“You know he wants to be a cook in Luxor. But, oh, how I shall miss him!”
“I know, and I shall, too. I suggested that he find Lady Duff-Gordon, if she is still in Luxor. I gave him a letter.”
“She’s someone you know?”
“We met once. A consumptive, she came to Egypt for her health. She loved the place and the people and built a house in Luxor, but I don’t believe she was there when we were.”
Achmed and Sahba were the last of their people to approach them at the caravansary, and Sam stepped forward to shake hands. “Achmed, you have been our finest man, and we shall remember you always.”
“Thank you, sir, and I, too, shall remember. And I thank you for your generosity.”
“You have been my friend, Achmed, as well as a fine cook and servant,” Florence said. “Allah yessallemak.”
“Oh, Madam, you most certainly will come back to Africa. When you do, you must come to Nubia.” Achmed’s eyes filled with tears.
Florence took the gold chain from around her neck and fastened it around Achmed’s so that the tiny gold ankh gleamed just below his brown collarbone.
“Until then, this will remind you of us.”
Achmed bowed deeply to each of them, then turned quickly and, followed by his friend, strode through the busy grounds.
Florence watched until his straight, slender figure in white turban and gallabiah blended into the throng, and then with tears in her eyes took Sam’s hand.
“He’ll do well, my dear, and when we come back to Egypt, we shall find him ensconced in the kitchen of Luxor’s finest hotel.”
Chapter 30
In a caravan made up of twelve camels with three drivers and their two servants, Richarn and Zeneb, Florence and Sam set out on the trade route to the Red Sea. Unlike the Sahara’s shifting sands, this desert floor was coarse and hard-packed sand with loose gravel between rigid rocky outcrops.
The oases were few and offered sparse shade beneath scraggly palms. The springs offered brackish water, unfit to drink but good enough for washing cooking equipment and themselves. Sam made sure their water bags carried to be enough for drinking and cooking until they reached the mountain range.
Richarn and Zeneb talked eagerly about their new life. This caravan to the sea was an adventurous beginning for the work they expected to find in Cairo or Alexandria. Richarn’s accumulated pay would keep them secure until they found jobs where they could work happily together, using Richarn’s varied skills and Zeneb’s cooking skills. Her experience in the kitchen of the French consulate had not prepared her for desert campfires, however, and Richarn stood ready to help her. The meals she made were simple, for Sam had sold off all but a few pots and pans and wash basins.
“Of course I kept our precious rugs,” Sam commented, as they set up lean-tos and unpacked bedrolls on the first night. “We’re not going to rough it.”
“I look forward to sleeping under the stars,” Florence said.
Although again she adjusted easily to the camel’s rolling gait, she found the days monotonous and tiring. The sun’s heat baked through her sheer wool burnoose and cotton blouse, and dry winds strafed any exposed flesh. Her eyes were protected from both sand and glare by new gogglers with smoked lenses that wrapped around her face. She had bought them in Shendi Market along with a gauzy cotton scarf and a pair of gloves.
In six days of travel, they had met but one caravan heading west and had seen no other travelers in the small oases where they’d stopped. Now, they approached what they hoped was their last desert stop, an oasis the drivers promised would have good water and enough shade for real comfort. However at the day’s end when they came in sight of the canopy of trees, several men were lounging in the shade with their camels kneeling nearby.
One by one, the men stood and watched them come, and then one, an Arab in a filthy burnoose stepped out of the shade and tried to wave them away. Sam dismounted, carrying his furled parasol, and Richarn joined him. They walked toward the surly looking man, and Sam raised his hand in greeting.
“Saeeda, saheb, we’ve stopped to rest.”
“Emshi! Rooh!”
The shouted order to go away was as crude and mean as the man’s visage, but Sam chose to speak softly.
“Why do you insult us? On the desert no man turns away another, nor denies water and shade to a weary band of travelers. We need only space enough to lay our carpet in the shade.”
