A Cloudy Day on the Western Shore Read online

  On the third day the abbess stood up at the front of the dormitory and spoke in a voice audible to everyone. “We must leave here,” she said. “We’ll brave the water to reach the train station, and from there each of you will go home. We cannot stay on here, under siege, until we die of hunger.”

  Some of the girls began to weep in subdued voices. They did not know what awaited them downstairs, or whether there were any streets that were safe for passage. But they got up and opened the cupboards where their clothes were stored. Once more the abbess called out, saying, “Take as little as possible—only what you need. We don’t want anything weighing us down.”

  But Margaret clung to her bed, watching the others in dismay. “I won’t leave this place!” she cried.

  The abbess looked pityingly at her. Gently, as if addressing a small child, she said, “No one knows how long this flooding will last. We may not die by drowning, but die we will. We’ll perish from hunger.”

  Aisha stood in consternation before her own clothes chest. There was nothing in it to bring, nor any place for her to bring it to. Of all of them, she felt the most bereft, with no home, no family, no real name. She had concealed well the deception that surrounded her; now the deeds of the river were about to expose it. She saw tears beginning to form in Margaret’s eyes, so she sat beside her on the bed. Margaret smiled wanly and whispered in Aisha’s ear, “I don’t want to leave this place, because I know he will come.”

  “Who?”

  “My messiah. My savior.”

  When the abbess bent her stern glance upon them Aisha had no choice but to get up and set about bundling up her old jilbaab. Its smell took her by surprise: it was redolent of dust and mud, of the old village. Isis shyly approached and said, “Can you come with me to my father’s house? We won’t go far—it’s in the next city, and I don’t think it’s in any danger of flooding.”

  Aisha pressed her hand, on the point of tears. This would not do, either—she couldn’t spend all that time wearing her single school outfit. The girls began to form a long line. Margaret rose heavily and stood by the window. There was no movement but that of the churning waters, no sound other than the river’s roar, as if life had vanished from the city.

  Suddenly, everyone heard a shout coming from below, a voice calling to the abbess and to all of them. Margaret was the first to recognize it. Her eyes shone. “My redeemer,” she said joyfully. She was across the room and out the door at a run. Rizq was in the courtyard, up to his chest in the water, carrying on his head a large palm-leaf basket. His face, the color of a husk of wheat, was bathed in sweat, the muscles taut in his bare arms. Once again he mounted the stairs, crossing casually into a forbidden precinct, and placed the basket at Margaret’s feet. It was laden with loaves of brown bread, bright red tomatoes, emerald-green cucumbers, and chunks of cottage cheese—a veritable treasure he laid at her feet in the simplest of gestures, as if he were a Pharaoh offering up a sacrifice to his sacred gods. Margaret gazed at him, dazzled. She had believed that her savior must come back to her, perform this ritual for her sake, present her with this gift. The other girls came out of the dormitory, gasping in surprise at the sight of fresh food. They were hungry, but none of them dared to approach until the abbess came. She stared in astonishment at what Rizq had brought. Then she gestured toward the dormitory and said, “Bring these things inside, Rizq.”

  For the second time, he was permitted to enter the sacrosanct zone. Margaret followed him, smiling radiantly, her spirit replete.

  “Where did you get these provisions?” the abbess inquired.

  “From the villages on the mountainside,” Rizq replied. “The water didn’t reach them.”

  Everyone knew these dusty hamlets, whose lights shone only dimly at night, and from which men descended barefoot and hungry. It would be extraordinary if such villages were now to become their source of sustenance. The abbess questioned Rizq further before allowing any of the girls to touch the food.

  “And where did you get the money?”

  At this Margaret lifted her eyebrows, puzzled by the question. How could anyone ask such a question of a miracle worker? So it was quite natural for her to answer simply, “God provides.”

  It was clear that Rizq had spent the few riyals he had, from his monthly earnings at the school. At this moment they all realized that, although he had a part in every task undertaken there, until now he had been invisible to them, and it had never occurred to any of them to find out anything about him.

