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the enchantment
by jackie thomas
Sam could see the three pyramids of Giza from his hotel room. Just. On the horizon, in the haze of pollution, they were three, hardly possible, grey triangles.
The morning had been meetings in ministerial suites, assaulted by perilously malfunctioning air-conditioners. Lunch had been folding flatbread and flatter soda in a Midan Tahrir traffic jam.
At three they had left the President, First Lady, CJ, Charlie and half the secret service cruising elegantly down the Nile and the evening events would begin at six. But in between, miraculously, Sam had nothing to do.
Of course, there was always something to do. There were remarks to write and policies to formulate and home did not stop like a clock because the President was not there to wind it up.
It was just that a silence had fallen. A sleeping spell had been cast over Cairo and a city which never ceased its journeys on ancient highways, which spoke fast and loud from somewhere beyond its lungs, which sounded its car horns at the slightest provocation, which marked its time by the wail of muezzin. Had gone quiet.
Sam had been sitting, feet up, in the just-shade of his balcony with the pages of notes Josh had wanted his thoughts on when suddenly there was no noise. The tinny Arabic pop, which had been blaring ‘habibi’ from a hawker’s stall, stopped abruptly. And the pyramids had appeared seemingly from nowhere, there at the edge of the world.
Realising he was getting nowhere with his reading he put the papers aside and went in from the balcony.
He checked his phone. One text from Josh. “Did something fall on you?” “Do you mean today?” He replied.
Lying back on the bed he closed his eyes. But instead of submitting to the enchantment which seemed to have all Egypt in its grip he found himself charged with a restlessness he could not exactly define. A buzzing, fluttering energy insisting on constant movement.
He got up and left his room, wandering downstairs. Tutankhamun T-Shirt, sneakers, hands in the pockets of his jeans.
He wanted to walk, absorb the city without the paraphernalia of the Presidency. But the sun was scorching the pavement at the hotel entrance and a warm wind brought sand in from the desert, gritty at the back of his throat.
He turned on his heels to look for something to distract him in the lobby. There was no one about but for one member of reception staff in a maroon suit buttoned to his chin valiantly fighting the drooping of his eyelids. The souvenir shop was closed and so was the coffee bar which, when open, served tiny cups of sweet, strong black coffee from silver pots. Josh had drunk three of them last night when they came back from dinner and then complained of palpitations.
Sam walked back up to the second floor to Toby’s room. It had two couches and a coffee table and had therefore become the Staff’s operational headquarters, much to its owner’s disgust.
He heard the murmur of the television from inside and turned the handle noiselessly.
There was no meeting, no council of war, no buzzing mobile office. Just Toby and Leo on a couch each, peacefully emitting deep and mis-matching breaths. The magic dust of the sleeping spell had settled here too.
Sam switched off the television and left, closing the door behind him, stopping to place the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the outside.
If Leo and Toby were asleep, everyone was. If they could not resist the spell, no one could.
He paused, unsure which way to turn. Then he remembered the hotel had a garden. He had seen it from Josh’s balcony. A perfectly Middle Eastern sight – a walled refuge from the bustle outside. A fountain at its centre and fig trees heavy with near-ripe fruit in planted corners.
With no one to ask he weaved his way through the passageways of the ground floor. And, as in a child’s storybook, it was the plainest, hidden door, marked in Arabic lettering, which opened out to the garden. He noticed first the scent of the jasmine that crept along the limestone walls, heard the pattering, trickle of the fountain as it busied itself capturing and reflecting diamonds of light. A tabby curled in the shade of a fig tree fast asleep.
There was another in the garden. Its keeper. A man in white galabiyya, resting in a sheltered corner, his broom at his side, bearded and biblical. He slept too, with his arms folded, snoring gently, borrowing the tabby’s contented purr.
“Sam.”
He turned. Josh was here too, sitting at a wrought iron table in a concealed alcove. He was still wearing his suit but the jacket was discarded, the shirtsleeves rolled up, the tie off. A file of papers and an empty coffee cup in front of him.
“Hey.”
“I thought you’d be asleep.” Josh nodded at the purring gardener. “Seems like everyone else is.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Sam said.
“I was with Toby and Leo and they just kind of keeled over.”
“I saw them. I swear Josh, no one is awake except us.”
“We’ve got to celebrate that.”
Sam smiled. “How?”
“Lets go out and find one of those sheeshas to smoke. Or you know, you can get rowed down the Nile. We should do that.” Josh had fallen for Egypt in an entirely unexpected way.
“It’s about 170 degrees out there.”
“Call yourself Californian.”
“Its foul. I promise.”
“‘Kay,” Josh conceded. “Then. We could sit here and celebrate how much that guy looks like Toby.”
Sam turned and did celebrate this fact for some moments, sliding into the other seat at the table, marvelling that not even the song of a bird could be heard, that the dusty wind could find no way in. Wondering why only they two had been spared.
Josh leaned back, his hands clasped lazily behind his head, rocking on the chair’s back legs, not closing his eyes.
The restless energy nudged at Sam too. “Come upstairs and look at my pyramids,” he said.
Josh’s chair tipped forward. “Is that a metaphor?”
“No.” Sam was actually dizzy. “You can see pyramids from my balcony.”
“How cool is that,” said Josh and beamed at him dazzling all the carefully planned shade from the garden. He gathered up his phone and papers and jacket. “Let’s go.”
When they got out on to Sam’s balcony the pyramids had vanished.
They looked out over the chaotic sprawl of roads and houses, shops and factories, at the mosques marked by tall minarets. Every shape except triangle.
“They were here when I left them,” Sam said, perplexed.
“Maybe they’ve moved. Maybe,” Josh said, turning slowly to take in the entire panorama. “They circle the city.”
Josh turned back to Sam and a teasing smile played at his lips.
“Yes,” he said. “I meant today. Did something fall on you today?”
Sam nodded. “An air conditioner.”
“On anything critical?”
He held out his arm for Josh’s inspection. “Nope, just a flesh wound.”
“Maybe you’d better stay away from Giza tomorrow. If you bring the Sphinx down there’s going to be an incident.”
Sam was aware of being the focus of Josh’s attention.
The haze lifted a little and the pyramids materialised. “Hey! There!”
He pointed and Josh spun round. Caught them with a whoop before they vanished again.
“Awesome,” he said turning back to Sam and then they were just smiling at each other. Not speaking for once. Not moving. And Sam leaned in and kissed him. It was the only thing to do at that moment, he didn’t even have to think about it. It was as easy as laughing.
Josh took two steps back. One more and he was going over the balcony.
Then he paused, took two steps forward, took Sam by the arm.
“Sam, what did you just do?”
Sam didn’t answer, he was trying to figure it out. He was still trying when Josh kissed him back, a long taste of cardamom-spiced coffee.
The kiss broke the spell. As in all the best storybooks.
And Cairo woke up, sent its children pouring on to the streets, broke free from it’s soundproof box with a car horn, an ‘assaalaam aleikum’ and music clattering out of an open window.
Sam’s phone and Josh’s phone rang together. Left unanswered as they silently promised one another the next quiet time and the world started turning again.
End
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