The Arab snarled that the oasis was too small, there was no room. He reached under his cloak and when he withdrew his hand, Richarn saw a blade flash and reached for his sidearm. In that instant, Sali, the head camel driver, rode forward and, with his whip, sent the knife flying from the man’s hand. Sam shouted so everyone could hear.
“Hold! We need no arms!” Then firmly but quietly he spoke to the Arab.
“You would be wise to be civil.”
“Sam! Watch out behind you!” Florence yelled.
Sam turned and saw a second man had slipped around and was almost behind him with a large sword in both hands. Before he could raise it, Sam lunged and thrust the tip of his umbrella against the man’s chest, knocking him flat on his back and gasping for his breath. When Sam turned back the first man was bending to retrieve his knife, and Sam swung the umbrella with such force that the Arab tumbled over. The umbrella’s pole had snapped and left Sam holding a short, jagged shaft.
By then Richarn had picked up the knife and a second of their drivers had taken the clumsy sword and was brandishing it in the faces of the three men who had remained in the shade of the trees. Florence rode closer with the Fletcher in hand, but none of the Arabs did more than glare. The will to fight had gone out of them but not their anger.
“You are a disgrace to humankind,” Sam said, “and deserve to be flogged.”
Hearing that, one pulled back the hood of his cloak to reveal his white hair and knelt in front of Sam to beg for mercy. Richarn had taken Sali’s whip and stood ready to use it, but Sam put a hand on his arm.
“I will listen to this man because he is old and may retain some sense and even a bit of human decency.” Then turning to the Arabs, he said, “We will leave your weapons in Souakim. You may claim them at the caravansary. Now be off!”
The Arabs gathered their rugs and led their camels away. Before they were out of sight, Zeneb had filled a water kettle to make tea.
“They would have killed us over a patch of shade,” Florence said. “Who are they?”
“I don’t know. Maybe from the Hadendowa tribe that’s been harassing Egyptian troops in the eastern desert. Or maybe some other renegades.”
Another few days took them to the desert’s edge, where a lush green oasis nestled in the foothills of the mountains that now dominated the eastern horizon. They camped among mimosas and eucalyptus near a cool, clear stream that issued from the rocks.
Florence followed it to a secluded place where she could bathe and wash her hair.
“My birthday treat,” she told Sam. “A good bath. Did my laundry, too.”
“Your twenty-fourth birthday was yesterday, and I forgot. How can I make it up to you?”
“Well, last year you caught fish for dinner.”
“Zeneb is already cooking something that smells delicious. And soon I shall find a proper gift for you.”
None of the mountain peaks reached more than four-thousand feet, and the pass was only half that high. Climbing it took them on a well-worn path through granite canyons of red and green strata. The ascent was easy and the temperature moderate, and at nightfall they found level ground, shade trees, and forage for the camels as well as grouse for Sam to shoot and Zeneb to cook.
The next day they reached the highest point and looked down on the Red Sea’s brilliant blue-green waters and its pink coral shores. Their descent was quicker than the climb, but the heat built up to more than one-hundred degrees by the time they arrived at Souakim’s outskirts. In the dazzling sunlight, they walked on clean, paved streets where house
s were stuccoed with the coral sands. Florence remarked that it was not at all like the grim place Johann had described.
“Perhaps we’ll find squalor on the waterfront,” Sam said, “but here the town literally outshines any we’ve seen since we left the Mediterranean. Look over there. Those flags must be on houses of government. We’ll head right for them.”
Leaving servants and camels at the caravansary, Florence and Sam walked on to government square. At the broad steps of the largest building, they stopped to look up at its freshly painted Palladian facade.
“It fairly shouts civilization,” Sam said.
As they climbed the steps, people either stared or pretended not to stare at the sight of the slight, blonde woman in trousers and the bearded man with graying hair bushing out from under a havelock cap. In the foyer, a clerk stared at them from behind his neat mahogany desk, and his jaw dropped when he heard their names. He immediately led them up another flight of polished stairs to the office of the provincial governor, who said he felt honored to meet them. He had heard rumors of their return but had never expected they would be in this place.
