Birds of the Nile (6 page)

A hubbub was pervading the dining room. All at once there was a general downing of napkins, a pushing back of chairs and people were standing up and getting ready to leave. This overall movement provoked Keith to enquire as to the cause and very shortly the report came back.

“Apparently we’ve reached the lock at Esna.”

Not wishing to miss whatever spectacle this entailed, they all broke off from their meal and went up on deck.

A dramatic sight awaited them as they emerged into the night air. It was already dark, the sun having set an hour or so before, and the sky was inky black with just a few stars twinkling here and
there. In front of them, a massive pair of lock gates rose up out of the water, and to the left a concrete dam spanning the width of the river penned back the upper reaches of the Nile.

They were not by any means alone. Ahead and astern of them a dozen or more cruise ships were vying for position in the queue to pass through the lock, their deck and cabin lights shining out through the gloom, and the sound of calling voices echoed across the water.

Close behind Blake, the laboured puff of Mrs Biltmore’s breathing preceded her onto the deck as she slowly hoisted herself up the set of steep steps, towing Ira in her wake. Further down toward the bow, Janet and Keith had already joined David and Joan and all four were relaxing against the ship’s rail as they watched the show.

Blake retreated to the shadow of an overhanging sunshade and waited for events to play out. He found himself speculating as to what Lee Yong might make of it all – the boats, the lights, the hustle and bustle of the quayside. No doubt there were similar scenes in her own country, and if such things were commonplace to her he imagined she might chide her companions for their casual waste of time. If not, then perhaps this was part of the international culture she seemed so keen to experience. He searched amongst the crowd at the front of the sun-deck and round the swimming pool in the hopes of finding her but failed. He couldn’t recall seeing her come up on deck with the others – perhaps she’d gone straight to her cabin rather than risk the cool night air.

Eventually he caught sight of her, leaning on the rail at the stern of the ship, her slight form unmistakable even in the darkness. His first thought was to join her – but then he held back. He had no idea what he might say and besides, someone else was already standing in the shadows next to her. From his bulky outline Blake recognised the Egyptian tour guide. He’d been right about the chill of the evening for as he watched, the
young man removed his jacket and draped it round the Malaysian’s shoulders. Surely they were not still debating the whys and wherefores of tombs and temples? Had they not had enough of that earlier in the day? It hardly seemed the time to be talking shop.

But whatever they were discussing, the heat had gone out of their argument. Their demeanour was much more relaxed and they must have reached some form of agreement. To Blake that meant only one thing – Lee Yong had emerged victorious. She was not the kind who would easily give up, even when pitted against a professional – the ‘passion’ she had mentioned at dinner would guarantee that.

Blake found himself sympathising with the Egyptian. He was not the only one who had been subjected to the force of her character and had been obliged to bow before it – they both now bore the scars. But his pity soon evaporated as a pang of jealousy tugged at him. Whether he had won or lost, the young man was fortunate to have the sole attention of this remarkable girl. She was young, bright and beautiful and seemed happy to be alive – and for all her forward manner and lack of inhibition, the confidence and innocence she’d shown were to be much admired. The mysteries of the world lay in front of her, she had yet to be tainted by it and that in itself was something to be treasured. How exciting her voyage of discovery would be Blake could only imagine, and at that moment there was nothing he would not have given to share it with her.

A cloud passed over his heart. When had he last stood next to such a woman and inhaled the heady scent of beauty bound to intellect? He struggled to recall. Once perhaps, many years ago…But it was too far in the past for him to want to remember and he grieved at its passing as if some part of him had died and had left him incomplete. Lee Yong had her ‘passion’ and he had his, but now it was only for birds of the feathered kind. Moments such as the one he was witnessing would never come his way again and
it saddened him to think of it.

Toward the concrete dam, a quiet calm had settled over the waters of the Nile. The calling of the boat crews and those on the shore had abated and in a moment the others would come looking for him. But the sight of Lee Yong and the young Egyptian had already become too much for him to bear and before his companions could return and glimpse his sorrow, he decided to go below and take himself to bed.

The following morning Blake woke early and rather than go out on deck, he decided to head straight down to breakfast. The dining room was deserted and the cold buffet of fruit, ham and yoghurt lay as yet untouched in its covering of clingfilm. From somewhere in the adjacent kitchen came the strangled wail of a popular Egyptian song as blithely unaware of his presence, a member of staff sang happily while he worked.

This time Blake chose to sit by the window (or rather, porthole, as it was barely above the surface of the water) where he could watch the Nile glide peacefully by and reflect on yesterday’s events. He’d brought his notebook and a pen with him with the firm intention of completing the bird list he’d begun the previous afternoon. He risked being disturbed, but preferred the openness of the dining room to the confines of his cabin and had determined that even if the others arrived, he would stick doggedly to his task.

He used the word ‘others’ as if there were already some form of relationship between them and to an extent he supposed it was true. Personally, he was not finding it unpleasant. In fact, it was a major point of interest – they all had characteristics he could readily observe and before long he found himself wondering that if they were to come back in another life as birds, just exactly what birds they would be. Soon, he found himself gazing dreamily out of the porthole and his mind began to drift as if mesmerised by the steadily flowing water.

