Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [15]
“She is fiercely protective of all those she loves, Emerson. She would take your part just as vigorously if someone were unkind to you.”
“D’you think so?” Emerson considered this idea.
“I refuse to pick a quarrel with you so that Sennia can defend you. She’ll get over it; just be polite to Gargery.”
“Damnation,” said Emerson.
I have never cared for Alexandria. It has no pharaonic monuments worth mentioning, and the city is a blend of the worst of European and Eastern characteristics, with little of the charm of Cairo’s shadowy old streets. This year the harbor was crowded with shipping, including a depressing number of hospital vessels. Alex had been the center of operations for the Gallipoli Campaign; the brave lads from Australia and New Zealand had sailed from there, in high spirits and with promises of a quick return. They had returned only too soon. There were so many wounded, the hospitals could not take them all in; the Red Cross flag flew over many villas and houses in and around the city. It was a relief to board the train for Cairo, and only the need to hide our feelings from the child kept us from gloomy introspection and gloomier conversation.
However, being back in Egypt was pleasure enough to take our minds off sadder subjects, and when we pulled into the central station in Cairo, we were met by a shouting, cheering crowd—members of the family that had worked for and with us for so many years. Abdullah, our reis and dear friend, was gone now, but his children and grandchildren and nephews and nieces and cousins formed a close-knit clan. As soon as the train came to a stop, eager hands pulled us from the carriage, and we were immediately surrounded. Fatima, Abdullah’s daughter-in-law and our Egyptian housekeeper, snatched Sennia out of Basima’s arms; Selim, Abdullah’s youngest son who had replaced him as reis, began questioning Emerson about the season’s work; Daoud, towering a full head above the others, demanded news of his adored Lia and the baby; Ali and Yussuf, Ibrahim and Mahmud embraced us all in turn. They then escorted us in a triumphal procession to the carriages they had waiting.
As soon as we were in our carriage, Emerson began to grumble. “Confound the cursed cabs, they are too slow. Why didn’t Selim bring the motorcar?”
I had ordered Selim not to. Emerson would have insisted on driving it, and Emerson’s notion of operating a motorcar is to head straight for his destination without slackening speed or changing direction. This is not a good method with slow-moving carts and camels. There are a good many of both in the streets of Cairo.
Instead of pointing this out, I remarked, with the tact I have developed over many years of marriage, “I expect he wanted to make a spectacle of our arrival. You see how handsomely the carriages are decorated.”
“Spectacle is the word,” Emerson grunted, throwing himself into a corner and folding his arms.
“Sennia is enjoying it.” I looked back at the carriage following ours. Bright-red tassels hung from the horses’ harnesses and bells jingled. I could see Sennia jumping around like a cricket, and Gargery trying to hold on to her.
After we had gone a short distance Emerson forgot his pique and began looking for old acquaintances in the crowd. Since he is acquainted with practically every beggar, thief, and merchant in Cairo, he found a good many of them, and his stentorian greetings were answered in kind. “Salaam aleikhum, Father of Curses! Marhaba!”
Our procession made its way through the city, across the bridge, and along the road to Giza toward the house we had taken for the past several seasons. Comfortable in the knowledge that our devoted friends would have everything in order for our arrival, I breathed deeply of the dry, warm air and with greedy eyes took in the sights and sounds that were so dear and familiar. Not even the dust kicked up by the hooves of horses and donkeys could spoil my pleasure. I was back in Egypt, the home of my heart. What thrilling discoveries awaited me that season! I felt certain the tombs of ancient Giza