After stamping their papers and giving them information on ships that might soon pass through to Suez, he offered the use of his guest house until they could arrange transport.
“Your presence in our city is an honor. I hope you enjoy your sojourn, and if we can assist you in any way, well, sir, you need only ask.”
A civil servant led Florence and Sam to a house overlooking the harbor. It was set in a garden where they felt the light wind off the water. It felt cool inside the house, too, with ceiling fans turning lazily. They could see it was big enough for six or eight people, and while Sam went to settle with the drivers, Florence explored the house and garden. Sam returned with the three servants, and when Zeneb saw the kitchen stove, she could barely wait to put it to use. She took Sali and went off to the market to shop for food.
After Sam had disposed of the last of their camping gear and paid off the drivers, he had nothing to do. Each day, he stood on their front terrace and scanned the harbor with his glass, hoping to see a British steamer. But only the merchant fleet of the Abdul Azziz Company entered the moorage, and he had learned that their runs between Jedda and Suez depended on consignments. For another week, they waited, and during that time, Sali found employment and, deferring his dreams of Cairo, took his pay and left.
Mornings Florence walked with Sam and on the palm-lined waterfront, and at sunset they strolled in their garden amid blooming jasmine. Richarn, proud in his new white trousers and tunic, served the dinners Zeneb had cooked. Later, when the heat was dissipating, Florence in a chemise and Sam in his drawers lay on their bed where the fan turned lazily above them moving the warm air. It was unthinkable to close the curtains against a possible evening breeze, so they waited until the street sounds faded, then made love and slept until sunlight struck the white plaster walls and street peddlers called their wares.
One evening on the veranda, Sam lifted his telescope to his eye and whooped with pleasure.
“Florrie, look here, a splendid warship is moving into a dock.” He handed her the glass. “It’s a frigate. Egyptian flag.”
“Why would a warship dock here?”
“Oh, maybe for provisions or to bring troops.”
Alone at the pier the next day, Sam saw troops disembark, and always curious, sat in a nearby cafe and talked to the ship’s crew when they came ashore. They said the soldiers were bound for Kassala, and they didn’t know where the ship would go. That same evening, a messenger came to the house with a note from the ship’s captain. It said he’d heard that the lost explorers were in port awaiting passage, and he hoped they would honor him with their presence at dinner aboard.
“He may have seen me loitering about on the pier yesterday and was curious. News travels fast.”
“It sounds grand to dine with the captain.”
“Unpack your best dress. It’s bound to be interesting to go aboard as well as to be entertained by Egyptian officers.”
To their surprise, it was not just the officers with whom they dined. The governor and all the important members of the European and Egyptian communities were there to meet the famous explorers. Their open admiration of Florence pleased Sam, and their eagerness to listen to his tales of adventure flattered him too.
At the end of the evening, Florence and Sam and the captain, Mustapha Bey, sat on the afterdeck overlooking the glittering harbor. Their host capped the splendid evening by offering them passage on the frigate to Suez.
“We have no other mission and are about to return to base. The officers’ quarters are a bit cramped, but I think we can see that you are comfortable.”
“There is no need to convince us. We are eager to accept. We’ve waited here for three weeks without sign of a passenger ship. We can be ready in an instant.”
Although the next day brought word that a British steamer was due within a week, it was already September. Sam thought the captain’s company would more than compensate for whatever their quarters might lack, and of even more significance was their mounting impatience to move on. Taking along their two servants, they boarded the frigate the next morning for the five day voyage to Suez, and on each evening Sam and Florence enjoyed excellent dinners in the convivial company of the Captain and his officers.
After docking in the busy port and expressing gratitude to the Captain, they disembarked. Sam and Richarn saw to their meager baggage, and then they took a hack through the city’s center to a British hotel. The stark white building stood in the midst of a walled garden, lush with purple bougainvillea, and in its spacious lobby, ceiling fans turned lazily, circulating the scent of jasmine. A moment after registering, Sam beheld his dream come true: a sign in the refreshment bar read, “Allsopp’s Pale Ale, on draught.” And if that were not enough to fulfill a dream, their rooms were airy and spacious, the beds soft, and the bath gleaming.
