strengthened his resolve. “Though Hakim is an excellent worker, I would not have risked bloodshed merely to retain a servant,” the consul said. “It was a matter of the heart for me, too,” he confessed, “for I have grown fond of Hakim. To me, he is like the son I never had.” The consul’s voice was shaky. He stared at his feet.

“I see,” said Flo.

“
Enfin
, the father proposed to give the cousin Hakim’s sister for a second wife. The cousin promised to consider it.”

“Oh, dear,” said Flo. She hated the very idea of a second wife. Before Egypt, she could not have imagined anything more limiting than to be bound as a wife. To be a second wife must be a complete forfeiture of personhood.

This broke Hakim’s mother’s heart a second time, Père Elias explained, for an Abadi daughter, once married, was forbidden ever to see her mother again. “That’s when Hakim took permanent refuge in Koseir, with me.”

“I still do not understand how Trout figures into it,” Flo said.

“I am nearly finished,” the consul said. He uncrossed his legs, stretching them out in front of him.

“So the daughter was taken away weeping, and the mother could not be comforted. It was just then that you and your party arrived in Koseir. Hakim had never before met an Englishwoman. He hatched the idea to arrange a gift for his parents that would redeem them in their clansmen’s eyes: a visit from a great English lady. Something like a state visit, you might say,” he added. Apparently the Ababdeh knew well the power of England, having ushered soldiers and diplomats across the desert bound to or from India by the Red Sea route. And so the visit was arranged.

The consul’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if Hakim might suddenly grasp his French. “I wonder if he told them he was considering marrying Madame Trout.”

“More likely,” Gustave said, “he simply let them arrive at the idea themselves, without contradicting it.”

Flo completed the thought. “That way, the parents could hope for the unthinkable and settle for the merely fabulous—a visit from a fine English lady.”

“What a clever lad,” Gustave noted.

Flo glared at him.

“Genius put to bad use, though.”

“I knew nothing of this plot,” the consul insisted again.

“So you have said. Do you think Hakim was aiming for Trout?” Flo asked.

“Aiming?” The consul tapped his pipe bowl onto the ground beside him. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Did he particularly wish to kidnap Trout?”

The consul paused. Clearly, if he knew what answer she desired, he would have supplied it. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know if he understood that she is your servant.”

“Oh, my.”

“Do not upset yourself,” Gustave said, patting her hand. “What’s done is done.”

“Yes.” But she felt the terrible certainty that it was her fault that Trout had been taken, her fault for consigning her to a small tent alone.

“You must trust to fate, to destiny, is what I mean,” Gustave said, “not that you should put the incident from your mind, but that everything is not under your control—or anyone’s. Do you see the difference, my dear?” He put his arm around her while the consul continued.

Gustave’s remark astounded her. For some reason, she had never truly believed in accidents until now. She’d always thought that if a person were paying attention, there could be no accidents. His reasoning provided enormous relief. For at least the moment, she felt both innocent of and forgiven for Trout’s abduction.

“Hakim enlisted his cousin, one of the caravan guides, to assist him. It’s likely they all knew of it.” Père Elias coughed and muttered sotto voce, “Of course, I know none of this part firsthand, you understand.”

“Yes, yes.” The consul’s insistence on his ignorance—and thus his innocence—was vexing. What possible point did it serve?

“The visit was a great success,” the consul went on. “All the clan came to meet the great English lady in the family hut and lavished food and gifts upon her. Hakim says that she bestowed favors and privileges in return.”

“What privileges?” Flo asked.

“Did they even share a common language?” Gustave added.

The consul shook his head. “I don’t see how. Nevertheless, Madame Trout reciprocated. So Hakim said. He was there.”

“Is it true?” Flo asked Trout, who startled upon being addressed.

“I did talk, mum. I could not be silent amidst all that gabble, so when they spoke, I spoke. I never understood more than a word or two.”

“Perhaps Hakim will elucidate,” Gustave said.

Hakim was blushing again. “It was all harmless lies, happy lies. My parents and I are reconciled, my father’s power is secure, and my mother is eating again. All is as it was before the trouble began. No harm has been done.” His eyes were welling up again.

“Except that your sister is wretchedly married,” Flo said.

“A minor point in the scheme of life,” said the consul, lighting his pipe anew. “She would have been sent away eventually.”

Trout raised her finger tentatively, like a schoolgirl who wants a second chance at the correct answer. “When I saw they meant me no harm, I talked to them. And I gave them things I had to hand.” She looked stunned, like a person shaken awake from a dream. “From my chatelaine.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew it. “The thimble and beeswax—”

Flo took the chatelaine in her fingers.

“The black and white thread.”

The chatelaine was almost empty. Only the needle case and the black key remained. Flo felt like crying at the sight and heft of it, so reduced, so much lighter in the hand. The gratitude she felt for Trout’s safe return overwhelmed her with a great wave of relief and then, abruptly, like a cloud obscuring the sun, exhaustion overcame her.
Total darkness of thought and feeling. It was the fatigue of confusion, of too much information and too little sense. She might not be able to reach her tent unaided. And there was still the matter of justice. Père Elias and Hakim planned to leave shortly; she would start for Kenneh with two sick men before the sun was up. She couldn’t wait any longer to resolve the matter.

She turned to Trout. “Do you wish these people punished?” Her voice was hoarse.

Trout did not react. Flo repeated the question.

“Is it up to me, then, a mere servant?”

“Not entirely.” Flo stretched out her aching legs. “But you are the party most injured.”

Trout thought for a time. “What would the punishment be?”

“Death, most likely.”

