If Tears Were Wishes And Other Short Stories Read Online Free Page A
Author: Ruth Nestvold
as the guidebooks told her, wearing long pants and long-sleeved blouses, even in the heat.
"I am Ahmed," he said. "And you are?"
"Haley."
The sandy mutt joined them, trailing along behind as they wandered from the expedition to Punt to the temple of Anubis, to the temple of Hathor carved in part right out of the rock. Ahmed explained the sights in German, but Haley didn't mind; she had studied this monument in depth. When he allowed her to pull away, she took series after series of pictures of the hieroglyphs.
"You are interested in them?" Ahmed asked as they made their way to the long ramp leading back down from the second terrace.
"I'm working on a dissertation on details of the lives of women recorded in the hieroglyphs."
"Yes? I am working on a dissertation about this great queen!" The statement was accompanied by a sweeping gesture taking in the mortuary temple of Hatshepsut. His dark eyes shone with enthusiasm, and Haley smiled, the ghosts of terrorism nearly banished.
In the air-conditioned bus back to Luxor, they sat together and compared notes on universities and professors and courses. By the time they arrived at Haley's hotel, it had been decided that she would visit the bar of the cruise ship where he was working that night.
****
When I peel off the skin of the onion, it does not bring me truth. Her kind thinks that revealing the layers beneath what is on the outside is truer, better.
But the skin of the onion is as much a part of its truth as the layers within.
****
For a ridiculously small fee, Ahmed arranged for Haley to join the Nile cruise to Aswan. He was proud of his contacts, proud of the people who owed him favors, proud of the deal he could offer her, and the ship had not been full. So here she was, leaning on the railing, wondering a bit about whether Ahmed was ripping her off or being nice, but enjoying herself too much to really care.
They drifted past palm trees dusted with orange in the setting sun, past ruins of small temples not worth a stop and villages huddled close to the water on the thin strip of fertile land to either side of the Nile. Just past the vibrant green rose hills of desert, a clear demarcation between the areas where people could and could not survive. And she had it all to herself — Ahmed was leading an evening event on Egyptian culture in the bar, in German, of course, and she had the deck and the sunset and the Nile.
When they reached Aswan the next morning, they took a smaller boat to the Island of Philae. Which it wasn't really, because the original island had been sunk by the great dam; the huge temple complex had been moved to the island of Agilkia. On the boat over, Ahmed sat with her, telling her about the program in Egyptology at the University of Tübingen in Germany, where he had studied for a year with an exchange program. She found her focus narrowing down to the conversation, to his faintly accented voice, filled with passion for what meant most to her, the long history of this great land he called home. She was so engrossed, she missed the approach to the island temple, watching instead the light in his dark eyes when he spoke of Hatshepsut and Ramses, when he looked at her.
As they were docking, Haley noticed how the tourists in his group watched them surreptitiously, slight smiles on their faces.
On the island, Ahmed left her regretfully, leading his flock to the pavilion of Trajan, while Haley wandered next to the colonnade leading to the first pylon at the entrance of the temple. The scratches on the figures carved into the stone were clearly visible, scratches made to "deface" the pagan idols, by Coptic Christians or the Muslims who followed, no one knew for sure. Isis had been worshiped here until the sixth century, when Justinian ordered the temple and its priests converted to Christianity.
After taking a number of pictures, she went through the door in the first pylon and made her way to the temple of Isis proper.
Where the dizziness
"I am Ahmed," he said. "And you are?"
"Haley."
The sandy mutt joined them, trailing along behind as they wandered from the expedition to Punt to the temple of Anubis, to the temple of Hathor carved in part right out of the rock. Ahmed explained the sights in German, but Haley didn't mind; she had studied this monument in depth. When he allowed her to pull away, she took series after series of pictures of the hieroglyphs.
"You are interested in them?" Ahmed asked as they made their way to the long ramp leading back down from the second terrace.
"I'm working on a dissertation on details of the lives of women recorded in the hieroglyphs."
"Yes? I am working on a dissertation about this great queen!" The statement was accompanied by a sweeping gesture taking in the mortuary temple of Hatshepsut. His dark eyes shone with enthusiasm, and Haley smiled, the ghosts of terrorism nearly banished.
In the air-conditioned bus back to Luxor, they sat together and compared notes on universities and professors and courses. By the time they arrived at Haley's hotel, it had been decided that she would visit the bar of the cruise ship where he was working that night.
****
When I peel off the skin of the onion, it does not bring me truth. Her kind thinks that revealing the layers beneath what is on the outside is truer, better.
But the skin of the onion is as much a part of its truth as the layers within.
****
For a ridiculously small fee, Ahmed arranged for Haley to join the Nile cruise to Aswan. He was proud of his contacts, proud of the people who owed him favors, proud of the deal he could offer her, and the ship had not been full. So here she was, leaning on the railing, wondering a bit about whether Ahmed was ripping her off or being nice, but enjoying herself too much to really care.
They drifted past palm trees dusted with orange in the setting sun, past ruins of small temples not worth a stop and villages huddled close to the water on the thin strip of fertile land to either side of the Nile. Just past the vibrant green rose hills of desert, a clear demarcation between the areas where people could and could not survive. And she had it all to herself — Ahmed was leading an evening event on Egyptian culture in the bar, in German, of course, and she had the deck and the sunset and the Nile.
When they reached Aswan the next morning, they took a smaller boat to the Island of Philae. Which it wasn't really, because the original island had been sunk by the great dam; the huge temple complex had been moved to the island of Agilkia. On the boat over, Ahmed sat with her, telling her about the program in Egyptology at the University of Tübingen in Germany, where he had studied for a year with an exchange program. She found her focus narrowing down to the conversation, to his faintly accented voice, filled with passion for what meant most to her, the long history of this great land he called home. She was so engrossed, she missed the approach to the island temple, watching instead the light in his dark eyes when he spoke of Hatshepsut and Ramses, when he looked at her.
As they were docking, Haley noticed how the tourists in his group watched them surreptitiously, slight smiles on their faces.
On the island, Ahmed left her regretfully, leading his flock to the pavilion of Trajan, while Haley wandered next to the colonnade leading to the first pylon at the entrance of the temple. The scratches on the figures carved into the stone were clearly visible, scratches made to "deface" the pagan idols, by Coptic Christians or the Muslims who followed, no one knew for sure. Isis had been worshiped here until the sixth century, when Justinian ordered the temple and its priests converted to Christianity.
After taking a number of pictures, she went through the door in the first pylon and made her way to the temple of Isis proper.
Where the dizziness
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