  “We were just getting ready to leave,” said the abbess. “Is the road to the station safe?”

  “The graves are exposed,” he said quickly.

  The abbess looked at him strangely. “What do you mean?” she said.

  Arranging the bread and cheese before them, he said, “The floodwaters reached the tombs built on the upper hills and laid open the covered graves. We’ve never seen a flood like this one.”

  The abbess stared at him a moment longer. Then she signaled to the others to begin eating. Margaret’s heart skipped a beat. She joined them, reaching for the food. The cheese tasted of honey.

  “Come, Mary,” Margaret called to her anxiously, “let’s go, we’ll be late!”

  She hurried ahead of Aisha, making her way carelessly amid the remains of the mud and the puddles. Although she didn’t know where Margaret was taking her, or what this assignation she was so intent upon might be, the dreamy look in her eyes and the way she walked with her feet scarcely touching the ground made Aisha follow her through the crowds and the uproar of the pottery market.

  The earth was still fresh. The imperious river had drawn back after having its way with the land for many days, and the sun now blazed down daily, turning the soft mud to solid earth. Builders and potters set out to gather into baskets the silt left behind when the waters receded. They had been assembling the raw materials for their craft throughout the year. On the other side of the river, farmers commenced the sowing of wheat, barley, and lupine. The earth had feasted on alluvium, a thick layer of matter formed from particles of volcanic rock, which the river carried down from the highlands of Ethiopia and spread over the ancient land, rejuvenating it.

  Margaret was wearing the black habit of the nuns, her white skin suffused with a rosy blush as she proceeded amidst a sea of suntanned faces. The potters were lining up the red crockery for which the city was famous, as well as rows of brown pitchers incised with white lines, honey jars with notched patterns and delicate necks, pots for butter and pickled vegetables that were black as night, sculpted planters, cups, mugs, and nargilehs. The fingers of the buyers and sellers rapped repeatedly on the surfaces of the pottery, which gave off a hollow sound, proving its fineness, how well-fired it was. The regular tapping of the pots seemed like the rhythm to a dance melody and Margaret moved in time to it.

  “See how beautiful and pure everything looks!” she cried delightedly. “All made from mud, the stuff of first creation, the substance from which humans were formed.”

  She had obtained permission to leave the school for several hours. The abbess was away on an extended holiday, and the school had emptied, the students having gone to visit their families, all except Margaret and Aisha. Father George hesitated to let them go out, but when Margaret exclaimed that she was suffocating behind the walls, and that she longed to feel the September sun on her skin, he agreed to let her go, on condition that Aisha accompany her so that she wouldn’t get lost on the city streets. But it was Margaret who led Aisha through the narrow, interlocking lanes. Aisha was afraid that she wouldn’t know the way back to the school, but Margaret knew every inch and had all the routes memorized. They came to a spacious square with a lofty sycamore in the middle of it. Under it stood Rizq, two donkeys beside him.

  Aisha stopped short, confused, while Margaret ran to him eagerly and put her hand on his chest, touching him as if to make sure he was really there. He stepped back, however, glancing sharply at Aisha, who said, “I can’t believe we’ve met him
like this—is it a coincidence?”

  “Of course not,” said Margaret, who was euphoric. “It’s my doing—I made arrangements with him. Come—here’s your donkey. He’s going to lead us on a tour.”

  “In that case, why didn’t you come and meet him on your own?”

  “Don’t be absurd—how could I have gone all the way across the city by myself? Come along—stop wasting time!”

  Aisha stood rooted in place. Margaret leaned familiarly on Rizq’s shoulder as she tried to climb onto the donkey’s back. The long, black garment she wore nearly tripped her, but he kept hold of her until she steadied herself. She laughed joyfully and left her hand on his shoulder, seeming to draw reassurance from him. The two of them began to move forward, leaving Aisha behind. The donkey looked at her with its sad eyes. Where could Rizq be taking Margaret, who had so entrusted herself to him? Aisha considered leaving her and returning alone to the school, but she was responsible for Margaret, and if anything happened to her she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself. She took hold of the donkey’s bridle and sprang easily onto its back. She kicked it with her heels and started off after the other two.

