Edward Whittemore - Nile Shadows

Nice night, Major. Lovely air out here.

The Major recovered at once from his shock and edged forward, his carbine trained on the man's middle.

Don't move, he shouted.

Not a finger, came the answer.

Not a hair, shouted the Major.

That too, certainly.

Hands over your head.

Right you are. In our lowly way, we all try to reach for the stars.

The man nodded, smiling, and the Major suddenly blushed behind his mask. In his excitement he had been screaming. He stopped for a moment to get a grip on himself.

Tinkle.

The small man in the baggy suit looked surprised. Are there goats around here? he asked.

No, replied the Major, managing a normal tone of voice.

Odd, I thought I heard goats, said the man. Didn't you hear the tinkling sound of goats' bells? I wonder where the goatherd is.

My ammunition clips, said the Major.

Oh.

Who are you? screamed the Major. No evasions. Speak up.

Oh. Well the name's Gulbenkian. Gulbenkian, I presume. At least that's what was on my papers the last time I looked at them. They also say I'm a dealer in Coptic artifacts by profession, which may well be true. As for my status in this war zone, that's down as in transit, but I suspect it doesn't tell us much because it's probably the status of most of us in this world. Just passing through, don't you know. They're a first-class forgery though, these papers of mine. So good you could even say Ahmad did them. You know that old Cairo saying, don't you? When in doubt, say Ahmad sent you?

Don't move.

Right, square one.

The Major again made an effort to control his voice.

Slowly now, he commanded, do exactly as I say. Lower your left hand to your jacket collar, slowly, and pull your jacket off. Slowly, now drop it.

Clunk, said the man, why not. Never was anything very grand about it.

Your shoes next. Don't bend over. Kick them off.

Sure. Been doing it that way for years, actually.

Now, left hand only. Undo your belt buckle.

Ah yes, said the man. Life is trouble, only death is not. To be alive is to undo your belt and look for trouble, as that old Greek saying has it. Ever come across that saying yourself, Major?

Same hand, slowly. Unbutton your trousers.

Ah, slow as slow for the sake of anticipation. And if I'm not mistaken, that's exactly what the old Greek saying had in mind. But I'm not so sure it was meant to apply to a cool night in the desert. More of an idea for lovely summer evenings on a deserted beach, maybe.

Drop them. Kick them to the side.

Right, a gentle kick maybe. My anticipation's waning in the general chilliness.

Left hand, slowly. Unbutton your shirt.

I'm getting there, Major, but it's also getting cold out here.

Slowly. Do exactly as I say.

The man smiled, nodded.

Yes, and do you suppose that could have been an old pharaonic saying? Do exactly as I say, I mean. It sounds like it might have been some pharaoh's standing order from on high to the troops who were building the pyramids. Think so?

Left hand only. Pull off your shirt. Drop it. Now raise one leg, slowly.

Oh dear.

Pull off your sock. Now the other one. Left hand only.

Right. And I guess you've assumed all along I'm right-handed, which only goes to show it's a good thing I'm not Colly.

The Major stared.

What's that? Who?

You know, the man who had this Armenian identity before me. The original Gulbenkian of clandestine obscurity, also known at one time as Our Colly of Champagne. As long as I can remember, Colly always used his left hand when he was taking a piss over the side of the boat.

What?

Yes. Colly was left-handed, in other words, so he always used his left hand when the time came to be sinister, to do something fast and unexpected.

What? Don't move.

Right. All I meant was that Colly's left hand was his shooting hand and his throwing hand, as well as his pissing hand don't you see, so it wouldn't have been a good idea to have him undressing with it. Fast on the draw, Colly was. But of course that's just by way of being of historical interest and it doesn't matter tonight, because I'm not Colly and I use both hands for things. Born ambidextrous, I don't know why.

Don't move.

Right.

One hand, either hand, slowly. Pull down your underwear and step away from your clothes. Out there, over to the end of the paw.

Right. For another of life's maulings, probably.

Joe smiled and walked to the end of the paw where he stood naked, shivering. The Major kept his carbine pointed at Joe while he knelt beside the pile of clothing and felt his way through it. Other than Joe's papers and a handful of Egyptian coins, the only thing he found was a large wad of money in various currencies, in denominations he had never seen before. The Major backed away, perplexed.

Where are your weapons?

Don't carry any.

What?

That's right. I dropped out of the maiming and killing business a long time ago. It may be necessary sometimes but myself, I'd rather not take part. Personal prejudice.

The Major looked confused.

No weapons?

None but what's in the head, and do you suppose I could get dressed now? Just plain cold is what it is.

The Major nodded. He kept his carbine trained on Joe while he pulled on his clothes, at the same time sneaking glances at the wad of money he had taken from Joe's pocket. A bewildered expression came over the Major's face, hidden by his white silk mask. The money was printed on only one side.

I keep some money on hand because you never know when you might have to take a quick trip when you're in transit, said Joe, watching the Major out of the corner of his eye. Of course it's true those Bulgarian leva and Rumanian bani can't be worth much this year, and the paras have probably also seen better days. None of them could be worth more than half of what they used to be, which is maybe why they were printed that way. In halves, I mean, on one side only. . Things are always deteriorating all over, have you ever noticed that?

The Major forgot himself and nodded. Joe pulled on his shoes.

But the real beauty in the pack, said Joe, is that bill on the bottom. See it? One hundred Greek drachmas on one side, ten thousand Albanian leks on the other. Or is it the other way around? The Balkans have always been a confusing concept to me, I've just never been able to make much sense out of them.

Know what I mean?

Again the Major nodded dumbly in agreement. He was having trouble remembering what he was supposed to be doing, so bewildering did he find Joe's manner. This isn't right, thought the Major. Things aren't going the way they're supposed to.

Tinkle.

Joe smiled, pulling on his jacket, as the Major quickly tried to think of another command to deliver. Any command would do.

Sit down there, he said. Feet apart, please.

Sound reasoning in the moonglow, Major. I was just thinking myself we ought to relax a bit. After all, the Sphinx is a riddle and we're right in the lap of that riddle, aren't we?

The Major nodded without thinking. He pulled down his white silk mask, absentmindedly, and wiped his mouth. Joe asked for a cigarette and the Major handed him a packet.

Would you care to sit down yourself? Joe asked pleasantly, striking a match.

The Major nodded, confused, and sat down a few yards away from Joe on the paw of the Sphinx. He removed his pith helmet and wiped his brow Then he realized he couldn't see very well and he removed his goggles.

This is an impossible situation, he muttered.

Joe peered over the end of his burning cigarette and smiled.

Tut tut, Major, tut and ho. Impossible, you say? Best to be wary of words like that in the moonglow here, where the secrets of the pharaohs reside all around us. A few minutes ago you might even have been wondering where I was when you first rode up and the Sphinx seemed to be speaking to you.