Suddenly, he came to as the voice from the kitchen re-erupted. On the table in front of him his notebook lay open, his pen next to it. So far, he’d been there for a good ten minutes and had managed only the one additional entry. But instead of Spur–winged Plover, as he’d originally intended, two quite different words stared up at him as he realised he had written down the name of Lee Yong. Annoyed with himself and embarrassed
at his mistake, he crossed it out and determined to start again. But try as he might, he could not bring himself to remember what other birds he had seen and he was forced to admit that it was the Malaysian girl rather than any avian life that had been on his mind.

They’d met only the day before and yet in that short space of time she’d all at once succeeded in frustrating, infuriating and intriguing him. At first he’d deferred to her looks, although he’d convinced himself it was with the intention of being polite. Then, at the tombs, her behaviour had interested him and he’d taken delight in observing her. But when they’d returned to the ship he’d found her trick of dramatically appearing at the dinner something of a cheap charade.

From that moment on she’d dominated his thoughts and now he was gripped by the last view he’d had of her, standing on the sun-deck, more beautiful than ever, her silver evening dress rippling in the moonlight. He was immediately plagued by a terrible and frightening thought. Was it possible that he’d fallen in love with her? Was that what this obsession was about? He sincerely hoped not – love was an inconvenient if not impossible emotion, and in this instance could only lead to disappointment – but somehow the conclusion was hard to resist. Perhaps, after all these years…He shuddered and tried to push the idea away but despite his best efforts, he could not deny that there remained some form of longing.

He attempted to clear his mind and sought to convince himself that any feelings he might have were purely for her situation rather than for Lee Yong herself. To him she represented what he was not – young, passionate and forward-looking. All he could count on was the cynicism of age and his memories, or more to the point, the lack of them. Whatever other emotions she might have aroused in him, he’d never felt more remorseful than he had the night before, watching her at the ship’s rail. He’d envied her then and he envied her now, waking
up this morning with the whole of her life in front of her. All he had to dream of was the past – such as it was.

A lump the size of a blackbird’s egg was forming in his throat. He sensed the onset of a debilitating melancholic mood and before it could start to devour him, he determined to set his mind in another direction. His intention had been to finish his bird list – and for his own sake he decided he must do so now. He took a firm grip on his pen and forced himself to write.

Spur-winged Plover…

But he’d hardly set the words down on paper when he suffered his first interruption of the day.

“Morning, Michael.”

“Morning…”

David had also decided on an early breakfast. He pulled out a chair and sat himself down opposite, then poured out a glass of orange juice.

“I’m surprised you’re not up on deck.”

“Things to do,” muttered Blake. “Trying to catch up…”

“Well, you missed a wonderful sunrise. Here, have a look at this.”

David offered up his mobile phone and showed Blake the photograph he’d taken on it. It depicted a huge red disk looming over a row of palm trees and across its centre, a line of birds in flight.

“Any idea what they are by the way?”

Blake inspected them closely.

“Hmm…From the shape of their bills, I’d say they were Glossy Ibis.”

Regrettably, it was a species he’d not yet seen on the trip. For all that he’d achieved by sitting around and indulging in a bout of introspection, now he wished he’d gone up on deck.

The dining room was beginning to fill. The voice from the kitchen had already ceased its carefree song, drowned out by the tide of chatter that had started to flood amongst the tables. One
by one, the remnants of their party drifted in and took their seats – Janet and Keith, Joan, Mrs Biltmore and Ira. But there was one predictable and notable exception as Lee Yong was once again conspicuous by her absence.

Blake began to wonder as to why she missed her meals. His mind automatically went back to the vision he’d kept of her from the night before. The last he’d seen of her, she’d been deep in conversation with the young Egyptian. A second, and more dreadful, idea now occurred to him. Perhaps, after he’d gone, the two of them had linked arms and wandered off to her cabin and rather than face the others over breakfast she had chosen to stay in bed, lying in the arms of a newly found lover.

The image tormented him and he found himself burning with a shameful glow of embarrassment. Why did he insist on thinking about these things? It could only cause damage and he cursed himself for being so weak-willed as to consider it. Two people had spoken to each other – so what? It didn’t have to mean anything, it happened all the time for goodness sake.

He determined to dismiss it as fanciful imagination and he told himself he should return to his bird list. But with the river of noise in the dining room now in full spate he was unable to concentrate, and despite his earlier assertion that he would sit there and finish it no matter what happened, his record remained incomplete. He ate his breakfast in a sombre mood and went directly back to his cabin.

At 10am the passengers reassembled in the Forward Lounge for the introductory tour meeting. The room had been transformed overnight, any evidence of the cocktail reception had been cleared away and the tables were freshly laid out with cups and saucers and complimentary pots of coffee. On each side, the sets of heavy red curtains had been pulled back and in order to disperse any fug which might have accumulated, the windows had been flung wide open. Outside, the Nile was now visible in
all its glory and on either shore banks of lush vegetation slid steadily by. Looking at them now, it seemed to Blake that if anything the ship had increased its speed, a fact he had noted through the porthole at breakfast.