  The road took them downhill to a sandy spot surrounded by ancient trees with peeling bark. Tombstones could be seen in the distance, standing silently in the lap of the mountain with its grim, rocky terrain. Rizq pointed vaguely and said, “There the path to ‘Antar’s Stable’ begins.” The mountain obscured the horizon, and nothing was visible. The donkeys began to climb, navigating the rocky steps of the slope. Aisha shivered as she passed among the gravestones. Low openings appeared amid the rocks. Her donkey kept climbing until it stopped before the largest of these openings. Here was the place Rizq had pointed out. From this elevation Asyout looked far away and dazzlingly beautiful: a long line of domes and minarets, surrounded by forests of palm, behind which the river appeared, a gleaming streak at the edge of the horizon.

  Delighted, Margaret said, “How happy I am that I’ve come here at last. I’ve read a great deal about this place. Hatshepsut used to come here in the guise of a man, to offer sacrifices to her secret gods—the gods of love.”

  She dismounted quickly from the donkey and hurried, breathless, toward the mouth of the cave. Aisha caught up with her, while Rizq tied the donkeys to a protruding rock and then followed them inside. They made their way through a long passageway hollowed out inside the rock. Its ceiling was covered with a layer of soot, and the corridor was flanked on either side by a pair of misshapen stone statues. The way the figures were posed suggested that they were ancient warriors. The walls were full of paintings in faded colors. Margaret paused, with a deep sigh, before an image of a woman holding a large bouquet of lotus flowers and presenting them to a man. The images were all stiff, and yet they seemed to exude a passionate heat, in their dusty white, dark yellow, and faded green hues. “No doubt she used to meet her lover here,” she said, “to sing and dance and make love, and cover his body with lotus blossoms.”

  They moved on, observed by a broken statue of Anubis, the jackal-headed god of ancient Asyout. Then the corridor opened out into a capacious room, its four corners supported by columns to prevent the stone ceiling from collapsing. Everything was disfigured and broken up, but it bore the traces of bygone splendor. Rizq leaned against one of the pillars, leaving them to wander about and absorb the atmosphere of the place. They gazed at the dozens of inscrutable paintings, hieroglyphs, and cartouches that filled the walls.

  “You know,” said Margaret, “they’ve been able to decipher these hieroglyphics and read all these signs.”

  “And what do they say?” Aisha asked. She was breathing unevenly.

  “Maybe they tell about this mysterious queen.”

  Aisha felt a tremor run through her body. On the wall facing her she saw a painting of a large wolf, incised with deep lines, standing poised upon his four legs. His head was tapered, his ears pricked forward as if he were listening to their uncertain footfalls and the inflections of their voices. Drawn beneath his feet were small representations of Anubis, little messengers awaiting his orders to return to life. Aisha shivered some more under the wolf’s silent stare—in her eyes he read all of her buried secrets.

  “Why did they make the image of the wolf so large?” she said. “It looks so frightening!”

  Margaret caught her breath. “It’s another of the gods here,” she said. “Maybe, in this city, it was the greatest of the gods of fear and darkness. The remains of dozens of wolves may be buried in this place.” She spoke with a wicked simplicity.

  Aisha felt suffocated—the air had grown heavy. “I want to leave,” she said.

  “I need to stay here for a little while,” said Margaret. “I want to imprint this place on my memory.”

  Aisha drew back and leaned against the wall, but her legs wouldn’t hold her. She felt as if she had plunged into a network of dead-end passages, the wolf always in pursuit. Rizq was staring at her. Margaret went to her and wiped the perspiration from her brow.

  “Mary, what is it?”