“Death?”

Flo nodded at the consul to expand on the point, and feebly translated as he did.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “that is the penalty for abducting a European in Egypt, though it is not so straightforward with the Ababdeh, as they are not subject to most Egyptian laws. You would have to present your grievance to the Bedouin sheik. But in all likelihood, the penalty would be death. The Ababdeh are sworn to protect all travelers in this desert.” He exhaled a long curl of smoke. “They both rule this wasteland and are its hostages.”

Flo thought it useless to bring a case before the Ababdeh prince. It would take weeks, for one thing.

“Nothing, then,” Trout said. “
No
punishment.”

The consul didn’t look surprised.
“Très bien,”
he said. Upon learning the verdict, Hakim wept and spewed thanks to every quarter.

“Good,” said Flo, rising wobbily to her feet. “And now I’m afraid we must retire.” Gustave supported her unsteady frame.

Once more, Père Elias bid them a poignant adieu, kissing them on both cheeks and weeping, as he had in Koseir. She watched the two men mount their camels. From atop his beast, Hakim saluted.

With Père Elias leading the way, they vanished into the pink twilight at a canter. Venus rose above the diminishing figures as Flo watched the already darkened eastern half of the sky absorb them until all that remained was a wisp of dust kicked up by the camels’ long, ungainly legs.

Encircling Flo’s waist, Gustave shepherded her to the tent as if helping a wounded soldier from a battlefield. “Trout,” she whispered, “must sleep with me.” The sentry opened the flap, and she collapsed onto her knees.

• • •

She slept, she knew not how long, awakening to Trout staring down at her. It was still dark. Their ruined dresses lay balled up in a corner of the tent. She dimly recalled Trout helping her into a nightgown over her objections, saying work made her feel better.

Trout was holding the hairbrush and comb from Flo’s camel box. An oil lamp burned nearby. “Yes,” said Flo.

Trout sat down behind her and began silently to brush out her matted, grimy hair.

“Thanks to God you are safe and sound,” Flo said. She felt refreshed after sleeping. More blessed yet was it not to be thirsty. “I couldn’t have borne it.”

“Yes, mum. Thank you.”

Flo felt the tug of the boar bristles mediated by Trout’s steadying touch as she parted the hair into small sections. After a time, Trout rose and returned with a pair of embroidery scissors.

The brushing was soporific, and Flo willingly drifted off. Periodically, she jogged herself awake to enjoy Trout’s tender ministrations. The lamplight was lovely, glimmering in the satin ties of her gown, darting off the scissors in golden splinters. As Trout snipped through the unassailable knots, a fine shawl of sacrificed hair collected over Flo’s shoulders.

“You will have quite a tale to tell your nieces and nephews,” Flo said drowsily.

The brushing came to a halt. Trout lowered her hands. Flo sensed them behind her, motionless on the blanket. “No, mum. I don’t think I
shall
tell it.”

Flo turned around. “Why ever not?”

“No, I am sure I never could.”

“But, Trout—why in the world not? You are fine, after all. And it is a tale deserving to be told in detail, to be passed down—”

Trout began to sob. “That was the consul’s story you heard, mum, but . . .” She broke off, racked by crying.

Her ease giving way to fear, Flo swiveled completely around. “But
what
?”

“Even if he
is
telling the truth.” Trout blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes. “He wasn’t
there
, mum. He was not me!” A look of arrant terror had seized her face.

Flo patted her tensed hand. “Of course, you are right. I am sorry. It must have been fright—”

A piercing cry issued from Trout, so shrill it raised gooseflesh on Flo’s arms and neck. She had never heard such a sustained and unnerving noise. It was the sound of agony, of butchery—a death cry—Trout’s mouth a rictus of recollected terror.

Immediately the sentry burst into the room, dagger at the ready, two cohorts not far behind him. “Get away!” Flo screamed, grabbing the hairbrush and waving them back with it, at which Trout’s cries abruptly ceased. Utterly bewildered, the man retreated, the tent flapping shut behind him.

Trout started to weep again in sustained and heaving waves, a tidal bore of tears. “Oh, mum,” she gasped between sobs, throwing herself across Flo’s small lap, “he doesn’t know what it felt like to
me
!”

26

FEVER

T
he caravan departed for Kenneh early the next morning, the trek that day bland and uneventful, with fewer travelers on the road. Perhaps the pilgrims had already reached Jeddah and thence to Mecca. They would not travel again until after the inundation subsided the following winter. Last December, Gustave and Max had delayed the Nile trip nearly a month to see the weary throngs return to Cairo. He imagined the faithful slowly circling their immense black stone. Clockwise or counterclockwise? He could not remember if he ever knew. By evening, he couldn’t remember much of anything and ached all over. A great lethargy descended upon him. He’d caught Max and Joseph’s fever.

Pleading exhaustion and lack of appetite, he excused himself from dinner. Miss Nightingale offered to nurse him. When he refused, mostly to avoid Max teasing him afterward, she insisted on brewing tea and delivered it personally. She tried to engage him in conversation, but her words vanished in the heat between them like melting snowflakes.

The next evening, she sent Trout with a pot of tea and a note.
We missed you again tonight. Max says you are no better. Please keep me informed. Your, R
. He threw the note away, but committed the three staccato sentences to memory in the process of appraising what she must have felt composing it. It smacked of restraint, that particular
English trait. It flattered and troubled him, but he could not think why. His brain was soggy, steeped in a bottle of India ink, and as devoid of color. Abstractly, he mourned the absence of sensation: the green of desire, the purple of rage, joy’s cool blue undulations.