"Wait, please, give me a moment," he said when she started to kiss him again.
She studied him for a few seconds. Very easy. Snap. Then she reached up, took a firm hold of his head with both her hands, and twisted it until his neck broke.
He stared off, the way the woman had stared off, and the way the man had also. Nothing in his eyes. Nothing. Then he slipped down the wall, his legs wide apart.
She studied him. There was that nagging sense of a mystery again, something to do with her. Something to do with what she'd just done.
She remembered that dim figure standing over her. Had it been a dream? "Rise, Cleopatra. I, Ramses, call you!"
Ah, no! Merely trying to remember caused a searing pain in her head. But the pain was not physical. Pain of the soul it was. She could hear women crying, women she had known. Women weeping. Saying her name to her. Cleopatra. Then someone covered her face with a sheer black cloth. Was the snake still alive? Strange it seemed to her that the snake should outlive her. She felt again the sting of the fangs in her breast.
She gave a dull little groan as she stood there, leaning against the wall, looking down at the dead boy. When had all that happened? Where? Who had she been?
Don't remember. "Modern times" await.
She bent over, and slipped the money out of the boy's coat. Lots and lots of money in a little leather book. She slipped it deep into her pocket. Other things here as well. A card with English writing and a tiny portrait of the boy, how remarkable. Very beautiful work. And then two small bits of stiff paper with AIDA written on them. And OPERA. They bore the same tiny drawing she had seen in the "magazine" of an Egyptian woman's head.
Surely these were worth taking as well. She threw away the dead man's picture. Slipping the little opera papers into her pocket also, she sang ' 'Celeste A'ida'' again softly to herself as she stepped over the dead boy and walked out again into the noisy street.
Be not afraid. Do as they do. If they walk near the metal pathways, you must do this too.
But no sooner had she started off again than there came one of those shrill blasts from the iron chariots. She covered her ears, crying in spite of herself, and when she looked up another fine man was standing in her path.
"Can I help you, little lady? You're not lost down here, are you? You mustn't go about down here by the railway station with that money showing in your pocket like that."
"Railway station ..."
"Don't you have a handbag?"
"No," she said innocently. She allowed him to take her arm. "You help me?" she said, remembering the phrase Lord Rutherford had used a hundred times to her. "I can trust you?"
"Oh, of course!" he said. And he meant it. Another young one. With smooth, lovely skin!
* * *
Two Arabs left the rear of Shepheard's, one slightly taller than the other, both striding very fast.
"Remember," Samir said under his breath, "take very big steps. You are a man. Men do not take small steps, and swing your arms naturally."
"I should have (earned this trick a long time ago," Julie answered.
* * *
The Great Mosque swarmed with the faithful as well as tourists who had come to see this wonder, and come to see the sight of devout Moslems in worship on their knees. Julie and Samir moved lazily through the crush of tourists. Within minutes they had spotted the tall Arab with the dark glasses, in his flowing white robes.
Samir placed a key in Ramses' hand. He whispered the address and the directions. Ramses should follow him. It would not be a long walk.
He and Julie moved on, with Ramses a few paces behind.
* * *
Ah, she liked this one, who called himself an American and spoke in such a strange voice. They rode along together in the horse-drawn "taxi" carriage, among the "motorcars." And she was no longer afraid.
Before they'd left the "railway station" she'd realized that the big iron chariots pulled people about. Just a common means of transportation. How strange.
This one was not as elegant as Lord Rutherford, by any means, but he spoke more slowly and it was becoming quite simple for her to understand, especially as he pointed to things as he spoke. She knew now what was a Ford automobile, and a Stutz Bearcat, and also a little roadster. This man sold such things in America. He was a merchant of Ford automobiles in America. Even poor people could buy these driving machines.
She clutched the canvas bag he'd bought her, which held the money and the bits of paper with OPERA written on them.
"And this here is where the tourists live," he said to her, "more or less. I mean, this is the British sector. ..."
"English," she said.
' 'Yes, but all the Europeans and Americans pretty much come here, too. And that building there-that's where all the best people stay, the British and the Americans, that's Shepheard's, the hotel, if you know what I mean."
"Shepheard's-the hotel?" She gave a little laugh.
"That's where the opera ball's going to be tomorrow night. That's where I'm staying. I don't much like opera"-he made a little face-"never did much care for it. But here in Cairo, well, this is an important thing, you see."
"Important thing, you see."
"Real important. So I figured pretty much I'd go, you see, and to the ball afterwards, though I had to rent a tailcoat and all that." He had a lovely light in his eyes as he looked down at her. He was enjoying himself immensely.
And she was enjoying herself as well.
"And A'ida being all about ancient Egypt."
"Yes, Radames singing."
"Yes! So you know it. Bet you like opera, bet you appreciate it." Suddenly he made a little frown. "Are you okay, little lady? Maybe you'd find the old city more romantic. You want something to drink? How about a little ride in my car. It's parked right behind Shepheard's."
"Motorcar?"
"Oh, you're quite safe with me, little lady, I'm a real safe driver. Tell you what. Have you been out to the pyramids?"
Pee-ra-mids.
"No," she said. "Drive in your car, super!"
He laughed. He shouted a command to the taxi and the driver pulled the horse to the left. They rode around the hotel, Shepheard's, a handsome building with pretty gardens.
When he reached up to help her down from the carriage, he almost touched the tender opening in her side. She shivered. But it had not happened. Yet it had reminded her that the wound was there. How could one live with such awful sores? That was the mystery. Whatever happened now, she must return at dusk to see Lord Rutherford again. Lord Rutherford had gone to speak with the man who could explain these things-the man with the blue eyes.
* * *
They arrived together at the hideout. Julie agreed to wait as Samir and Ramses entered, inspected the three little rooms and their neglected garden; then they motioned for her to come in, and Ramses bolted the door.
There was a small wooden table with a candle in the middle, stuck in an old wine bottle. Samir lighted the candle. Ramses drew up two of the straight-backed chairs. Julie brought the other.
This was comfortable enough. The afternoon sun came through the old garden and through the back door, and the place was hot, but not unbearable, as it had been locked up for a long time. A damp musky odor of spices and hemp hung in the air.
Julie took off the Arab headdress, and shook out her hair. She had not pinned it up because of the headdress, and now she loosened the ribbon that kept it tied at the back of her neck.
"I don't believe you killed that woman," she said immediately, looking up at Ramses as he sat across from her.
Like a sheikh he looked in the desert robes, his face partially in shadow, the candle glinting in his eyes.