Edward Whittemore - Nile Shadows

I suppose it's something along those lines, said Bletchley. I don't know specifically what the nature of the operation is, but my impression of its general drift is about the same as yours.

That's it, thought Joe. The Monastery's having me play a part similar to a German agent's. Look into Stern's activities from the point of view of the other side, and see what I can come up with. But why?

They've got more than enough to do out here running operations against the Germans. Why go to the trouble of running an operation against Stern, one of their own men? The information he has must be very important. Even crucial, as the three men in white linen suits said back in Arizona.

A thought struck Joe.

And could it be that this information concerns the Monastery? Is that why these Monks are so tight-lipped about everything? Because they're afraid for themselves? Because Stern knows something about this place that nobody else knows? And if the Germans were ever to find out. .?

Bletchley sipped from his glass and began to talk about sunsets at sea. Once more they were on a passenger liner bound for the East, for India.

Changing the subject, thought Joe. Bletchley doesn't want me to become too curious about Stern's specific piece of information. Report back on Stern in general, that's all. Not recognize the nugget when I come across it. If I do.

Joe found himself drifting away again, losing touch.

We'll have to be leaving soon, said Bletchley. I don't like driving at night. It bothers my eye.

You don't like it but you do it, thought Joe, an image flashing through his mind, something Liffy had mentioned in passing. Liffy accompanying Bletchley to meetings with agents at night in an automobile, Bletchley in front acting as merely the driver while Liffy was in disguise in back with the agent, debriefing the man according to Bletchley's instructions. The agent concentrating on Liffy, giving Bletchley the opportunity to listen and to observe the agent through the rearview mirror. A simple trick and an old one, but effective.

Well the game's elaborate all right, thought Joe, but at least we know now why we're sitting up here on the captain's bridge with our hunting trophies and our potted palms. Bletchley's the real skipper out here and he's the one who's in charge of this operation and in charge of the Monastery for that matter, and Whatley's just someone on his staff, his deputy probably. . But why is the game so elaborate? These Monks have a war to worry about and Rommel's out there with his panzers churning closer all the time, so what's going on? Why are they so deathly afraid of Stern at a time like this?. . One man after all, no more.

Have you ever heard of the Sisters? asked Bletchley.

Joe tried to think.

The Weird Sisters, you mean? That old expression for the Fates?

Bletchley laughed.

No, this has nothing to do with folklore. I was referring to two women who used to be the reigning queens of Cairo society a while back. They're twins and rather reclusive now. They live in a houseboat on the Nile, I'm told.

Oh. No I haven't heard of them, said Joe.

But surely the name Menelik Ziwar means something to you, doesn't it? That Egyptologist Stern used to know? He was also quite a society figure once. . in his way.

Yes, I've heard of old Menelik, said Joe. What about him?

Bletchley didn't answer. He got to his feet and stretched.

We really must be leaving, he murmured. I don't like driving at night. It bothers my eye.

***

Joe didn't remember the drive back through the desert with Bletchley, or arriving in Old Cairo, or Ahmad helping him up to his room. Nor did he know that Liffy had come that evening to take up the vigil, Liffy quietly humming to himself as Joe tossed with fever and the night swirled more deeply over that decaying ruin known as the Hotel Babylon, as all the while down below the taciturn Ahmad sat erect on his high stool in the gloomy corridor that passed for his office in life, the yellowing sheets of a thirty-year-old newspaper spread out in front of him, opened as always to the society page.

— 8-

Maud

She locked her back door and started down the outside stairs to the alley, where her neighbor's children were still out playing despite the late hour. As soon as they heard her footsteps in the darkness they came rushing up, laughing and shouting and trying to guess which of her hands held candies for them. And then their mother was leaning out of one of the narrow windows of yellow light on the alley, and Maud had to speak to her before she looked in their open kitchen door to exchange a few more words with the grandfather of the household, who was always proud of a chance to display his meager French.

In the quiet little square at the end of the alley, tucked away behind busier streets, there were other neighbors to greet, working people out for a stroll or simply standing around in small groups chatting and enjoying the evening breezes off the river, so welcome after the fierce heat of the day. The waiter inside the door of the little restaurant on the square was all smiles when he saw her.

No, he said, there'd been no mail for her that afternoon. And yes, his son was doing very well, already a help in the kitchen at the age of ten. Another few months and he was going to begin training the boy to set the tables. . The waiter leaned closer, a trace of graveness in his voice, a hint of intensity around his eyes.

You'll be coming to dinner soon? Perhaps this weekend?

If we can manage it, she said, knowing what he meant.

Oh good, good. I'm so glad. .

She crossed the cobblestones to the small outdoor café, taking a table at the back. The waiter there was also a friend who had to tell her his news while he wiped the table three or four times, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

We have some special pastries tonight, he added. Shall I put one aside for you?

That would be kind, she said, and the waiter beamed. Since she never ate a sweet when she was alone at the café, he knew she was expecting her friend. Abruptly his manner also became intent, confidential.

Are things going well? He's. . everything's all right?

Yes, said Maud, smiling.

Oh well, that's just fine then, praise be to God. .

The man left to bring her coffee, muttering to himself, and Maud gazed up the little square toward the street where the traffic passed. She never ceased to wonder at the concern people felt for Stern and his well-being, even people who hardly knew him. Yet the suggestion was always there, the suddenly alert tone and the almost anxious question which could have been an everyday pleasantry, but wasn't. .

Everything's all right?. . You'll be coming for dinner soon?. . Which meant, Is he all right? Will he be coming back soon?

And the smile of relief when she answered yes. And the deeply felt whispers. . Oh good, good. .

Praise be to God.

She sipped her coffee, happy to be alone in a place where she belonged, enjoying the nighttime sounds and rituals of her neighborhood. Then all at once she heard his voice above the murmur, deeper than the others, and there he was making his way between the tables and greeting the waiter and saying something to a group of old men which made them laugh, causing their cups to rattle. . Stern at last. The great dark head and the mysterious smile, the sweeping eyes and the hands that never stopped feeling things, that were always reaching out and touching, touching. .

He slipped into the chair beside her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

. . I was hoping to get away in time for dinner, but you know how it is these days for a clerk at the office. Nothing but more and more work on the ledgers. Sometimes it seems that contrary to what God says, accountants are going to inherit the earth.