  “I don’t know. I have the feeling a wolf like this one has been chasing me all my life, as if I were bound to all the wolves that come in the night. My mother told me how my story with them began when I was little. I was a very small child when death took my father. So my mother went to join the men who sowed the wheat in our field. She left me asleep in a little hut at the edge of the field, out of the sun’s glare. She was distracted for several moments, and when she turned around she found one of those wolves standing by the opening to the hut—just like that, in broad daylight. She was beside herself—she didn’t know whether or not it had gone in to where I was sleeping. And had it contented itself with catching my scent, or had it devoured me? She screamed and ran toward the wolf. Hearing her scream, everyone began running behind her. The wolf took fright from the commotion and bounded off. When my mother went in to check on me she found me staring at her, round-eyed and smiling. I was happy, as if I had just been fed, and next to my mouth there was a drop of white liquid. No one believed what had happened—I still don’t believe it myself. But the wolves have been following me ever since.”

  Margaret gently stroked her hair, and put her arms around her trembling shoulders. She looked at Rizq, who stood by stiffly. “We’d better go now,” she said.

  They went back out into the light. Aisha sat down, and Margaret sat beside her, by the mouth of the cave. Aisha contemplated the sight of Asyout from a distance, and felt a yearning for her village and for her mother’s face. Holding onto her to assure her she was not alone, Margaret said, “How beautiful this spot is: the river, the desert, the palms, the domed shrines, the bells, and the minarets—all in one vista. Where can you find such a place?”

  Aisha looked into her face. She was no longer the somber nun of old. She was the one who had returned from death a different Margaret, eager for movement, for merriment, for life itself, ready to follow Rizq anywhere he might go. It was plain that matters between them were progressing quickly, but how far could they go? “Why did you bring us here?” Aisha asked her.

  Margaret answered unhesitatingly. “This is a sacred place. The desert is all sacred. Our Lady Mary passed this way with the infant Jesus in her arms and Joseph the carpenter leading their donkey. They left their footprints in these sands. Rizq, my own savior, led us here the same way—and my donkey. No doubt the holy family stopped in the same place where we are right now.”

  Aisha looked toward Rizq, who had untied the two donkeys and was standing with them by the mouth of the cave, ready to descend. She made sure he couldn’t hear her before she spoke, saying, “But, Sister Margaret, have you permitted Rizq to touch you?” She was shaking, fearful of Margaret’s response, but she laughed.

  “And what if he did touch me? He is my own savior, as I told you. He did in fact touch me—he lifted me up, and he kissed me, too, when he breathed life back into my body. Don’t you remember? After that, he needs no permission.”

  M
argaret’s answer took Aisha aback. She stared at her in astonishment, as Margaret turned in circles, dancing. “It’s a miracle,” she said. “Time is circular, it never stops turning back on itself. Asyout is truly the city of miracles.”

  She skipped down over the stones and gave her hand to Rizq, who picked her up lightly under her arms and set her on the donkey’s back. Aisha observed that the space between their bodies had diminished to practically nothing. They went in front, Aisha following behind, and all the while Margaret leaned over Rizq, talking with him continuously. The desert was lemon-colored, and the wind blowing across it traced wavy ridges in its surface. The heat of the sun abated, as Aisha witnessed the beginning of a love story that could not be.

  At the entrance to the city, Margaret stopped. “We don’t want to go back by way of the pottery market,” she said to Rizq. “Why don’t you find us another route?”

  Rizq looked about uncertainly and said, “There is no other way. There’s only one other street, and we can’t go that way—it’s the Greek quarter.”

  “What of that?” replied Margaret, unconcerned. “I’m hungry. Maybe we can find a place to get some food.”

  Rizq stood stock-still, though he always obeyed her. Margaret’s whims had become too much for him. He looked toward Aisha for help, then said, “I can’t take you into this street. The abbess would kill me.”

  But Margaret actually turned her donkey into the entrance to the street, saying blithely, “The abbess isn’t here, and I doubt she has friends in this street who’ll betray us to her!”

  Her spirit had been liberated from all the old chains, and there were no longer any constraints on her capriciousness. The narrow street that cut through the center of the city was one of many temptations to which she gave way. It seemed calm and well-ordered, above suspicion, with its small shops selling tobacco, groceries, and liquor, and modest doorways screened by curtains of strung shells, bars, wine shops, and little restaurants. Everything was there and waiting.