The meeting was opened by the captain, a slim young man of unctuous appearance, who introduced himself as Mr Mohammed. He affected an oily charm, giving his passengers an effusive welcome and assuring them of the best attention of both himself and his crew at all times. He hoped everything was to their satisfaction but if there were any problems, be they ever so trivial, they were to inform him at once and he would attend to it, day or night. If their shower didn’t work, he would send a plumber. If the food was not to their liking, he would speak to the cook. If a light bulb was broken, he would find an electrician. In short, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure their enjoyment – his mere existence depended on it.

But with his very next breath he was forced to make an apology. He regretted that it had taken so long for them to get everyone together, but with the visit to the Valley of the Kings and the pressing requirements of the gala dinner, this was the first opportunity that had presented itself. But as they could see (he gestured toward the recently opened windows) they were making good progress and he hoped to have them in Aswan by the following morning. Given the vagaries of the country and its people, Blake thought it an overconfident boast.

When the captain had finished his talk the passengers split up into their various groups for details. Blake and his companions gathered in a convenient corner and waited as Keith, ever the one to take the lead, began pouring coffee and handing out biscuits. A management team had supported Mr Mohammed and of the trio of tour guides, it was the young Egyptian who came across to supervise their particular party. With recent events fresh in his mind, Blake determined to pay particular attention.

Looking at him now, he still found it hard to believe how un-Egyptian
the young man appeared. His smooth rounded features, his boyish looks, his slightly bulky figure – he might have been Far Eastern himself. Perhaps this was why Lee Yong found him companionable. His manner of speech was gentle too, lacking the harsh consonants of the typical Arab. And yet he was as Egyptian as any – the incident at the quayside and his attendance at the late-night bonfire had proved that.

He began by telling them he was called Reda – a traditional Egyptian name. He was to be their leader, their guide and their mentor for the week that they would be together. And just like Mr Mohammed before him, his sole objective was their enjoyment and the fulfilment of their desires, and any problems they encountered were to be referred to him for resolution. (This gave rise to some confusion as to whom they should speak to in the event of any trouble, but the general feeling was that double cover was better than none).

He asked how they were finding the ship. Were their cabins satisfactory? Was there anything they required? He needed to make them aware that there were certain changes to the itinerary and asked if they’d brought along their copies of the schedule as requested. He and his fellow guides had conferred as to the best arrangements in terms of the timing of visits so as to avoid the crowds and he laid their revised suggestions before them. As to the occurrence of what he termed ‘hassle’ he assured them that the further south they went, the less of a problem this would become and they were not to assume that the practices of Cairo (or even Luxor) would be repeated in Aswan.

As to contact, he gave each of them a business card which contained his name and a mobile phone number where they could reach him at any time. He finished by hoping they would find the trip both pleasurable and educational and looked forward to showing them the delights of his country. If there were any questions, he would be pleased to deal with them and for that purpose he proposed to remain in the lounge until mid-afternoon.

It was a polished and professional performance. Allied to the speech he’d given at Queen Hatshepsut’s Temple, it showed that the Egyptian both knew his material and how to present it.

Blake felt a surge of resentment. Here were gifts that were denied him but that were readily given to others. His knowledge was probably as great as the tour guide’s but when it came to projecting it, he was a novice. And if he’d hoped to see his assumed rival falter, stumble over some phrase or fact in an ill-judged attempt to impress, he was disappointed as it contained no such imperfections and remained solid throughout. In the end, he was forced to grant the young man a grudging respect.

Meanwhile, there was still no sign of Miss Malaysia.

The talk around the lunch table was all about the enforced alterations to the itinerary. Up until then the balance of opinion had been weighted heavily against the management and their changes. No-one wanted to be forced into doing something they didn’t like – it was a matter of principle. Keith pressed the point.

“But if I understand it correctly, we don’t have to go on any of these excursions if we don’t want to, do we?”

“No,” said Joan. “But what else are we supposed to do? If you think I’m going to sit round on the ship all day doing nothing…”

On further examination the revised plan meant that rather than visit temples en route in the heat of the afternoon, they would push on to Aswan that night. This would give them another day ‘at leisure’ when they would be free to explore the city or take up one of the extra trips on offer. A further day in Aswan was universally welcomed – but there was disagreement about what to do with it, and as a consequence they all decided to go their separate ways. Mrs Biltmore elected to stay on the boat (her feet were blistered after the exhausting tramp to the tombs) while Joan persuaded David to take her shopping, an excursion without which it seemed no holiday of hers could possibly be
complete.

Blake did not find either of these alternatives appealing. For him it was a straight choice between an outing to a Nubian Village or a boat trip round the islands. The first offered a look at local arts and crafts, but when he discovered the second was actually a nature tour taking in the indigenous flora and fauna, he decided he was definitely going – it meant there was birding on the agenda. So as soon as lunch was over and he had been back to his cabin to collect his wallet, he returned to the Forward Lounge to get signed up.