* * *
Florence wrote to Adrianna saying they’d be in Paris early in October. Sam sent James a wire telling him when they hoped to arrive in Marseilles and be on their way to Paris, and then he went out in search of news of the world. But before leaving the hotel he had a bouquet sent to the room, twenty-four red roses for Florence’s twenty-fourth birthday.
The hotel’s public rooms thronged with English men, many of them officers of the Crown on their way to posts in India with their fair-skinned wives. Florence recalled the couple who had dined with them in Bucharest and, while she dressed for dinner, recalled how elegant she had felt that night in her new gown. Now she felt anything but elegant. When she looked at women’s hair styles and their gowns, she was stunned by the enormous changes in fashion over only five years. Everyone in the hotel must be taken aback by the sight of Sam in worn old tweeds and herself in a dress that hung, limp and shapeless, on her thin body. And also, of course, the color of her skin must appall them.
She thought of how she’d dreaded meeting the English and feared the family’s disapproval of her. Now she realized her fear had faded and couldn’t recall when or how it occurred. She remained certain that nobody, not even Sam’s family, could ever comprehend their partnership.
* * *
Sam relished the convivial atmosphere of the hotel’s public rooms and felt inclined to respond to everyone who expressed an interest in their adventure. He always had a fresh tale ready, and thought he understood when Florence slipped into the shadows and sometimes out of the room.
She had heard it all before, and he didn’t take offense. However, while he had come to think of her as confident and friendly, it now occurred to him that this shyness might have more cause than the sudden press of curious people. Although he had been saddened to see her so thin, every bone visible under taut flesh, he thought her no less beautiful, but of course she would not know that. Now he saw that he ought to have understood how she must feel in old, ill-fitting clothes.
“When we reach Cairo,” he told her, “we’
ll have a wardrobe made for you and some things for me, too. I cannot wait to see your lovely hair arranged in one of those chignons.”
“I think I can manage the hair part myself, if that will please you. I don’t know anything about the new fashions, but I do wish for something that fits me, and is pretty.”
“In Cairo or, better still in Alexandria, dearest, we’ll outfit you in style, and after you plump out a bit, we’ll do it all again! You are lovely now, and always, but I want you to feel beautiful.”
“Remember telling me to buy only good and beautiful things, Sam? I’ll never forget that.”
Chapter 31
When the train pulled into Cairo on September tenth the Nile was still high, and in ditches and low fields stagnant water bred millions of mosquitoes. Florence and Zeneb sat in the shade near the station and fanned themselves while Sam and Richarn went to claim the baggage. The men returned with a carriage to take them all to Shepheard’s Hotel.
Florence and Sam took pleasure in the young couple’s wide-eyed reaction to the city and shared their hopes for a successful future there.
That same afternoon when Richarn and Zeneb emerged from an interview with the hotel manager, they reported that both had been employed as servants to the manager himself. Sam shook Richarn’s calloused hand and said he regretted that they probably would never again work together. He was proud that Richarn was now competent man and independent as well as possessed of many other qualities he admired. He knew that Richarn, more than any other person, had demonstrated that Sam’s convictions about the darker races were mistaken. He now understood that his judgments and condescension arose from unexamined assumptions and attitudes more-or-less bred in the bone. He wished he could explain this to Florence, who always treated every person with respect.
Having said goodbye to the last of their entourage, Sam and Florence had no wish to remain in Cairo. The concierge sent a wire to a hotel manager in Alexandria to reserve a suite for them and arranged for a courier to bring them train tickets. They left the next day, seated on the shady side of a new and clean coach, and again they watched the timeless scenes flash past the windows. Familiar but no less interesting to them were the water buffalo in the fields, young children and goats in farmyards, and boys driving loaded donkeys or riding bareback.